Rocky Days

Rocky Days

The Sabbath. And not just any Sabbath – it was the Pasch as well.
A beam of sunlight came into the room from a crack by one of the eastern windows, shining into the eyes of a young man rolled up in robes on the floor. He got up from his impromptu sleeping place, rubbing his eyes and looking around. The others were still asleep. He counted. With him, still only ten. He yawned, and went downstairs.

“John!” came a quiet voice. “You’re awake.” He bent over and hugged the woman he would now always call “Mother.”
“The sun was shining in. We were up late, talking...”
She nodded, and beckoned him outside. “We were too; the extra sleep will be good for them.”
They walked out to a wooden bench beneath a tree, then sat down.
The woman glanced back at the building, alert for any sign of activity. “At first Magdalen was difficult, then Martha and her sister talked to her – then they all started discussing plans for tomorrow.”
“Yes... The Sabbath will be over, and we’ll be permitted to move the stone.” He nodded to himself, remembering that past evening, as the sun neared the horizon, the roughly hewn stone groaning as it slid into place, sealing the tomb. “And you?”
The huge, honest eyes of the woman seemed to gleam with unspoken thoughts. Her tears had ceased last evening when the stone fell into place. But she knew the Scriptures; she had made her plans long ago. Already she could see the gates opening, and the lifting up of ancient portals. A corner of her mouth twitched slightly. It would be so easy to say, “I have my own plans, dear,” but the young man would not understand. Not yet.
So she turned her tender gaze on the young man she would now always call “son,” and said, “Oh, I’ll be needed here. You can bring me any news, dear.” She lowered her eyes and looked away quickly.
The young man gulped. “Mother!” He put his arms around her.
She put a hand up to his face, her expression unreadable. “You’ve – you’ve been crying, my son.” He didn’t notice that she had changed the subject. Mothers are good at that.
“You said that Magdalen was difficult – but she’ll have things that need to be done. The others – they came in, one by one – it was like that story He told us about – the prodigal – they told me their shame, their betrayal. So I welcomed them back.”
She looked at him, a smile forming on her lips. “Then?”
“We talked. One by one they fell asleep. I kept going back to the door, waiting.”
“Why?” How, he thought to himself, could anyone ever describe the tenderness in her voice – the care she expressed in that one tiny question.
“He didn’t come back.”
“Peter.” It was a statement. He felt her shake slightly, and she brushed his hair out of his eyes. His own mother had done that many times.
Then she stood up, looking into the distant east. “So many have fallen – Adam and Eve. Abraham, Sarah, Isaac and Ishmael, Jacob and Esau, Joseph and Judah and his brothers... David...”
John remained seated, eyes downcast. “The list is long, so long – now, Judas – and Peter.”
“Judas?” she repeated, and sighed. “Yes. And for each one the Father waited – and those who turned back, and acknowledged their wrongdoing, they were welcomed back.” She looked down at the young man, and he looked up. “You have done well.”
There was a faint sound of scuffing sandals coming up the path outside the wall. Even more softly than usual, she added, “And now, you must do it again.” She turned and went back inside.
The scuffing paused outside near the gate. For a moment, the garden was silent but the young man jumped up, lifted the bar, and pulled open the wooden door.
“Come in, Peter.” He hoped his smile was reassuring, but Peter had a hand over his eyes.
The hand dropped for a moment, and for a moment John could see Peter’s red, exhausted eyes and stricken face. He put his arm around Peter’s shoulders and led him to the seat beneath the tree.

“John! I...” The voice was rough, almost inaudible. “I had to come back. I had to hear the rest... I – I didn’t want to knock – I wasn’t sure anyone would let me in.”
“Why? We all ran that night. We didn’t go with Him. We weren’t whipped...”
Peter began to sob. “You didn’t deny Him as I did. Three times I would, He told me, and three times I did – three times!”
John sat silently, waiting, his arm still around Peter’s shoulders, remembering the prophecy – and its fulfillment.
“Where did you go then?”
“I ran, weeping, out into the wilderness, far... I didn’t want anyone to see me.” John nodded, understanding well that feeling which had scattered the other nine, even his own brother, from Gethsemane – that feeling which had pursued Peter, and even to a measure himself. He, John, had snuck into places, listening and remembering – but he had not been scourged, taunted, crowned with thorns, and crucified. Indeed, he remembered with horror, the places on His left and right had been reserved, and for neither John nor his brother! Yet, whether John’s choice was wrong or not, Peter had acted impetuously, as usual.
But Peter noticed neither the nod nor the thoughtful silence. Tears still ran down his face. “I sat on a rock, sat and wept, thinking of how easily I had done the very thing I had sworn I wouldn’t do. I didn’t think of what would be happening to Him. At daybreak, I got my bearings and headed back for the city. I had run far – it took a while. I got back just when they were coming out of the gate – I was hidden by some bushes – they came out, and I saw Him and the others going to Golgotha... then I ran again, I could not bring myself to watch. Before I knew it, I was in that valley where the town dump is, watching the fires burn, and thinking of my denials...”
He was silent for a time, then John asked, “What made you come back?”
“It got dark early, you remember? Not like any storm I’ve ever seen. And I was terrified. But a body can only stand so much – I hadn’t slept at all – so in the darkness I fell asleep, and woke not long ago, in the cold night. I went back to Gethsemane, and prayed there, weeping; I didn’t dare go over to Golgotha. And I knew I had to come back here, and see if ... see what had happened... and if there was any way I could ...” He covered his face and wept bitterly.
“I saw it all, I’ll tell you what happened,” John told him. “And we need you, your strength – remember, ‘once you have turned, Simon, strengthen your brothers’? I tried, but I can’t do it by myself.” He sighed. “Peter, I’m glad you came back. Didn’t you see how I opened the gate before you knocked? Don’t you remember? ‘And the son was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and was moved with compassion...’ ”
Peter’s sobs broke off and he looked into John’s eyes. “You did, didn’t you?” He chuckled a little, almost choking.
“Don’t move, Peter; there’s some water just inside; I’ll get it for you.”
After Peter drank some water, John recounted yesterday’s events in detail. “...And when he pulled out the spear, blood and water came out. Blood and water, Peter! Not just blood, but blood and water!”
But Peter was a paragraph or two behind. “She’s here? Mother?”
John nodded, then he broke into sobs, and it was Peter’s turn to do the comforting. He fumbled for words, and as usual was bluntly honest.
“This was what He had told us, John – you remember, ‘take up your cross and follow Me’?”
John nodded, still unable to speak for sobbing.
But Peter had begun to see something, and he didn’t want to lose sight of it. “John, His predictions are always being proven true – three times, He said, I would deny,” his voice almost broke, but he went on – “three times I would deny Him, and I did so, three times. He said He would take up the cross, and suffer death – and so He did. But John – John!” He shook his young friend with all his sailor’s strength.
John’s sobs stopped abruptly. “What, Peter?”
“That’s not all He said. He said something more, several times, several ways. He said something about rising again on the third day.”
“You’re right, Peter. He did say that.”
“Here, John, have some water. Then wipe your face, and see if the others are up. I think we ought to talk.”

The Sabbath passed quickly. The other nine were soon awake, and happy to see Peter. A spring shower had begun to fall, so they returned to the upper room, and sat in a circle, each repeating whatever he could recall of the Master’s words. Some unleavened cakes and other edibles were left from Thursday’s feast, but no one seemed willing to touch them.
The rain stopped just before sunset, and soon Martha came up the steps with a lighted lamp. “The Sabbath is past, a new day begins. When we have light again, there’ll be a lot to do, so we’re making some bread now...”
After the simple meal, they prayed together a while, and resumed their reminiscences as the lamps burned lower and lower. Peter still had a hollow look about him, but his warm acceptance by John and the others restored some of his old character. Likewise, the others, reassured by Peter’s return, found their doubts and worries somehow less urgent. It was almost as if there was some kind of hope left for them, something exciting which still awaited. One by one they fell silent, dropping off into welcome sleep. As Peter watched, the last lamp flickered and went out. On the borders of sleep, John thought he heard Peter reciting a psalm...

“I will bless the Lord, who hath given me understanding: moreover, my reins also have corrected me even till night. I set the Lord always in my sight: for he is at my right hand, that I be not moved. Therefore my heart hath been glad, and my tongue hath rejoiced: moreover, my flesh also shall rest in hope. Because thou wilt not leave my soul in hell; nor wilt thou give thy holy one to see corruption. Thou hast made known to me the ways of life, thou shalt fill me with joy with thy countenance: at thy right hand are delights even to the end...”

* * *

It was dark, deep dark, and cold. John heard a faint noise downstairs, and got up to investigate. As he came silently down the stairs, the outer door opened and the light of a moon just days past full revealed a cloaked figure.
John drew a sudden breath, shaken to his deepest being. “Mother!” he whispered.
The woman turned back. “Don’t hold onto me, son. Go back to sleep, for now. The sun will rise soon.”
He nodded and rubbed his eyes, yawning. She smiled and turned away, down the garden path. He scratched his head – did she just smile? Did her eyes flash with a light he had once before – on the mountain called Tabor? Where was she going? He yawned again, went back up the stairs and fell asleep. In the morning, he didn’t remember it at all – not even as a dream – but in later years, he would catch a glimpse of that smile, and feel a strange thrill of joy.

* * *

The house shook with a thud, and John drifted awake. The faintest predawn light made the windows visible. He heard Martha downstairs wail, “Mary, be careful!” Subdued murmurings and thumpings, as the outer door closed twice, three times. He rolled over and fell asleep again.
But not for long.
There was a thump and clatter as someone tried to open the big front door. Then a thunderous thud which shook the building as the door flew open – then a woman’s voice calling up the stairs “Peter! James! Andrew! John! Wake up! Matthew! Thomas! Philip! James-Bar-Alphaeus! Bartholomew! Simon! Jude! Wake up!”
Peter got up and went over to the stairs. “What is it, Mary?”
“The tomb is open! His body is gone!”
John felt a thrill run through him. He gasped. “The third day...” he said to himself, and jumped erect. “Come on, Peter, we’ve got to go see.
They practically tumbled down the stairs, struggling out of sleep in the early light.

In moments all eleven were downstairs. John’s new mother was sitting in a corner, looking intently toward the front door. There stood Mary Magdalen, still breathing hard after her run. Peter stared at her in silence, wondering.
“What’s this, now?” asked Thomas. “The tomb open?”
“Street talk yesterday was that the temple gang asked Pilate for guards,” said Matthew, “and he told them to guard it themselves.”
“Nobody touches a corpse on the Sabbath,” added Philip. “And even Romans have some respect for death.”
Thomas shook his head. “Then who would have taken the body?” He waved a hand of dismissal. “It’s grief – or hysteria. Imagining things.”
“John, didn’t you tell me there’s a big stone rolled in front of the tomb?” asked his brother.
“Sure is, it took five of us to open it.”
“Then,” James went on, “Who moved it? Not the guards – and certainly not four or five women.”

“You don’t believe me, do you?” Mary Magdalen smiled wryly. She knew what she had seen, and they would know soon enough. It reminded her of the time her mother had told her about elephants – hard to believe, but still true. She could be patient with these children today... “It doesn’t matter what you think; all the others saw it too, and they’ll be back here soon enough. I ran on ahead and beat them all, chattering away about the angels. Too bad about all that myrrh,” she chuckled to herself. “All over the ground...”
They could hear the other women approaching, their voices loud on the path.
“Angels?” Peter asked Magdalen as the others came in, chattering away about what they had seen, some still clutching the bundles of spices.
“Hush!” Magdalen ordered the others. “I’m telling this.” The room fell silent. “Angels they were – two of ‘em,” she said. “Faces like lighting, robes like snow. ‘Fear not’, the one says, ‘I know you seek Jesus who was crucified. He is not here, for he is risen as he said’.”
The other women clamored in affirmation, while the men began calling out questions.
“Peter!” John exclaimed over the din, “this is the third day! We’ve got to go see! Come on! I’ll race you!” He ran out the door.
Peter smiled at Mary. “We’ll be back soon,” he told the others. Then he set off after John. Meanwhile, their mother sat in the corner smiling and listening to the voices.

* * *

John got to the tomb first. The stone was rolled back and wedged as it had been Friday afternoon. No one was around. He bent down to look in, but could make out nothing in the dim light. Better to wait for Peter; he knew there had to be at least two witnesses if anyone ever asked.
Soon Peter came trotting up, breathing hard. He went in, and John followed. The linens were lying there, the very same ones... John even saw what looked like dried blood. And that smaller piece for the face – it was rolled up and apart from the shroud. Nobody would have bothered taking them off and leaving them, if all they wanted was to remove the body – what would have been the point? The only reason – as utterly fantastic, unbelievable, impossible as it was – would be if the body didn’t need them any longer. A living body doesn’t wear the garments of death.
They said nothing to each other. What could they say? So they went off, silently and separately, walking down the road in the early spring sunshine.

* * *

When John neared the place where they were staying, he saw his new mother walking up the path, carrying a water jug.
“It really is empty,” he told her. “The body is gone.”
He took the water jug, his gaze fixed on her face. In her eyes was a gleam, and she was smiling. He was about to say something more, but she gestured for silence. He followed her in, and after he had poured them each a drink, he put the vessel into its place. He stuck his head upstairs but the place was empty. He went out into the garden, and saw her sitting under the tree, smiling with the air of one who waits for a long-expected delight.
They sat there silently in the cool bright air. Then came the sound of running feet. The gate crashed open. Mary Magdalen stood there, panting – she saw them and ran to them, announcing, “I have seen the Lord!”
Magdalen had begun to tell her story when the gate crashed again, and James and Andrew came in, followed by James-Bar-Alphaeus and Philip. They all reported, “It’s true, the stone was moved, and the tomb is empty!” But Mary Magdalen shook her head, laughing with joy. “You see? But there’s more to tell...”
The other women came in, heard the news, and soon went out again: things were happening, but people were going to be hungry, and there was a report of fresh fish to be had. Matthew showed up with news from the Procurator’s office, then went out to the tomb. Jude and Simon had been to the temple, hoping to pick up some town talk after the Sabbath, then they hurried out to the tomb as well.
Through all this, Mary and John sat beneath the tree, listening to everything, and storing it up in their hearts. But like yesterday, they were again waiting for another piece of news, to be brought by one particular man.
After the women had returned from their shopping and had begun preparations for dinner, they again heard the scuffing sandals on the path, and the gate swung open with a crash. Peter stood there, smiling. “I saw Him. He’s alive.” He was silent then, catching his breath, then he sniffled. “I was afraid, when I saw Him. But you know what He said? ‘Fear not, Simon, son of John’.” He chuckled and shook his head. “Say, I’m hungry. Do we have anything here to eat?”
John and Mary looked at each other and laughed.
“There’ll be broiled fish soon,” John told him. “Go wash up, then we’ll talk before dinner.”
He gave his mother a hug, and she nodded quietly as he went in. She knew the surprises had only begun.

* * *

Later that evening, as they were finishing their dinner, they again heard the gate crash, and banging on the front door. Two disciples ran up the stairs, having come all the way back from Emmaus with news that they had seen Jesus risen from the dead.
Someone laughed, and told them, “The Lord is risen indeed and has appeared to Simon.”
Then, finally, though the doors were locked, there was someone else standing there in the room with them, and He said, “Peace! Fear not. It is I.”