EASTER SUNDAY! Looking for the Living Among the Dead

The women ventured to the tomb;

                Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary and other women walked together;

It was early in the morning,

                On the first day of the week;

They brought with them spices,

                Prepared to anoint the body of Jesus,

                So that the stench of death be overcome by the fake fragrance of life.

Very few words were spoken in the cold crisp air,

                Until they realized the tomb was still sealed.

“Who will move the stone?” they asked each other,

                As they continued their journey to the tomb.

They were walking a path to pay their respects for the one who died,

                Wishing to honor him who honored them.

They were looking for the body of Jesus,

                But they were looking for the living among the dead.

They weren’t afraid of the Jews,

                They weren’t afraid of retaliation.

The eleven faithful followers of Jesus,

                Were hiding behind closed and locked doors;

                Spiritually paralyzed.

                Gripped with fear.

                Losing all hope.

                Believing the worst was yet to come.

The Apostles believed the Jews were coming after them

                For if the Jews had Jesus on their list, then they were next.

But the women showed courage;

                Leaving the security of their homes,

                Walking exposed in the open countryside.

They were looking for the body of Jesus,

                But they were looking for the living among the dead.

As they approached the tomb,

Bewildered shock overcame them like a plot twist in a gripping novel;

The stone was already moved!

                Rolled from the moment the sun pierced the darkness;

Someone had cleared an easy path into the tomb;

                Nothing now prevented them from getting to Jesus.

The lane was opened,

                As the road was cleared;

With anticipation in their eyes, they picked up their pace,

                The slow methodical walk quickened to a brisk walk,

                Drawn even more to the tomb;

As they reached their destination, they peered into the tomb;

                Nothing.

                Nobody.

                No body.

                Only a simple cloth where Jesus once laid.

                The tomb was empty.

With saucer-like eyes they stared,

                Words were no longer spoken.

                Words were no longer needed.

The angel suddenly appeared gleaming like lightening,

                And the women fell to the ground.

He spoke to them saying,

                “He is not here!

                He is risen!

                So why are you looking for the living among the dead?”

They left the tomb to find the apostles.

                With joy like the wind in their sails

                They rushed back to the disciples;

They told them the good news;

                They said the tomb was empty;

                They recounted of their encounter with the angel;

                They alerted them that he had risen;

                They declared that Jesus was alive!

But the men did not believe the women.

                They wondered what the empty tomb meant,

                As they too were looking for the living among the dead.

Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e., only God is glorified!)

If I Were A Roman Soldier at the Crucifixion

If I were a Roman Soldier at the Crucifixion I would see . . .
Crowds of anxious people gathering at Golgotha to witness the crucifixion;
The face of an innocent man – no – the face of God suffering for his people;
Charges nailed above the criminal’s head pronouncing, “King of the Jews;”
The sun blackening the daylight into nighttime. 

 If I were a Roman Soldier at the Crucifixion I would smell . . .
Rawness of flesh from the accused’s back where he was flogged at his trial;

The stench of death as life drains out of the condemned;
An overwhelming odor of salty sweat secreting from the crowds in the heat of the day;

The metallic mixture of blood and water as the sword pierces the dead man’s side.

If I were a Roman Soldier at the Crucifixion I would feel . . .
The crowds pressing forward to get as close as earshot to the criminals;
The grip of the hammer’s handle as I nailed the hands and feet of the victim to the
 cross;
A sliver from the cross painfully piercing my finger while assembling the cross;
Uneasiness as somehow the wrong man was executed today. 

If I were a Roman Soldier at the Crucifixion I would hear . . .
In loud tones, “Father! Forgive them” from the middle victim;
Crowds hurling and heaping insults while shouting their approval;
The wounded weeping of women, collapsing at the foot of the cross;
My Centurion saying, “Surely, he was the Son of God.”

If I were a Roman Soldier at the Crucifixion I would taste . . .
The bitter wine-vinegar drink offered to the one suffering;
Drops of sweat dripping down my face from the heat of the day;
The gathering of saliva in my mouth to spit on the condemned;
The injustice of watching this particular man die.

If I were a Roman Soldier at the Crucifixion.

Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e. only God is glorified!)