Fragment of an ancient diary: An Easter Story

Friday

Here I am – numb. I don’t know what to do, where to go. I’m holed up here in a room that just last night was the scene of feasting, prayer and remembrance. But now appetite is gone, no prayer is left and every remembrance is tainted by the horror of this day.

Jesus is dead. Crucified. Every waking moment of the last three years was alive with hope because of Him. Not now.

At first meeting I figured He was Messiah. That’s what I said to my brother right from the start. He healed the sick. He cast out demons. He preached the Kingdom of God. He raised the dead. I saw it and there’s no denying. But there’s no denying a bloody corpse, either.

I saw Him hoisted on the gibbet of the cross. My heart died. The sky turned black. I heard His cry. I saw His head slump forward. The soldier’s spear thrust in His side streamed blood and water. He’s dead.

We all made it back to this upper room, but we’re not talking. My brother Simon is over there in the corner but we’ve hardly acknowledged each other. What do I say to him?  “I guess I was wrong – He wasn’t Messiah after all.”  

It’s over.  

Sabbath

Day of rest.  Some rest.  We’re talking, debriefing, comparing notes. It’s like scavenging in a graveyard.

The women plan to go to the grave first thing tomorrow to put more spices on the body. I’ve seen too much already. The time may come, but not now. The world is in turmoil. Jesus’ enemies haven’t spent all their venom yet.  The women can’t be dissuaded, but I’ll stay put.

Early Sunday

It’s still early – we’ve only just opened the shutters. The women have been out to the tomb and back already and they are hyped up. As if their nonsense stories could make any difference at all. Why can’t they leave it alone? 

They say they found the tomb open, the weighty stone rolled back and the body gone. How could that be? They say they saw two men, their white clothes gleaming in the early morning gloom. The women think them angels. Confused perceptions of distraught women! They’re not thinking straight.

But it was too intriguing for Simon. He’s gone to see for himself and he took John with him. I don’t know why they bother – they’ll find nothing.

Mid-Morning Sunday

Gloom hangs heavy in this upper room. Simon came back, slumping down in the corner. He looked straight ahead, turning something over in his mind. His silence was taut.

“What is it?” I asked.  

“I saw it,” he said, “just like the women told us, the tomb is empty. Except there were strips of linen burial cloth lying on the stone shelf and the cloth headpiece wrapped up by itself at the top. So strange.”  He continued to look ahead, troubled.

He up and left five minutes ago. He paused in the doorway as if reconsidering, light silhouetting his form. Then he was gone, leaving us in gloom.

Early, early Monday

I could not sit still now if I tried! All of us here have talked into the early hours of this morning. Who knows what time it is out there! It’s pitch black – but the light has dawned for us and nothing will ever put it out.

When Simon returned, his countenance was transformed and puzzlement gone. There was light in his eyes, strength in his voice. “I’ve seen Him! I‘ve seen the Lord with my own eyes!”

There was a knock at the door. Two other friends, having returned from Emmaus, burst in, saying they, too, had seen Jesus.

The hubbub of voices rose. Questions and words overlapped, giving voice to wonder. Once mournful friends came alive, and engaged in hope-filled speculation. Excitement mounted. Surprise was tangible.

And then all was suddenly silent and still. For there, in the middle of the room, stood one for whom no door had opened, no invitation been issued, from whom no greeting was expected, but who commanded every heart.  There, in our midst, unannounced, stood Jesus.  “Peace be with you,” He said.

Excitement turned to startled fear as we thought Him a ghost. He said, “Why are you troubled? Why do you doubt? See my hands, my feet. It’s me! Reach out your hand – you can’t touch a ghost!” And when He saw that we still didn’t believe, for joy and amazement, He said, “Have you got anything to eat?”

And I gladly put into His hands again a piece of fish, like once before. He took it, gave thanks, broke it, ate it. And laughed with joy!

Gloom is gone. Light has come. He is risen!

Let surprise jump off history’s page.  Catch your breath.  Embrace His presence in wonder.

Tim MacIntosh writes a daily blog (on Facebook and on his website) titled, “Eyes on Jesus: Through the Scriptures.” He has also published a book of daily devotionals in the Gospel of Mark, titled “Eyes on Jesus: Through Mark’s Gospel” and see Tim MacIntosh’s newest book, Eyes on Jesus: The Christmas Chronicles, a retelling of the birth by 14 witnesses who experienced these events, either at a distance or close at hand – some with faith, some with doubt, and some with hostility or indifference. (available at Regent College Bookstore, House of James, and on Amazon).

https://www.timmacintosh.com

This article first appeared in Light Magazine March 2013