Joy Comes With the Morning

By Irony Illuminator

Clouds stretched across the afternoon sky.

Darkness fell over the hillside.

Thunder crashed, rumbling in the distance and nearby

Lightning split the blackness for a brief instant before allowing all to be swallowed again.

In that moment when the harsh light cast sharp shadows, illuminating determination and satisfaction on many a grim face,

A bare, rough, imperfect shape thrust itself upward from the ground: two hastily-assembled wooden posts, lashed together to form a cross.

In that same moment when you saw the cross, if you paid attention, you would see the form of a man suspended from it.

And if you looked closely in that same moment, you would see his face, contorted in agony and pain.

A sobering sight.

The hillside, formerly filled with crowds from the nearby city, was much emptier now than it had been to begin with.

The sound of jeering and snarls, threats and mocking laughter had long since faded as night fell in the middle of the afternoon, and a tempest raged right outside Jerusalem.

Most contained their jubilance, but gloried secretly inside themselves, celebrating the fall of this man, this blasphemer.

Others huddled in small clusters and wept, lifting tear-stained faces toward the sky and that cross, hands outstretched as if in pleading.

“Why? Why? Why has this happened? He has done nothing wrong!”

One man stood off to the side by himself, aloof from the others, and yet tears were just as quick to stream down his face. His hands, not raised to beseech the heavens, were clenched into fists at his sides as he watched the terrible display.

It was not fair.

Not fair.

And most importantly, it didn’t make any sense.

How could all those things that the man had told them come to pass if death struck now, quick and relentless, claiming an innocent life? What hope was there if…

…If He dies?

Peter didn’t know, and couldn’t say, and wished that he would wake up and find this had all been a nightmare. But it was too horrible, to real to be a nightmare.

Reality had struck a devastating blow, and His followers reeled from the force of it. The unsure demanded answers and even the faithful were silent, floored by this turn of events.

And then it was over.

“Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do…”

It is finished. Into Thy hands I commit my spirit.”

More than one held their own breath as He released his last, and perhaps more than one piercing wail arose when His head slumped limply over his chest.

Peter felt numb.

How could this be happening? How could it have happened? Y’H’W’H, is this punishment for what I did? Is this punishment for what I said? I denied him. Three times I denied him. Is this for what I did? He cried out in his heart, confused and bereft, like a lost lamb without a Shepherd.

He turned when he felt a hand on his arm. “Peter.” It was John, with a weeping Mary clinging to his arm. “Sabbath comes. We must prepare.”

“Why?” Peter demanded tonelessly. Anger flared somewhere far beneath him, but it was too deeply buried to manifest itself. What is the point now that He is gone?

John sighed softly and left without replying. Perhaps even he did not know.

Despair wound itself around him like a cloak, and Peter embraced it. There was nothing else.

Three days.

Three days passed.

Three days of utter sadness and bewilderment, three days of wondering what was going to happen.

Three days, and then Mary Magdalene came.

She came running, her eyes wide with shock and her face flushed from exertion. She grasped Peter’s hands.

“He’s gone!” she cried. “They have taken my Lord and He is gone! I know not where He is!”

Peter jerked away from her, staggered by her words. It was impossible. He had seen the tomb. He had seen the boulder rolled in front of it to prevent anyone’s entrance.

It wasn’t possible.

Run, Peter. Run and see how impossible it is.

And so he ran.

He ran to the tomb, to where Jesus of Nazareth had been laid to rest

The tomb was empty.

The burial linens were folded neatly on the ground.

Peter touched them in awe, confirming their existence.

It’s not possible.

Yes, it is. It is possible.

Peter saw Him, ate in His presence, and spoke with Him, and he knew it was true.

It’s true.

He is Risen.