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Thoughts from the Corner Box
In the Garden
It was dark when I made my way down the stairs. The air was cool, but no wind blew. The sky was dark, with clouds covering the stars, and the moonlight wasn’t bright, often hiding behind clouds. I wasn’t familiar with the road I had to take, so I had to rely on the moonlight to light my way. Sometimes, I had to stand silently until the moon gave enough light for me to see. The pouch wasn’t heavy, but it was awkward to carry. I had to be careful. I didn’t want my small pitcher of nard to spill or lose the frankincense because I would need them both later. I avoided the main streets, hoping to avoid the guards who patrolled every night. I would hide in a doorway or crouch behind a bush if I heard a noise, and this made my movements slow, but I had to be careful.
Sometimes, I could hear myself breathing as I walked briskly down the narrow streets to the outskirts of town. Finally, I could see the Damascus Gate and the opening I would have to go through. There were two guards that I could see, but how many more were where I couldn’t see them? I stopped and leaned against a building, trying to collect my thoughts. When my breathing became easier, I started down the road toward the gate.
A guard came forward and spoke to me. He was a young man with kind eyes. He looked at me and looked inside my pouch and, in a kind voice, said I could pass and go do what I had to do. He let me pass because he knew the customs and what I would do with the items I carried. No other guards came forward, but I still moved as quickly as possible. The moon was waning, and the sun would soon break through the clouds. I would need light to do what I needed to do, but I needed to be where I needed to go before sunrise.
Walking down the road, I could see the hill on my right. I kept walking and forced myself not to look. When I came to a garden, I opened the gate and went inside. My eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and I could walk quickly to the far side where the garden ended at a rock wall. I heard talking, and I knew it was the guards. As I neared, I could tell the talking was intense, and I could hear fear in their voices. I kept in the shadows, wondering how to approach them to ask for help moving the big rock that covered the tomb’s opening.
I must be in the wrong place. There is a burial spot, but no stone is covering the opening. I must have turned wrong, but I was sure this was the place. I walked closer and looked inside. There had been someone there. I could smell myrrh and aloes, and a folded cloth lay on the stone ledge. I instantly knew what had happened. Someone had taken him. I ran toward the guards, but, in that second, I knew why they were so afraid. They were supposed to guard the tomb, but someone had taken him, and they didn’t know when or how.
My heart was pounding, and my breathing was shallow and quick. How could this have happened? Why would someone take him? I had to leave quickly. I had to tell Peter and John. They would know what to do. I couldn’t think. I felt betrayed and lost. As I ran, I saw a man standing in front of me.
“Excuse me, sir.” It was the gardener coming early to do his chores. “I need to get by. I must go tell my friends something has happened.”
“Mary,” He held out his arms, showing me I should not be afraid. “Mary, do not cry. I am not dead. See for yourself.” He showed me both hands, and I could see the nail scars. His bare feet showed me the scars where the nails held him to the cross.
“Rabbi.” I fell to my knees before him. “Rabbi.”
“Mary, go tell the others that I am alive.
I ran as fast as I could. Tears were running down my face as I approached the door. I banged on the door as hard as I could. I heard the latch lift, and Peter stood at the door. His face showed the pain of his loss, and he barely moved aside to let me in.
“Be quiet, Mary, or they will know where to find us.”
I grabbed his arms, “He’s alive, Peter. I saw Him. He’s alive.” I could almost feel the life come back into Peter. His face had a different appearance, his body straightened, and his eyes filled with tears.
“He’s alive.” Peter smiled. “He’s alive,” Peter shouted, running up the stairs to tell the others.
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I took liberty when I told this story of Mary Magdelene going to the tomb on that first Easter morning. I doubt if Mary and the disciples understood the impact that morning would have on the world. He was their teacher, their friend, and I’m sure, at that moment, they didn’t realize He was the savior for you, me, and all mankind.
YOUR SINS ARE FORGIVEN
HAPPY EASTER
HE IS ALIVE!
Sandra Mayhugh, April 2025
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