This was no way for a prophet to end. Except for a few women, courageous to the point of foolhardy loyalty, his followers—the tax collector, the fisherman, the crowd-control experts, indeed the whole raft of self-important male strategists and thunder-thinkers who attached themselves to the prophet—fled as far from the scene as their uncertain legs would carry them. –THOMAS CAHILL
They arose early that day, just before the sun's rays gave birth to the post-Sabbath dawn. Gathering the spices they had procured the previous night, they headed back to the tomb where just thirty-six hours ago his lifeless body had been placed. As they made their way in the dark, grief slowed their pace and limited their speech. It was still almost incomprehensible that he was dead.
They had adored and respected him, this prophet from Nazareth. He was wonderfully different than anyone they had ever encountered. His kindness transcended gender; his rebuke targeted pedigree and position; his teaching eclipsed rabbi and Pharisee. He, the friend of outcast and sinner, was their present help and future hope. They had provided him food and lodging and had often accompanied him on his travels. Then suddenly, in a matter of hours, it had all fallen apart.
How brutal and unjust his death had been! Standing a short distance from the executioners, they had seen and heard it all—lacerations on his back and thorns in his scalp; spikes in his extremities, a spear in his side; ridicule from all sides; the pleasure of his enemies and the paradox of his compassion; the stripping of all clothing and dignity, at least outwardly; the lament of his spirit at his Father's absence; the yielding of his spirit to his Father's embrace; the decree of death, no bones broken; the haste of burial, no spices applied.
Determined to finish the task, the three women—Mary Magdalene, the grateful demoniac transformed by his healing and message; Salome, the wife of Zebedee and mother of James and John; "the other Mary," mother of James the Lesser (also one of the Twelve) and possibly the aunt or cousin of Jesus—marched that morning through the shadow of Golgotha toward Jesus' tomb, united in his death as they had been by his life. Little did they know they were walking into the intersection of all history. Not one of them in the least expected to be a player in the first Easter.
What if these women had not made that short journey outside the walls of Jerusalem that day? What if they had remained in isolation, paralyzed by fear and grief? Then they never would have seen an empty tomb nor heard an angelic message, and Peter and John would never have hurried to the tomb to confirm their story. The only firsthand account of the grave scene would have been that of the Roman guard, and the Jewish leaders' charge of grave robbery would have been hard to refute. Because of the devotion of these women, just the opposite is true. Their testimony of an empty tomb and a risen Lord contradicted Roman spin and gave Easter instant credibility.
May I ask you something, Mary Magdalene? Isn't it possible that the disciples fabricated the resurrection by stealing the body of Jesus?
"No! The disciples were in hiding. They were clueless until we told them."
Salome, some people say the tomb was empty that morning because you women went to the wrong site.
"That's ludicrous! Two days earlier we stood there while
Joseph of Arimathea placed Jesus in that tomb. We knew where to go on Sunday."
Then what about the swoon theory? Is it possible, Mary, that Jesus was not really dead when he was placed in the tomb and recovered enough to walk out on his own?
"No way! We were at Golgotha. We watched him suffer. We heard the centurion pronounce him dead. We witnessed the spear pierce his side. We observed his lifeless form as he was carried to the tomb. And when we saw him on Sunday, he was not a recovering victim but a resurrected Lord!"
Well, ladies, couldn't it all just be a convenient story made up later, a Resurrection hoax? Couldn't the early church have concocted the whole thing to convince others to join the movement?
"Does our story seem fictional to you? Do you think we could have come up with this on our own? And why would the early church make up a story where women, especially common women like us, were the first eyewitnesses? Wouldn't they have placed someone at the scene other than a healed demoniac, a fisherman's wife, and a female relative of the deceased?"
Then what is your explanation of the Easter story?
"Jesus died on Friday and was hastily buried in Joseph's tomb. We saw it all happen. When we returned the morning after the Sabbath to complete his burial anointing, the tomb was empty, and an angel told us that Jesus had risen. Then we ran to tell the disciples. Peter and John came and verified an empty grave. Most glorious of all, we were the first to see the resurrected Lord! That morning, we went from grief and despair to joy and hope, and our lives have never since been the same."
One hundred years from now—unless the world somehow ends in the interim—theologians, historians, and philosophers will continue to debate exactly what happened the Sunday after Jesus died. New arguments and evidence will emerge for and against the Resurrection. One thing about the discussion, I assure you, will not change. Just as it has been every day since that fateful morning, faith will cast the final and decisive vote in the heart and mind of the individual.
Whichever side of the fence you now stand in large part reflects your view of these three women. If you deny the Resurrection story, you must believe that Salome and the two Marys were either wrong—themselves malicious, mistaken, or mad—or wronged—misrepresented or misused by others. For you, it will always be Saturday. But for us who claim the Resurrection as truth, our faith rests not only in God and in Jesus, His Son, but also in the integrity of Mary Magdalene, Salome, and Mary, mother of James. We believers have followed these women through the darkness into Sunday's light.
