The Most Bitter Pain

What a weekend- One day filled with bitter pain and two days later the most inconceivable joy. Who knew that one weekend could be filled with such sorrow and such joy.

......

I still cannot believe it. My mind cannot wrap itself around these past few days. 

One day here, the next gone, and then here again.

Wednesday he was here with us, at Martha's house. We sat and listened to him, as we often did. We had a casual meal- nothing big, just some bread, fish, and herbs. Nothing special at the time. I did not realize it would be the last meal of it's kind, though.
Wednesday evening I could tell something was wrong, he seemed- I do not know, sad. his eyes just looked sad. I could not figure out what was wrong- the sun had been shining all day and the soft breeze carried with it a soft scent of the season's first fig trees. It reminded me of when I first met him- about a year ago. So much has happened since then- I have learned so much and I really felt like I knew him and what he could do. I thought maybe some of his friends were going through a difficult time, one of them always seemed to have some sort of conflict in their life...

Thursday I had to take care of some business in the village and by the time I got home it was time to tidy up a bit- the gentle breeze from Wednesday had turned into a stronger wind on Thursday and there was a good layer of dust all over my tables and kitchen counters. The day seemed like many other days, but nothing could prepare me for the news I would receive that night.

I remember it so clearly, as though it were happening right now! I had just gone to bed and was just drifting off to a much needed sleep when I heard a voice calling me from a distance, getting closer and closer until I heard a banging on my door- it was Martha and she was sobbing. I could not imagine what happened. Maybe Lazarus had died? But surely she would know that Jesus could raise him from the dead again- he had done it once already, maybe he was going to have a bigger crowd this time and he needed to make more people believe he really was the son of God? Well, I climbed out of bed and answered the door- Martha looked paler than the unleavened flour we used for our bread today- she nearly collapsed into my arms.

"They have taken him," she sobbed, "They have arrested him and have taken him to Pilot. John and some of the others started to follow the crowd, but I think Peter is the only one to have gotten in to the courts outside Pilot's gate."

I could not believe my ears.

I stayed with Mary and Martha that night. We were unsure if we were safe- after all, he had brought Lazarus back from the dead-they might come after him too. Friday dawned very solemnly and by noon they had tried him, scourged and beaten him, mocked him, and sent him to die on a cross. I still could not believe it.

What was his plan? Was this not taking the whole miracle thing a little far? This was a little extreme. Surely after such horrible treatment he would heal himself before their eyes- maybe they would all believe then?

Blood ran down his now almost deformed body. I will never forget the pain that I saw that day. I caught glimpse of his eyes at one point and the sadness I had observed two days earlier was replaced with pain, a little determination and the most intense sorrow. I cannot explain just what I saw in that moment when our eyes met. I did not fully understand it myself- at least not then.

They took him to the top of the hill and they took those nails- nails like those used to secure thick ropes on to the ships Peter and John used to fish off of- and drove them into his wrists. The sound was like the beating of his heart, sharp and excruciating. Unexplainable. Then his feet. 

Oh the agony!

I noticed a soldier standing near by where the cross would be raise. He was just standing there. My heart condemned him for wearing the colours of the Roman Empire. How could he just stand there and watch, how could he live with himself for what they were doing to my friend? My heart was breaking, my head spinning, my face red and my blood boiling. I started to feel that familiar anger rising up in me again; I had not felt that since he had been talking to me about love, forgiveness and gentleness. I had actually started to conquer that anger. But now they were taking it all away. It was their fault- I could not help it!

.......

Everything was dark, like it was midnight, but it was only just before three in the afternoon. He cried out with a loud voice and then stopped breathing. I heard someone scream out the most heart wrenching cry of sadness and I felt myself fall to the ground. I realized that I had been the one who cried out.
I was sobbing uncontrollably. 

How could this happen? He said he was God! How could he die if he was God? Why did he not show them all how powerful he really was? Had I been following a liar? It could not be!

Then I heard a voice ever so soft, but clear as day,

"Truly this was the Son of God." it whispered.

I looked up, through my tears I saw that it was that same soldier my heart had condemned just a few hours earlier. Now my heart condemned me for my bitter thoughts towards this man who now had stronger faith than I.

I was so hurt, so confused...so...numb.

I went home that night and just sat. For hours I sat. I thought of all the conversations we had together, all the laughs we shared, all the tears he dried, the times he stopped me from saying what I should not, the times he smiled at me and I could feel his pleasure. They were wonderful memories, but what good were they all now?

The next few days were difficult to say the least. None of us really knew what to do. We all stayed inside most of the day and just sat together-night and day.

I woke up Sunday morning and expected to feel happy. I remembered that Jesus said something about maybe coming back to life on Sunday morning- I was sure I would know it if it really happened. Maybe there would have been an earthquake, or heaven would open up! I felt the opposite though. I felt even worse. He was not at my house, he was not at Mary and Martha's house, he was not there, with me, like he had been. I did not feel like he was alive. It must have just been another one of those figurative stories- he told many of those..

Finally, Mary and Martha and the other Mary and I decided we should see that his body was taken care of properly. With heavy hearts we prepared the incense and oils to put over his body. We trudged up to the place they had laid his body.

I looked up first.

I could not believe my eyes.

"Did we come to the right one?" I asked. "This tomb is open and their is a man alive by the stone!"

The other women gasped.

"Do not be frightened!" The man in white said kindly, "I know you are looking for Jesus- he died and was laid in this tomb three days ago. But he is no longer here."

"Where have the taken...." I tried to interrupt and ask the man, but he continued as though I had never opened my mouth.

"He is risen! Just like he always said he would. He is not dead anymore! Quickly! Go and tell your friends- tell his followers he is alive!"

I almost fell over- we were all already feeling weak from all the crying and none of us had really eaten for three days- no one felt like it. Was I hearing him correctly? Alive? It could not be. 

Suddenly I wondered if it was the Romans trying to trap his followers and get us all together, to round us up like a herd of goats. Get us all together and then arrest us. We decided it would be best not to say anything to the others. Who would believe us anyway- they would say we had just gone mad from the grief.

A little later, we were all sitting again in a room- just sitting quietly- when Mary Magdalene burst into the room. 

"I have seen him!" She exclaimed, "With my own two eyes I have seen him! He is alive, he is alive!!! I know you might now believe me, but you must!! I have just come from him, and he is alive!"

Of course no one believed her. I wondered that she would make such a claim after our agreement not to say anything about our encounter with the man at Jesus' tomb. Either she was being legit or she really had gone mad. The strange thing was, a couple of our friends said they had similar experiences.

Finally, Peter and John and the rest of the men were eating while Martha and I cooked and served them food when he came in.

Did you hear what I just said?

He CAME IN. Like, we had just set the food out when the door opened and I heard a voice. I knew instantly it was him. I did not know whether I was dreaming or it was real. I did not know whether to laugh or cry! My closest friend was dead yesterday. Like, the soldier pierced his side. He was crucified and pierced before being pronounced dead. There was no question about it.

But here he was- standing in the doorway.

He rebuked us. He rebuked us for not believing Mary and the other two who said they saw him. He rebuked us for our stubbornness and depression. 

His words stung.

My heart burned within me, like it had the first time he ever spoke to me and I knew I was wrong. Yes, this was him- I knew it was. I knew his voice. Then our eyes met. Those eyes that were always filled with such a deep kindness that had been darkened by sadness, pain, and sorrow were now shining with life! They were soaked in love and bright as though he had something more planned, but they also had a hint of disappointment in them. I knew he was disappointed with the judgement I had placed on the soldier at the cross, and the anger I had towards the Romans for killing him, and my mocking heart towards Mary. I knew it was because I had chosen to act on those feelings of anger, and bitterness. 

But the light that I saw in his eyes told me that I could leave it all behind- I could leave those things behind- he had already forgiven me!  When he said, "It is finished" on the cross before he died meant so much more than what I had thought. I understood- in that one look, I understood what he meant. He meant that all those bitter thoughts, the anger inside of me, the grief that I held on to- He had forgiven them all! That's why he had to die. 

Now I understood!!

I had wondered over and over again, but here was the answer! He died so I would not be held captive by those things. He was alive to show me that I could live without them. I could live now because he lived!

I can live because he lives. I can LIVE because HE LIVES!

He lives. He LIVES!

I still cannot believe it. But I know that I will never be the same. He is not here anymore. I saw him- with my own eyes-ascend into heaven. He said he had to go to prepare a place for us. He also said he would not leave us alone- he would send a Comforter. I know he did. I still fight those feelings of anger and bitterness inside of me sometimes, but I feel stronger now, I feel comforted. I do not feel alone anymore.

I know he is here-in me, though I cannot see him anymore, I know that he is here.

Knowing that makes everyday worth it. 

I can live now because He lives! Hallelujah!!