On Friday night we left the tomb in silence,
our feet heavy on that grave road,
clinging to each other for support
every face wet with tears.
Our steps beating out the refrain of our hearts,
“He’s dead, he’s dead.”
No sleep for me all that long night.
Each time I closed my eyes
I was again on that road to Jerusalem
palm branches waving,
again at a table with Jesus
again in a garden,
again in a courtyard.
Again hearing the news that indeed
our Saviour Christ the Lord
had been murdered,
crucified like a criminal.
We met the women at the tomb
and saw his broken body.
As night fell
we put our shoulders to that heavy stone.
We left him there in that cold cave.
There were few words that next day,
we each sought our own company.
John went to the temple.
James went wandering on the hills.
I found myself again in the garden,
the place where I could not stay awake to pray.
Sleep now was far from me,
but prayers still escaped me.
I came back to my bed in the darkness.
I must have slept,
for I thought I was dreaming
the knocking and the women’s excited voices
the light of the rising sun
just touching my pillow.
John’s words “He is risen?”
propelled me from my bed
and I was there
holding Mary’s arms,
shaking her, she half laughing, half crying,
making no sense,
talking of stones rolled away and
gardeners, and angels, and the tomb empty.
I looked at John, and with the same thought
we grabbed our cloaks and ran,
our feet beating the distance of that road
our breath ragged.
I could see it, the tomb,
the stone rolled away.
And then I was there, in the doorway,
the spot where we had left Jesus– empty.
The cloths that had wrapped his cold body
neatly folded in a pile.
I came to the door of the tomb
the linen cloths hanging from my hands,
and paused there, like Lazarus
blinking with incomprehension at this new life.
Who rolled this stone away?
What force conquered death?
When will I see my Saviour again?
Where will he meet me?
How can this be?
On Sunday morning we left the tomb in silence,
our feet hurrying on that grave road,
clinging to each other for support,
every face wet with tears.
Our steps beating out the refrain of our hearts,
“He’s risen, he’s risen!”
I am a Mennonite pastor currently teaching theology at Conrad Grebel University College in Waterloo, Ontario. I’ve served congregations in Ontario and most recently, Alberta.