We sat in that room all that Sabbath day. We men sat pretty much in silence, scattered around the floor, in shock; not trying to talk, not knowing what to say. The women were huddled together in the corner, sometimes whispering to one another then breaking out into quiet sobbing. Mary
Magdalene started wailing a few times, and the others hugged her and tried to comfort her but it didn't work. Martha was so depressed she wouldn't even get up to prepare a meal, but we weren't hungry anyway. Simon got up once and wandered around aimlessly, pounding his fist into his palm, then sat back down in a far corner with his cloak over his head.
I didn't know what to think. My mind was a sandstorm, swirling without direction. All I could thinnk of was that Jesus was dead. As hard as that was to accept, Jesus was dead! After all we have been through together, walking up and down the land, and hearing his words the rang in our ears and made us rethink everything; after seeing his miracles; after hearing the threats from the religious leaders he had challenged, and the cheers of the common people he had healed. Then, the last two days, it was all over so quickly.
I couldn't get that horrible night out of my mind —when the soldiers and Temple guards and the traitor Judas came to one of our favorite private places and took Jesus away. And Jesus didn't work a miracle or send them away ashamed, in silence, with one of his priceless sayings. He just went with them. He went with them to the Roman barracks, and just let the soldiers beat him, and the Sanhedrin gathered at night and their hate washed over him like a spring flood, and he let them lie about him and conjure up false witnesses to condemn him.
And then he was on the cross, that horrible instrument of infinite torture, of death creeping up too slowly; a death born out of cruel, twisted hatred. I couldn't bear to look but I couldn't leave. The sun went dark like an eclipse, but it lasted for hours and hours. And finally, with loud cry, Jesus was dead. The earth shook, and all three crosses creaked. The soldiers let us bring him down so Joseph could take into a real tomb, so his body wouldn't be eaten by the dogs that were already gathered. And then we came back here and sat, staring into space, with nothing to say or do, shocked into silence, at this abrupt end to the dream we had of Jesus' greatness.
And all along we had thought he was the one who would save our people Israel. Perhaps there are some things the Lord won't do for us after all. Our hope is gone. We may as well walk home tomorrow. I hope nobody turns us in to the guards. The women are talking about going to the tomb early in the morning, to finish preparing Jesus' body for a proper burial. But first we all need some sleep.
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