My Messiah Lives!

I watched numbly, looking up to the good and gentle man who hung on a cross before me…He had been my friend. I thought he was the Messiah, the living Son of God, who would save His people, like he had saved me. But I confess I found myself doubting….there he was dying before my eyes. Why would he not save himself? I didn’t understand. I felt such pain, grief and anger rip through my soul I thought I would break.

The thief crucified next to Jesus turned to him. I strained to hear as the man murmured, "Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom."

Jesus' words to the condemned man echoed clearly across the hilltop: "Today you will be with me in Paradise." A chill tingled down my spine. Even at death, Jesus kept on forgiving. My thoughts surged back to the first time I had met him and how my life was changed forever.

I grew up in a village along the Sea of Galilee. I was wealthy yet I was unhappy.

I was no stranger to the oppression and torment of the demonic. Often driven to compulsive, destructive acts, I despised myself, hated my deeds, but couldn't seem to stop. I tried so hard, I called out to God in the middle of my darkness to rescue me. Finally, my husband grew disgusted and impatient with my erratic behaviour. He sent me back home to my father. I thought my life was over until I heard of a man from Nazarene was teaching great things. My heart leapt into my throat. Maybe he could help me!

The kingdom of God was right here, he said. He talked of forgiveness, of cleansing, of wholeness. The sick and maimed were healed when he touched them. God seemed to be all around. At Jesus' command demons would come out screaming, and lives were liberated and transformed.

I felt strangely drawn to Him…yet there was this nameless terror raging inside me. Could I trust Him? Dare I even try? What if he couldn’t help me? What if he rejects me? I had to force myself to join the group that crowded around Jesus. My turn came at last. I looked up in panic. He looked down in love.

Then his eyes narrowed and seemed to pierce right into my soul. I stepped back in fear. “Oh no! What have I done?” I thought. His words were hard: "Come out of her, you foul demons, and let her go!" My body stiffened, my chest tightened. I thought I would burst. I wanted to scream. And then it was over. My muscles began to relax. I saw his gentle smile. "Mary, you're forgiven," he said, "and you're free."

Free?  I thought.  Dare I even hope that might be true? Then I realized that I was free! I felt so clean, so light, so renewed. I wanted to dance, to sing. I jumped up and started hugging all the startled women who stood nearby. I skipped home that night. Joy and peace consumed me.

An aching cry from the cross jerked me back to the present. My Lord was dying.

I listened through my tears. The voice that once proclaimed God's kingdom on the hillsides of Galilee now shouted hoarsely, "It is finished!" His head dropped to his chest.

Thunder clouds which had been gathering ominously all afternoon now cracked. Lightning flashed across the gruesome hilltop. Jesus' body hung limp; the others writhed. Around her she could hear the sobbing of Jesus' mourners. She took one long last look, then buried her face and wept.

Whack! An ear-splitting scream from one of the thieves pierced the eerie darkness. A soldier had shattered his legs with a club to make sure he died before Sabbath began at sundown. Whack! Another scream.

They came to Jesus. Oh, no, dear God, spare him, I prayed. He's already dead. The centurion knew, I could see, but to make sure, he motioned to a soldier to thrust his spear into the Teacher's chest. Bloody water gushed out, and then slowed to a dribble for a time. Surely, he was dead.

A soldier began to loosen the nail that fixed Jesus' feet to the cross. Two others on ladders unlashed the crossbeam from the upright and carefully lowered it -- Jesus' body still attached -- to their compatriots below. A couple minutes more were needed to pull the spikes from splintered holes in the crosspiece where countless other hands had bled.

Now I recognized Nicodemus who brought two new disciples. They were carrying a stretcher onto which they lifted the body. In the courtyard outside the sepulcher, I carefully washed the pale body, removing every trace of dried blood from his mutilated back.

Night was falling. Nicodemus and the others worked quickly now, binding the body with long strips of linen, enfolding what few spices they had with them as they wrapped. Finally, they tenderly lay the body on a limestone niche in the new tomb. I watched while they heaved the massive stone into place across the opening to the tomb. It was dark when they turned to leave.

The Sabbath seemed to drag on endlessly. Despite the pain the thought evoked, I determined to go back Sunday morning to finish anointing the Master's body with spices. I owed him that.

Saturday's sun finally dipped below the mountains; Sabbath was over I hurried to the spice merchant's shop and pounded on the door until he came downstairs and let me in. Spices for a burial, I insisted. No, I couldn't wait till morning.

Sleep that night came in brief snatches. Long before sunrise, I was dressed to meet two other women I’d asked to help me. Gray dawn streaked the sky as they set out. Hurrying along, I had forgotten about the stone! Who will move it?

As we came in sight of the tomb, I gasped. The stone had already been pushed aside. "Grave robbers!" I cried. "Can't they leave him alone -- even in death?"

I ran and ran until I found Peter and John. "They've taken the Lord's body out of the tomb," I said breathlessly. "We don't know where they've put him!"

Peter and John took off sprinting. Too tired to run any farther, I trudged slowly back to the garden tomb. I peered into the dank tomb.

Only coiled shroud-wrappings remained where the body had been. Suddenly, the dim tomb was lit by the dazzling appearance of two men. Instinctively, I shielded my eyes from the brightness and bowed in terror. One of the angels spoke:

"Why do you seek the living among the dead?"

What does he mean? I wondered. What is he talking about?

"You seek Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He is not here, for he has risen as he said."

I was dazed, even after the angels departed. Risen? I thought. How could Jesus be alive? I had washed the corpse myself. Wasn't it just too good to be true? Could I cling to something this wonderful only to have my hopes dashed once more?

But if it were true……. if it were true, then Jesus' whole life had meaning. If it were true, then he was the Messiah after all. If it were true, then the One who healed my tormented spirit had conquered death itself. If it were true....

The sound of footsteps intruded on my thoughts. I glanced up. It must be the caretaker, the gardener. He asked me why I was weeping and who I was looking for. Didn't he know who had been buried here? I asked him to return the body if he had taken it. I looked at the ground, struggling to hold back my tears. He couldn’t help me. The only one who could help me was gone.

He reached out and lifted my chin until our eyes met. As I looked through my tears, he said my name. My heart raced, my hair stood up on my arms. Could it be? Oh! It WAS Him! I dropped to my knees and kissed his feet. Jesus, my Lord was alive! Alive forever more! After a few moments, I looked up but He had slipped away. I ran and told the disciples what had happened. They were cynical and jeered at me “Sure, Mary…..why should the Lord appear to YOU anyway – a woman and one with YOUR history no less?”

Why indeed? I thought. He appeared to His disciples later that same day…but He had chosen me first! Maybe to show me that I was truly accepted. Maybe to calm my doubt. Maybe to show that his forgiveness was forever. Why indeed? I was never sure. But this I did know: My Messiah lives!