"Mary," one of the rich men says, putting his hand on her shoulder. "It is time. The sun is setting. We must get this done."
One of the other women screams, "There isn't time! We don't have enough time!"
"Mary," the man says calmly to this other woman, "we have time to do what we can. There is a tomb nearby. I have arranged for its use. Pilate has given me permission to take the body and bury it. We must hurry, the others do not know the arrangements. They will protest."
"We
don't have time to do it right," the woman says. Mary, Jesus' mother,
sits quietly, her hand running through Jesus' dark, thick hair, her other hand
caressing his cheek. You see her lips move, but cannot hear her words.
"Joseph," John asks. "Where is this tomb?"
"Nearby," Joseph replies, "I will show you. Let us do what we can for now. We can come back after the Sabbath and finish."
This seemed to comfort the women, they stand and walk over to the donkey, pulling off the bags and cloth.
Together, as Mary looks on, you help the women and John wrap the body, pouring the spices out over the wrappings. It would take many hours to properly prepare the body. You all rush the process, trying to give respect to a body now cursed under Jewish law, doing what you can. The shadows from the trees and plants are growing longer. There is not much time left, the sun will soon be behind the hills.
While this is going on the Romans ignore you, focusing their attention on the other two victims. These are not treated with care. The hands and feet are tugged, some of the nails coming out, some of them ripping through the flesh. The bodies are pulled down, thrown together about ten feet away from where you are sitting.
Two of the soldiers take down the cross pieces, others, holding buckets of water and sponges, wipe off the stakes, cleaning off of the blood. They value neatness, even in their execution. You notice they seem to treat the pieces of wood more carefully than they do the dead bodies. It is clear which has more worth to these foreigners. The officer stands and watches, quiet.
The suns disappears from your view. The hills and trees block you seeing it set further. Joseph looks worried. The women keep at the work.
Three men walk up the hill to where the officer is standing, the same three men from before who ordered the bodies taken down. Sanctimonious, self-righteous, caring for the Law more than their own people. You look away, trying not to hate them. Jesus refused to be angry; he let them act, you remember. "Forgive them," he said. Why is it harder for you to do this then it was for him? You pour myrrh over the linen, as the women continue to wrap it around the body.
"Nicodemus," Joseph says to the other rich man who had come with him, "tell these men that we have permission and have respect for the Law. We do not need more trouble."
Nicodemus? That's who he is. He is a powerful Pharisee. You thought you recognized him. You didn't know he was a follower of Jesus. Who else is in hiding? He is exposing himself, there is no going back for him. He walks over to the rich men, who glare at him. They had their eyes on the western horizon, making sure all was finished before the start of the Sabbath. Watching him now, they speak angry words you cannot quite hear.
The Romans pick up the two other bodies, and throw them unceremoniously off the side of the hill, into a ditch below. You hear the bodies roll and land. Wild dogs and other beasts will feast on them tonight. The Passover truly is a feast of death. Where is the salvation today? God saved the People then, but he does not save us now. Where is He in all of this?
Nicodemus returns, "Put him on the donkey," he says, "We must hurry now, they are not patient, and can cause trouble with or without Pilate's permission."
You grab Jesus' shoulders, wrapped in linen so that no flesh can be seen. Some blood leaks through, red spots near the wrists and ankles, on his side and back. He feels so light. You and John lift him up, carry the body to the donkey, placing it carefully.
The servant takes the halter, and follows Joseph down another trail. Nicodemus hands a small bag to the officer, and seems to ask for something. The officer nods, orders his soldiers to follow this final procession.
Jesus rides to the tomb, carried on the back of the donkey. He is dead. You are dead with him. There are no crowds, no cheers, no one lining the side of this entrance. Ten people follow along, including you and four Romans. The soldiers whisper to each other, the only human noise heard.
Grass grows green along the side of the hill in this valley. A new tomb has been carved, you see the tools laying nearby. The large stone is pushed aside, it is dark within. Joseph must be rich indeed to be able to purchase this at the last minute.
The hill blocks out all the light. You look up and see a bright star overhead, shining down its approval. A star announced his birth, a single star signifies his burial. The sky is turning dark.
You and all the others, together, lift the body and place it into the tomb, resting it down. You stare at it, feeling a loss like you've never known, like all your life is being buried with this body. You do not cry anymore. , Your tears are spent. Mary leans down and kisses the wrapped face. The other women stand behind her, reaching down and touching his arms and body. You walk out of the tomb with John.
"The sun is setting, we must go now," Nicodemus says. "The tomb must be shut, we must be on our way back home."
He nods to the soldiers, they walk next to the large stone, getting ready to push it. The women walk out, their faces down.
"Now," one of the soldiers says. They all
push. For moment nothing happens, then the stone begins to slowly roll.
Mary, Jesus' mother, turns and looks back into the tomb. The stone begins to cover the entrance, scraping loud as it rolls.
Mary yells, "NO!!" The women rush over and hold her in their arms.
With a loud crash, it settles into place. The soldiers walk away. Nicodemus and Joseph stand for a moment, without a word, and then they too leave.
You remain, staring at the closed tomb, wishing with all your heart it was you inside, wishing you could have died with him. There is nothing left now, your life is gone, your hope is gone, the light is gone. All is dark, outside and in your soul.
You stand before the closed tomb, with the women who are weeping. He who came to bring life and salvation is dead and buried, cursed under the law. The sting of death has come and has conquered once more.
The sky turns black, all becomes shadows. The full moon lights up the top of the trees around you, though you cannot see it. A light breeze blows. Off in the distance a single bird sings a mournful song.
You turn and walk away, back to the city, lost and alone.
Consideration"My Jesus, beside Your body in the tomb I, too, would lie dead; but if I live, let it be for You, so as one day to enjoy with You in heaven the fruits of Your passion and Your bitter death."
