I can’t believe it! The worst has happened. I knew I should have kept watch outside his tomb. Peter, James and John thought it best for me to go home, but I now wish I’d trusted my instinct rather than them!
Yesterday was very solemn and the distress still overwhelming. Now I’m even more lost. What will I tell the others? Perhaps I should run away. My life isn’t worth living anyway. They’ll only accuse me, I suspect. They never trusted me or liked me, not really.
I sit down and start crying uncontrollably into my hands – trying to make sense of what has happened and what to do next.
Suddenly a voice pipes up with, ‘why are you crying?’ Well, how should I answer that – with sarcasm or in an angry tone? Why shouldn’t I cry?! First the one I love dies, then he’s taken and I don’t know where to and I’m frightened and confused. My mental health is bad enough on a good day, how on earth am I supposed to cope now – without him?
I look up and take in a gasp. ‘Master, it’s you!’ My tears turn to laughter as I stand up and fling myself into his warm embrace. ‘But, you died’ I whisper into his shoulder, not sure that I ever want to leave this hug.
The others will need to know; I suppose it will be down to me to start spreading the Good News – that Jesus died, has risen and now he lives! Hallelujah!
(My interpretation of what it might have been like to be Mary Magdalene on the first Easter Day).
