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.
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