But for a small group of people this day was anything but ordinary. Imagine this: You are sitting in the small upper room of a hard-packed dirt house with only a few windows, and even those are thinly veiled by a curtain or shutter. Occasionally Philip will lift the corner of a curtain and peek out, but only for an instant. The 10 other apostles besides yourself are in the room also. There used to be twelve in total but after Judas killed himself two days ago the group found itself missing a member.
Everyone in the room is very quiet; some are holding their heads in their hands, others keep their eyes closed and pray silently. You can see their mouths moving ever so slightly over the familiar words of a familiar prayer. James, the brother of John, is sitting at the table in the corner with a pen poised over an almost blank sheet of paper. He must have been recording the last few days, but, like the rest, when remembering the horrors, couldn't bring himself to recall them anymore.
And what horrors were those? Three days ago the man that all of you had been following for many years - the man that filled you with so much hope for the future that you'd given up your lives before him, the man who had been your teacher and master - was dead. Three days ago the Romans killed him via crucifixion. Jesus of Nazareth had claimed to be the son of God sent from heaven to defeat evil and free the world from sin. But he had been killed by evil people and buried three long days ago. And already the people of Jerusalem were forgetting about him.
John, the brother of James, had been there, at the foot of the cross when Jesus died. He had looked into his eyes and heard with his own ears the master's last words: "Father, into your hands I commend my spirit!" He had said them in a loud voice so that all the onlookers could hear, and then he let out his last breath. John had returned to the upper room and had told the other disciples what had happened; the rest had been too afraid to even admit that they knew who Jesus was.
You had heard John's story too; you had listened from the corner that you had stayed in since you entered the upper room. You didn't care what the master had said, or what the other apostles were thinking. You were only conscious of your own unforgivable mistake. You had been there when Jesus was arrested. You saw him get dragged away; you followed far behind as he was taken to the Sanhedrin. You had sat outside while your master was under trial at the hands of wicked men, and when asked, you - Peter - had denied Jesus three times.
The weight of that choice had immediately settled on your shoulders and had not left since Jesus had died. How were you supposed to live the rest of your life with this guilt? Were you just supposed to go back to fishing? How would any of the disciples return to the lives they had lived before Jesus? Was this how following a great teacher was supposed to end? These questions crowded into your mind; they needed answers but there was no clear way to go. An atmosphere of dread and sadness filled the room, twisting itself around you. It was almost as if an invisible rope was tied around your chest, squeezing you, making it hard to breathe. You could feel it; could the rest of the disciples feel it?
How could he be alive? Jesus had died in the most brutal way possible, killed by the Roman scum that mocked him and his teachings. John had seen him die; he had been buried in the tomb of Joseph of Arimathea. The stone that was rolled in front of it took five men to move. Then how could Jesus be alive? Mary Magdalene and two other women who had also followed Jesus had burst in only moments before, terror and joy equally mixed on their faces.
"He's alive! Our master Jesus has risen from the dead just as he said he would!" they had shouted with jubilant voices. They said that a man dressed in white robes had been sitting at the tomb when they went there early in the morning to prepare Jesus' body with spices. But the tomb had been opened; they said the stone looked as it it had been blown down. The man in white had said such hopeful words: "Fear not. The man who you are looking for, Jesus, who was crucified, is not here. For he has risen just as he said he would."
The women were so happy, but how could he be alive? You, Peter, had run down to the tomb, thinking there was no way this could be true. John had gone with you. The tomb was open, the stone was split in two pieces across the door, and there were burn marks on the walls, as if some great lights had shone on them. John reached it first, and he stood in the doorway bracing himself against the door frame; you had pushed passed him and gone in. There was nobody, nothing, under the burial cloths, and the head wrap was folded and placed at the end of the table. Where was the master? Was he truly risen?
You mind played the scene at the tomb over and over again. Where was the body? Had the Romans taken it; why couldn't they just let him lay?
John was ecstatic! He had returned in joy like the women. But his hope was clouding the facts. There was no way that Jesus had risen. How could a dead man....live?
A bright light - brighter than any fire - then filled the room. It was a bright white light. It should have blinded everyone looking at it; you wanted to shield your eyes. The light didn't burn; it filled the room it was a kind light, a glow.
There was a shape in the center of it, the shape of a man. And as the light faded, he was revealed.
Lord!!!!
His kind eyes looked at all of us, his smile bright as the sun, his outstretched arms waiting for us to come. It was Jesus Christ, our master. He was alive, just like he said and as the angel had promised. Nothing in life had ever been so beautiful. A man who had been dead was alive again and standing right in front of you.
For many moments no one spoke; only the light of Jesus filled the room. Then in a voice that we had all thought we would never hear again, Jesus said, "Because you have seen me you believe. But blessed are those who have not seen me and yet believe."
The disciples gathered around him, their hearts full of joy and hope. Death had not stopped the Lord. And with his hands that still showed the nail piercings, Jesus blessed his apostles. The room filled with light, and he was gone.
No comments:
Post a Comment