“Let us go then, you and I, to the place our Rabbi lies.”
They clung together,
Women’s faces that could not smile,
Ravaged by death, defiled and lost in grief.
They approached the tomb,
Morning darkness
Greeted them, but the stone, hid from sight,
Was not there. Stealthily they moved,
Approached the tomb, empty,
Dark as the maw of a fish. Where a stone
Had rolled away, the ghastly, empty sepulcher
Promised greater grief. One of the Marys,
The Magdalene, deigned to take a furtive glance
Into the place her Teacher lay.
She saw a great light,
Heavenly illumination!
White as bleached linen—no, whiter—
Adorning a being so blithe, so sweet, filled
With utter peace, who beckoned her inside,
She stumbled in when God’s messenger
Announced the truth, incredible truth,
“He is not here. He is risen.”
Mouth agape, eyes transfixed, filled with fear,
filled with joy she believed.
Mary laughed. The news too great to
Keep, told the others. “Let us go, then, you and I,
To where the disciples wait,” she cried.
The women ran. “Our Savior lives!”
About the Author
Agnes Fisher is a writer and teacher who was born in the Netherlands and grew up in New Jersey. She attends Second Christian Reformed Church in Grand Haven, Mich.
