With each season of my life, Easter brings new meaning to my life. As a new Christian years ago it brought up feelings of hope and undeserved salvation. In a later season it stirred up feelings of grace and freedom but in this new season of life as a mother my thoughts dwell on this woman.
Her name is Mary, although you probably didn’t need me to tell you that. This woman was no doubt her son’s biggest disciple. Jesus’ unsung hero that for many Christians fades into the background of the resurrection story. It’s this woman that tonight as I lie awake at 12 A.M plagues my thoughts.
The anguish of watching her own son that she had once wrapped in swaddling clothes and laid in a manger was now dead. The agonizing hours that she had spent looking on helpless as he carried the weight of this world on his shoulders through the form of a cross to His death. This woman, who heard her own son cry out, “Father, why have you forsaken me!”. This woman, who saw the blood trickle down her son’s body while soldiers mocked him and cast lots on his clothes.
What went through her mind? What prayers did she pray? Did she herself cry out, “Take me father! Take me instead!” Was she angry at God? And once it was finished and they pulled his body down off that cross did she cup His face in her hands and tell Him, “I love you son.” one last time?
Oh the joy that welled up inside her on that beautiful morning as they shouted, “It’s empty! The tomb is empty! ” Did she dare to believe or hope that maybe, just maybe it wasn’t goodbye after all.