Why are you here?

I didn’t expect to see anyone else here. 

I’m Mary, Mary of Magdala. I’m supposed to be meeting my friends here to finish preparing the body of Jesus. 

You know, Jesus. 

He was supposed to be our Savior, the one who would save Israel.

I guess you heard what happened. Is that why you’re here?

You know, we never dreamed it would really happen, even though he kept telling us it would be so.

He may have broken the rules sometimes, but he  didn’t do anything wrong, not really. He only did good, the whole time I knew him, the whole time he was alive.  

He was the most loving person I’ve ever known in my life. 

He was like my brother, and I, his sister.

I can’t believe he’s really gone.

Friday was so exhausting, so terrifying, so…sad. 

And yesterday, well, it was the longest day of my life, knowing that I couldn’t come here and take care of his body like I needed to. It was such a contrast with Friday, so…silent. It was a terrible day. But at least I knew that Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus did what they could do in such a short amount of time. They really stepped up, even though they weren’t actually disciples…at least not in public. It took a lot of courage for them to do what they did for Jesus.

And I feel so comforted that there is no way that grave robbers could possibly have come and taken His body. Not with that stone across the entrance. I’m thankful for that. And the other women and I, well, we got everything together, all the spices and the oils, we did that on Friday, but couldn’t get back here before the Sabbath began. So we didn’t have time to come and properly prepare His body on Friday. 

And yesterday, well, we rested, as it is written. 

We obeyed the law.

Rested?

I didn’t want to rest, even though I was very tired, and still am. I don’t have rest in my soul. There was no peace on that Sabbath Day, none at all. So here I am, bright and early. I couldn’t sleep anyway. I’ve got to get to the tomb, I’ve got to get there to prepare the body of My Lord. I really need to hurry. I don’t want him to stink any more than he has to, I don’t want his body to be any worse than it should be, though I’m sure it is bad enough, what with all the beating and torture he went through.

And His mother, Mary…well, I don’t know how she stayed there. 

And the disciple he loved…the only male disciple who stayed...it was hard, hard for all of us.

I just have to tell you, I’m so confused.

Oh, I know that Jesus was the Son of God. I’m not confused by that at all. I know that with every fiber of my being, deep down in my heart.

You see, He healed me.

I was sick. I had seven demons inside of me. Seven terrible demons. And though everyone else gave up on me, Jesus never did. 

He healed me. 

Those demons are long gone. 

And from that time, I followed Him. And I helped Him, along with the others. That’s why I’m here.

But I’m confused about why they killed him. Why he had to die, why the people chose him to die and not the others.

And why are you here again?

Did you know Him?

Did you ever meet Him?

Did He heal you too?

I’m sorry. It’s been good talking to you, but I have to go. I have work to do, work for the One whom I loved and who loved me. He would love you too, if you had met him.

In fact, He loved everybody, even those who murdered him.

He may have been killed, but I know He was still the Son of God, and He deserves a proper burial. He deserves at least that, my one last offering to Him who saved me, who healed me. 

You know, I just can’t believe that this is the end.

Shalom.