Darkness covered my soul, if it could be called a soul. The scribes wrote, “Rock’s will cry out!” What will I say? All that has ever been uttered is what I will say. I will repeat the world’s words. I will cry, but not nearly as much as I cried that night, that night they put the Master inside the tomb I was made to cover. I usually basked in the sun or enjoyed the pattering of the rain upon my back, but not that night. Men and women came with a marred dead body. There was no ceremony, just a bloody body wrapped in grave clothes. There were tears and talk of the dead King. They said I would cover the King. The limp body was carried into the cave and placed on the burial slab. The mourners withdrew, soldiers hastened to move me across the opening where I would remain eternally. The King was gone. The Sabbath had come. Weeping could still be heard. I moaned as hot wax was rubbed into my coarse pores, then STAMP! It was done, or was it? Soldiers marched. Soldiers stood. Soldiers slept. I blocked the way, until…RUMBLE! FLASH! An angel, an earthquake, a glorious light, and I heaved away from the gapping hole. No man touched me, yet I moved. Then the dead King shone forth alive. A woman cried to the gardener, “Tell me where you have taken Him!” She spoke to her King without knowing it, until he said her name. “Lord Jesus,” she yelled and He was gone. A time later two men came running, first one then the next, came to see grave clothes left alone. Death had changed. The King had uncovered it, conquered it, and consumed it. Glory light shone upon me from the countenance of the risen King. I was witness. The grave lay empty still… to the end of time…till the rocks cry out…and I will!
Luke 19:40; Matthew 27:57 - 28:15; Mark 15:42 - 16:13; Luke 23:50 - ch.24; John 19:38 - 20:10
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