Holy Saturday Story

Here I imagine what I was like to be Mary Magdalene

Anointing Jesus

I poured the nard over his head, massaging it into his scalp like Samuel anointing David as King of Israel. He closed his eyes as I rubbed his hair. Someone needed to anoint him King, but I’d heard the high priests, I’d heard Jesus speak woes to the Pharisees. He said he’d tear down the temple and rebuild it again. He said he was going to be mocked and killed. Would his blood cry out from the earth like Abel’s? Would God come down and mark the preachers scheming to kill him like He did Cain? I didn’t want to believe Jesus words that he’d be mocked and killed but I knew Passover wasn’t going to end well. Still, he was our king. Pilate tacked that sign over him. The King of the Jews. I saw what I saw.

By the time I moved to his feet, I was bathing them with my tears. I rubbed them with the nard. I ran my hands along his arches. I kissed each of his toes. I thought of Ruth pulling back Boaz’s cloak and lying at his feet, the sign they were betrothed. I felt Jesus’ passion, I felt him rise in response to my hands. I felt the men’s eyes on me, their shock, their hands clenching to pick up stones. But I focused on his feet, how hard they were from walking our roads. My hands rubbed and rubbed like working stiff leather.

Judas spoke up. “Why wasn’t this ointment sold for 300 denarii and given to the poor?” Judas. His words struck me like a giant sigh, that took my breath. I could feel Judas trying to please Jesus by practicing the Sermon on the Mount, the Blessed are the poor, the words he said to the young man, sell all you have and give to the poor and follow me.

Jesus spoke sharply. “Leave her alone, so she may keep it for the day of my burial. For the poor you always have with you, but you do not always have me.” I started crying harder despite how delicious he smelled.

Those words. Those words. He’d said that when he tossed my demons out of me. “Leave her alone.” And my body emptied of terror, of the hissing like angry cats, of lifting off the ground. Oh what good thing it is to feel my feet solid on the ground, to hear my footsteps, one, two, one two.

It’s Friday

Nicodemus cradled his head and shoulders, and Joseph lifted his legs. His head rolled to the side. Oh Jesus. They laid him gently onto the donkey cart. Then lead the donkey to the grave hewn out of the hillside. No one sang Hosanna. No one laid coats and palm branches in front of the animal’s hooves. There was no shouting for joy. He said the rocks would cry out if the children were silent. The children were silent. The rocks were quiet. The donkey stumbled on the rocks. He said he’d be chief cornerstone, the rock that would make men stumble. He said he’d rise on the third day. How could he? He lay there like a sack of grain.

The donkey halted at the tomb cut out of the hillside. I smelled the old, cold rock.

It was our work, our place to wash the body, Mary, Salome, and me. We poured a pitcher of water over his wounded body. Clear, cold water. Sprung out of the rock. Moses struck the rock and it bled water. But Moses could not enter the Promise because he struck not spoke. Jesus stiffened, became hard as a rock. We wiped his wounds, his night soil and urine. We cleaned the spittle off his face. We squeezed his precious blood and water into a cup, Joseph held for us. We wrung it out on the ground. My heart tore with the pain he must have felt with his shredded flesh rubbed against the hard acacia wood.

His feet, his feet. Those feet I had bathed with my tears. Wiped with my hair. And rubbed them with nard. One last time I rubbed his feet with my hands, running them on the arches. I could just barely smell the nard as I washed the blood and tendons. My head ached from crying.

“Are you ready?” Joseph asked. I nodded. My tears had gone stone cold. I felt the ledge where they would lay him. My heart was supposed to be flesh, but it became hard as the ledge. Joseph and Nicodemus opened a pure white linen shroud and wrapped it around him, packing aloe and myrrh around his limbs like I’d seen fish packed in salt at the market. They wove the shroud around his limbs, his hands crossed to his shoulders, closing his body in, a body that had stood on mountains and told us that we mourned and were blessed. I don’t feel blessed. A body that had been wide open to the fields and sky and rain. Those feet had walked dusty roads, a body that soared like the birds, he was so full of joy. “Before Abraham was I am,” he said. But he was dead.

We wrapped him in swaddling clothes, the sign Mary said the angels told the shepherds how to find him lying in a manger. Angels who said he would save us from our sins. But he was wrapped up, closed in by cloth.

The sun glowed red and swollen as it closed in on the horizon. It was the Sabbath. We had to put him away safely before the sun dropped behind the temple. This was Passover when we walked out of Eygpt, when the lambs’ blood saved us from the angel of death. But what does it matter now? He’s dead. There is no lamb. The angel of death won. Would his blood cry out like Abel’s blood cried out? Would we be marked like Cain was marked?

Nicodemus and Joseph were so gentle as they laid him in the tomb. I kissed his lips through the linen. I could smell the rock, the cold, the tiny roots and dirt that capped the tomb. I wanted to lie there, let them roll the stone over me, but both men pulled me back. Nicodemus took me in his arms. My eyes burned. My nose ran. Then the tears were stone cold and gone. They rolled the stone over the mouth of the grave. It sounded like thunder. The sky shone pink and orange in the west, but was already dark blue in the east.

The other Mary and Salome and I found Mary his mother and John. I could only nod when their eyes asked about his burial. He said to the thief I will be with you in paradise. He said, “Father forgive them, they know not what they do.” He said, “My God My God why have you forsaken me?” He said, “Into your hands I commit my spirit.” He said to Mary, “Behold your son and to John behold your mother.”

He said, “Destroy this temple and in three days I will make it rise,” he said. “Destroy this temple.” Mockers repeated his words. It ran through my mind. Destroy the temple.

Sunday has Come

We woke early after the Sabbath was done. Salome, Mary the mother of James the Younger and Joses and I gathered up some spices. We wanted to dress the body properly. We wondered how we’d roll the stone away. We were happy see the temple guards. Surely they would help us. They said the priests wanted them to watch, to make sure Peter and James and John didn’t steal his body. But look the seals are still there.

The air crackled. My hair stood on end. How can I describe what I saw, except the angel looked like lightning. My eyes hurt like they do when I look at the snow on the sunny day. He reached down, like it was nothing and rolled the stone away. It sounded like thunder. And then sat on it, a smug look on his face.

The guards trembled like cattle caught in a cold rain. They fell over like they were dead. I think I saw the angel grin.

“Don’t be afraid. I know you seek Jesus who was crucified. He is not here, for he has risen as he said. Come, see the place where he lay. Then go quickly and tell his disciples that he has risen from the dead and behold he is going before you to Galilee: there you will see him. See I have told you.”

I was afraid to walk by him, but I walked to the tomb and saw it was empty, that beautiful shroud folded up. The rock smelled like Sulphur. We took off running, the joy and fear pumping through our hearts. “Hello.” We heard, “Hello.” We stopped, fell to our faces.

We sang, “I will extol you, my God and king, and bless your name forever and ever. Every day I will bless you and praise your name forever and ever. Great is the Lord and greatly to be praised, and his greatness is unsearchable.” We sang, “I sought the Lord and he heard me and delivered me from all my fears. We looked to him and were radiant.”

I grabbed his feet, those beloved feet. He was no ghost. His feet were warm, the wounds from the nails scarred over. I kissed those terrible wounds. My tears bathed his feet. Joy. Fear. I don’t know which. My heart of stone a heart of flesh. I felt his pleasure. “Don’t be afraid. Now go tell the brothers and Peter, I’ll see them in Galilee.”

Have a blessed Easter season. Remember death is dead. He is risen.

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