in preparing for bible study tonight with my youth, i sat reading john 20 for a while. i was really intrigued by the passages where john and peter both make a run for jesus' tomb after mary tells them he is missing. i loved the verse 'the disciple that jesus loved ran past peter and arrived at the tomb first'. so i wrote a short story about it that i wanted to share with you........
peace
amy x
As soon as Mary’s final words had left her mouth, my legs, filled with an energy that I have never yet experienced, drove themselves forward, flung my body around and propelled me towards the garden where I knew He was supposed to have been laying. The beating rhythm of my feet against the dusty streets sent shocks through my bones that reverberated through my entire soul, and the only thought that ran through my mind seemed to sustain me. A space once filled, now empty that should not have been. It was impossible surely?
Trees and streets blurred past my face. The day was just being born with the familiar sounds of the market awakening, and my mind desperately searched everything I could remember to try to seek out some hint of evidence, a clue that this was supposed to have taken place. I could feel the heat and wind blowing against my tunic and a sandal coming loose around my ankle. As the ground came closer to my face I remembered the words He so tenderly spoke to us about the House His Father had made.
‘And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am.’
The gravel grated my body as I landed in the street sending pain through my chest and a black dark through my eyes. I lay still, with my cheek to the ground, waiting for the throbbing to pass. He knew this all along and countless times had he tried to explain it to us, and oh, how stubborn we were. I turned my aching remains over and rested my head against the hard, dry earth. Was this real? Had He really returned to us like He promised?
As a wave of doubt flowed through me, I pulled myself to my feet, letting the energy of His return flood my heart and I hurled myself forward. I longed to see the truth of all this.
Peter’s slow, sagging body ran along beside me, his fat legs thumping the ground with every landing step. He looked older in these last few days, and even more so now with his head hanging low and greying hair loosely flying around his eyes. We had journeyed together through all of this and once more we were side by side again. Together we had heard Jesus speak of vines and branches, of death and betrayal. We had spoken out about our Lord together, broken bread together, drank wine together, laughed with Jesus together and cried aloud at the sight of His broken and bloodied body hanging limply on the cross. We were silenced together when the Lord’s chest heaved its last and sank with his head hanging in his last moments.
The words ‘If they persecute me, they will persecute you also’ rang through me. I knew that what we had entered into together those three years ago had now altered significantly. Israel had been forever changed since the arrival of Jesus, and in His exit, they had changed once more.
I thrust my body forward seeing the garden and the doorway ahead, leaving Peter behind. Running as hard as I could, feeling my lungs burn with being worked so and my mouth dry with the dust in the air. I lifted my head towards the sky urgently sucking in air, yearning for something to satisfy me.
I stood numb at the doorway of the tomb that lay in the shade. The hard stone grey walls were cold from the morning-a gentle relief from the hot, dry, sandy ground that had just been rushing over my feet.
Empty. The tomb was empty.
Peter’s thudding came slowly behind me, but he did not stop. His path carried him inside the tomb where, with a great cry, he threw his body against the stone table. His chest heaved and as he grew silent, I stooped down to walk in.
White linen strips lay carefully on the stone bench and a cloth folded neatly lay beside them.
He was gone.
My memories flooded me with the words and prophecies Jesus had brought us returning the overwhelming feelings of peace and passion that His presence had so often brought. As my soul released the tears that drenched my face, I knew that His return had come to pass.
Peter’s chest still heaved with deep, silent cries and as I laid my hand against his shoulder his entire body became hushed.
‘Look Peter’, I said. He slowly raised his head allowing his red, wet eyes to meet mine, his great mouth gaping open.
‘Do you see?’ I asked.
Calm.
His face changed, his big brow un-knotted and he struggled to bring both lips together to speak.
And finally, after a long silence preceded him, he birthed his first words with what seemed like revelation and joy.
‘It truly is finished.’
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