Sabbath Rest

It was Friday, and the Sabbath was about to begin. The women who had followed Jesus from Galilee went with Joseph and saw the tomb and how Jesus' body was placed in it. Then they went back home and prepared the spices and perfumes for the body. On the Sabbath they rested, as the Law commanded.  Luke 23:54-56

Whose idea was a day of rest anyway? It wasn’t that long ago that she could remember him healing a crippled woman on the Sabbath and in the Temple too. That really enraged the priests. Looking at the other women in the house she couldn’t understand how they all sat so still. It would be the longest day she would ever experience. The awful events of the previous day still lingered in her mind, as did the smell of his blood on her. She stood near and watched it flow, mixed with some watery substance as it poured all over them. Yesterday it was warm and fragrant, now it was sticky and itched. The dryness made her rub her arm without thought, some relief. But there would be no relief from the images and sounds that ran wild in her mind; the jeering crowd, the heavy dark wood, the hammer, pounding, the thorns, the blood, oh the blood. It all caused her to tingle inside, as if she wanted to crawl out of her skin. The silence in the room was deafening. The slow movement of the sun kept them caged, prisoners of a Sabbath rest. Each woman left in silence to sort out her own sorrow. No one had slept. One of them sobbed all night long, she tried to muffle her sorrow, to no avail, they all felt the same deep anguish and silently sobbed with her.

She knew many a sleepless nights, but the loneliness she once suffered was gone. Although surrounded by close friends she could almost hear those hollow voices, teasing her again. Would “her darkness” return? Was this new circle of friends enough to sustain her? Had he taught her enough to make it on her own? Could any of them make it without him? How is it that those hypocrites had won? What went wrong? She shook her head to lose the thoughts – Sunrise, the time would pass and she would be free to go to him. Free to help perform the ancient rites of an honorable burial. 

The waiting was miserable, nothing to do but sit and go over the events of the past day. They had barely got him in the tomb before the sun had gone down. The walk back to the house was wretched – at least they knew where he had been laid. In a way she felt sorry for the men. She had been a witness to what happened, although it was awful at least she had been there. Unlike the men who had to hide – she was a woman, and one that could easily go unnoticed. Finally her infamy worked to her advantage. It was painful to watch him die, but maybe her presence brought him some comfort. The men wouldn’t have that consolation. Silently she thanked God that she was a woman, for the first time. 

Her thoughts drifted back to his lifeless body all alone in the dark, cold tomb; unprepared, rotting. Nothing could be done until the Sabbath passed. She waited for the sunset. She used to dread the sunset – the gloom, the loneliness, in the darkness she was alone, so much confusion. Hands and faces; strange men and their reproachful eyes. Their sweaty foul bodies near her, on her. The humility, the clicking tongues and wagging heads. The dark voices and shifting shadows, and there always was the overwhelming dread of elusive memories. Days full of scornful looks and the uncertainty of what had happened during the night. But he had delivered her from all that. If she could get through this day, she would have the opportunity to repay him, to serve him again. But now – this insufferable Sabbath rest. It was a torturous episode of constrained mourning, sitting and thinking. The hunger gnawed at her insides, no one had time yesterday to prepare food for this Sabbath, there was a little bread left from Thursday’s meal, but it wasn’t much divided among so many women. Slowly the sun withdrew its light from the sky and finally the new day began. 

Work could begin again, a chance to bathe. The water was cool against her dry itchy skin. The relief is overwhelming. She felt a quiet sorrow at washing his blood off her, but the clean felt so good. The dried blood had caused many tangles in her long hair. As she brushed her hair out she remembered the day that she used it to dry his feet. Lost in her devotion to him, realizing the depth of his forgiveness, she didn’t notice that his men were angry. Wasteful! What a thought. Nothing could be wasted on him. It was her money that purchased the oils, costly oils to comfort the feet of the man that brought her out of darkness and gave purpose to her useless existence. Poor dense men, how could they understand? When he looked at her, she was seen. Other men either saw her as an object to be used and discarded or they looked right through her, as if she didn’t exist. He saw her. He knew the dark secrets of her life; he knew them all and forgave them all. The one person who could condemn her did not. He gave her a reason to breathe. How could they understand? Their sorrow never reaching the depth of hers, how could they possibly know the depth her gratitude? She pitied them.

Her thoughts drifted back to his body. His feet would need to be washed again, for the last time. She wondered if she could bear to see him dead. It was one thing to watch him die, to see his spirit leave his limp, broken body, but it would be another to see him dead, cold and stiff. The other women spoke calmly as they dressed. She wasn’t calm, although her body was clean of the dried blood the scratchy feeling inside had returned. When he died, her hope died. She began to wonder how long it would be before “her darkness” would over take her again. The voices were returning, although dim, she could hear their jarring. They brought back doubt. No! She wouldn’t give into the doubt. She stood up quickly and joined the other women as they packed for the morning; the embalming spices and fresh linen. Someone had made more flat bread, a few jars of water. Each of them longed to see him again; but they all knew this would be the last time. 

Everything ready, the women went to bed. Settling in she closed her eyes and tried to remember the first time she saw him. She could almost hear the warm sound of his prayers for her deliverance. The tone of his voice was so pure. It pierced the hum of darkness that had engulfed her for years. She remembered how her body unwillingly squirmed and twisting in response to his prayers. It jerked her so as if his words were a torment to her mind and soul. The deep groans and growls that “her darkness” made as it left her body. She lashed out at him in a voice that seemed not her own, spitting words of defiance. Then – gone, the darkness departed and all she should see was his face, his strong dark face, smiling at her. His hands were rough and strong yet gently he helped her stand. These memories brought her deep peace and she finally let her body rest. 

The quiet movement of the women woke her. They all knew what needed to be done, they dressed and prepared without much discussion. The sky was still dark but there was enough glow on surrounding trees to make out the pathway. The fresh air was filled with so many smells; smells of life, not of death. The long period of waiting was over. The women glanced at one another, now the dread of uncertainty began to plague them. She heard someone whisper something about the stone. Who was strong enough among them to move it? No one had thought of that, maybe together they could budge it. As they walked their pace quickened. Another woman whispered of rumor that guards had been placed by the tomb. In all their preparation, no one had thought of these obstacles, it didn’t matter. Their singular thought was the care of his body, a proper burial – it was their unspoken duty. 

It seemed to take an eternity to get there. It was brighter now, and the trail was clear. As they hurried along the air was suddenly filled with a loud noise. Like the clamor of large rocks being dropped and rolled around. The ground underneath her feet began to move. More noises, as they came around the last curve in the pathway they could see the opening of the cave where he had been left. The stone was moved, the earth movement must have shaken it loose, a blessing. As they got closer they noticed that there were guards! But they lay lifeless on the ground. One of the women reached the tomb quickly. Gone! His body was gone! In panic and disbelief the women began to sob and scream. They dispersed. Her heart was broken; she felt her chest would burst. Could she stand much more torment? Where was he? Who could have taken him and why would they do that?

Without thinking she began to run. She knew where his men were hiding. It was time for them to do something. Down the path, into town, she knew they’d still be in the upper room. She thrust the door open. Her voice was shrill, she couldn’t control her anguish. At her words they awoke with a start. They all seemed to jumped up at once. One of them pushed her aside and began to berate her. Another started to run back to the burial place. They had also been suffering during the long distressing Sabbath rest, each recounting their betrayal or abandonment. Yesterday they hid, ashamed. Today, infuriated by the idea that someone would move him they rediscovered their courage. They were free to act. Another joined the first and ran wildly to the crypt. It was true, his body was gone. She followed them, desperately lost in the confusion. 

Weeping she wandered the garden surrounding the tomb, she was alone again. The murky whispers were becoming louder – the darkness teased at her vision, lost in utter despair she stumbled to the ground. Her face and hair wet with tears she saw someone standing near her. Surely he must have moved his body or at least seen what had happened. She begged him to tell her where the body was, in her anguish she promised to retrieve him no matter where he had been taken to. Her one thought was to finish what she had set out to do that day, to anoint him. If she could only do this one closing act of obligation, her life wouldn’t have been a total waste. Even if the darkness overtook her again and the voices consumed her thoughts, see needed to find his body and care for it. She fell to the ground lost in her mourning. Then a familiar voice tenderly asked, “Mary, don’t you know me?”