a story of hope
I rarely write fiction, but I love to imagine what it might have been like to live through historic events. Here's what I imagine Easter may have looked like for Mary Magdalene. May your Easter be filled with hope because He is alive!
I saw it all. Every single heart wrenching detail. And for the second time in my life, I lost all hope.
The sky went black in the middle of the day. I knew that darkness all too well. I had lived in it for far too long. That kind of darkness only comes when Satan rules. People were crying, soldiers were yelling, but I couldn't make sense of anything. My mind was consumed with the memories associated with that darkness.
In an instant, the memories took me back to the street, the voices, the war. A crowd had formed around one man... Jesus. I was not interested, so I skirted my way around the crowd like I always did. Crowds made me nervous and I seemed to make the crowds nervous. People would whisper and I got a lot of sideways glances. Once, I overheard a lady say something wasn't right with my eyes. I had no idea what my eyes looked like, but I knew exactly why they looked different. The demons had changed who I was and apparently, they had also changed the way I looked. So I avoided people as much as I could and as I did, my world became darker and darker. The demons seemed to thrive on solitude. And after decades of living in that dark Hell, I had lost all hope of ever being whole... until that day in the middle of the street.
As I edged my way past the throng, that man Jesus called me by name, "Mary." How long had it been since someone had spoken my name? No one even knew my name. No one had ever asked. I turned and looked at Him. Immediately, the demon voices started. But something different was happening here! Instead of threatening, the voices were begging for mercy! Mercy from Him. They called him the Son of God! The battle for control, was intense and short. It was over when He spoke. The force of it all threw me to the ground and then I realized, the voices were gone! TOTALLY GONE! And there was LIGHT! For the first time in decades, I wasn't being choked by the darkness. In the middle of that dusty street, the first spark of hope began to blaze.
In the darkness, I heard that centurion say, "Surely, this was the Son of God." The sobs began to wrack my body. Until then, I had watched the scenes unfold in a state of shock. Unable to look away, yet horrified at what I saw. I wanted to scream, "Of course He was! Even the demons recognized that! But now He's gone and the darkness is back!" It choked me just like it had all those years before and I could almost hear the demons laughing. They had killed my only source of hope... my Jesus.
I can barely remember the next 3 days. They were a blur of fear, heartache, and hopelessness. How do you pick up and go on with life when the very Giver of Life has died? How do you hang on to hope when Hope has been buried? You may ask why we forgot his promise of rising again? All I have to say is this, when you have watched someone die a death like that, new life is the very last thing on your mind.
Right before dawn, the darkest part of the night, several other ladies and I made our way to His tomb. We expected a stone, a mangled body, and a final farewell. We didn't expect Heaven light, angels, and no body at all. The angels smiled and asked why we were looking for the living among the dead? They said He had risen. Risen? Could it be true? No, it couldn't be! Someone must have stolen his body. That was the only logical explanation!
I walked away from that empty tomb with tears streaming down my face. I was overcome with disappointment and confusion. I nearly ran right into the gardener. He asked why I was crying. Between sobs, I explained how my Master's body had been stolen and begged him to tell me where it was. I started to walk away and then, just like that day on the dusty street, he called me by name, "Mary." I turned and looked and I knew. I KNEW!
It was Him. He was ALIVE! Death had been defeated! Hell's darkness had been bound! I was speechless. I could only worship. As I fell at his feet, a hundred emotions swept over me.... relief, joy, wonder. But above all, hope.
O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory? 1 Corinthians 15:55
I saw it all. Every single heart wrenching detail. And for the second time in my life, I lost all hope.
The sky went black in the middle of the day. I knew that darkness all too well. I had lived in it for far too long. That kind of darkness only comes when Satan rules. People were crying, soldiers were yelling, but I couldn't make sense of anything. My mind was consumed with the memories associated with that darkness.
In an instant, the memories took me back to the street, the voices, the war. A crowd had formed around one man... Jesus. I was not interested, so I skirted my way around the crowd like I always did. Crowds made me nervous and I seemed to make the crowds nervous. People would whisper and I got a lot of sideways glances. Once, I overheard a lady say something wasn't right with my eyes. I had no idea what my eyes looked like, but I knew exactly why they looked different. The demons had changed who I was and apparently, they had also changed the way I looked. So I avoided people as much as I could and as I did, my world became darker and darker. The demons seemed to thrive on solitude. And after decades of living in that dark Hell, I had lost all hope of ever being whole... until that day in the middle of the street.
As I edged my way past the throng, that man Jesus called me by name, "Mary." How long had it been since someone had spoken my name? No one even knew my name. No one had ever asked. I turned and looked at Him. Immediately, the demon voices started. But something different was happening here! Instead of threatening, the voices were begging for mercy! Mercy from Him. They called him the Son of God! The battle for control, was intense and short. It was over when He spoke. The force of it all threw me to the ground and then I realized, the voices were gone! TOTALLY GONE! And there was LIGHT! For the first time in decades, I wasn't being choked by the darkness. In the middle of that dusty street, the first spark of hope began to blaze.
In the darkness, I heard that centurion say, "Surely, this was the Son of God." The sobs began to wrack my body. Until then, I had watched the scenes unfold in a state of shock. Unable to look away, yet horrified at what I saw. I wanted to scream, "Of course He was! Even the demons recognized that! But now He's gone and the darkness is back!" It choked me just like it had all those years before and I could almost hear the demons laughing. They had killed my only source of hope... my Jesus.
I can barely remember the next 3 days. They were a blur of fear, heartache, and hopelessness. How do you pick up and go on with life when the very Giver of Life has died? How do you hang on to hope when Hope has been buried? You may ask why we forgot his promise of rising again? All I have to say is this, when you have watched someone die a death like that, new life is the very last thing on your mind.
Right before dawn, the darkest part of the night, several other ladies and I made our way to His tomb. We expected a stone, a mangled body, and a final farewell. We didn't expect Heaven light, angels, and no body at all. The angels smiled and asked why we were looking for the living among the dead? They said He had risen. Risen? Could it be true? No, it couldn't be! Someone must have stolen his body. That was the only logical explanation!
I walked away from that empty tomb with tears streaming down my face. I was overcome with disappointment and confusion. I nearly ran right into the gardener. He asked why I was crying. Between sobs, I explained how my Master's body had been stolen and begged him to tell me where it was. I started to walk away and then, just like that day on the dusty street, he called me by name, "Mary." I turned and looked and I knew. I KNEW!
It was Him. He was ALIVE! Death had been defeated! Hell's darkness had been bound! I was speechless. I could only worship. As I fell at his feet, a hundred emotions swept over me.... relief, joy, wonder. But above all, hope.
O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory? 1 Corinthians 15:55
You have done a good job of making the story come alive.
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