My lord is Dead

My lord died last night. They crucified him. I watched, frozen in terror, from a little distance. My friend Mary, the mother of James and Joses, and Solome stood with me. I have watched many die. Many times I sat long hours waiting for the last breath of a loved one. I have bandaged wounds and set broken bones. I am a mother. Mothers do those things. But watching my friend die on that cross tonight curdled my stomach.

Jesus was my rabbi. He was our teacher, our friend. We thought he would bring peace to our land and would sit on the throne of David. I remember that day on the mountain when he taught us how to live. I ate the bread and fish Jesus provided--from nothing! I think we would still be sitting there listening to his words, soaking up his teaching but he had to move on to teach others. We had forgotten our hunger—but he didn’t. Jesus fed us and we listened. The sun was warm that day, our hearts full of hope.

I was so sure he was our messiah. Today I am frightened and hiding with others who followed him... and hoped.

Last night, when Jesus shouted, “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit!” I trembled; cold chills ran down my spine and I covered my mouth to stop the screams gurgling in my throat. I was so sure Jesus was the one sent from God to be our king. But...today I have bruises on my hands and arms  where Mary and Salome and I gripped each other and someone’s nails dug into my arm.

When I heard the centurion soldier say, “He MUST be the Son of God!” I felt more confused. How can he be the Son of God? Jesus is dead.

The whole earth shook when darkness fell in the middle of the day. We hovered together. Watching.

Yes. Jesus was dead.

Suddenly, soldiers pushed us away and took his bloody body down from the cross. Sundown was drawing near. The dead could not stay on the cross on the Sabbath. It was horrible. Our screams could no longer be stifled. Men beat their chests. All of us wondered What has happened? What do we do now? Where do we go?

We didn’t know what to do, but whispers spread through the crowd that Joseph from Arimathea had claimed the body of our friend. Some of us women followed, pulling scarves closer over our heads and faces, so we would know where they laid Jesus. We watched as Joseph and Nicodemus bound the body of Jesus in linen wrappings and laid him in a place in the rock where no other body had ever laid. Joseph and some men pushed a huge stone against the opening.

As we watched from behind a tree, the garden was quiet and lovely. Full of peace. I wanted to stay in the garden all night, but soldiers were gathering to guard the tomb and Sabbath was almost on us, so, quickly and quietly, we retreated to my home.

But before we rested on the Sabbath we hastily prepared spices and perfumes—mixed with our tears. We would find courage to face the soldiers the day after Sabbath. We would anoint the body of our friend.

But tonight we are afraid. My home is in a secluded part of town, so a crowd of Jesus’ friends gathered here for the Sabbath. And to hide. And to think. And to pray. And to worry together.

We sit. In fear. What are we to do now? What will become of us? All through the night we sit. All through Sabbath we sit. Now and then I hear moans and soft sobs. Some groans are my own. I shake in fear. My husband keeps watch by the door. The night is black and dark.

Our friend, who we thought was God’s own, is dead.

Jesus is dead.

                         

Comments

[Sally Clark]

Liz, this is wonderful! You are at your best! Love the background, love the writing, love our Lord! Thank you! Gave me chills!