The Preparation
Mary Magdalene sat cross-legged beside the dim oil lamp. Her heart weighed heavy with sorrow. Just three days ago—she had watched Him die. Jesus, her Rabbi, her Redeemer—beaten, pierced, lifeless.
And yet… “On the third day be raised to life.” Matthew 16:21.
She clenched her shawl tighter. He had spoken of resurrection before—about Himself. Could it be? Or was grief playing tricks on her?
“Three days later, I will rise.” Mark 10:34.
But she had seen the spear. The blood. The water. The final breath. “It is finished.”
Salome’s gentle hand touched her shoulder. “We should leave before sunrise,” she whispered.
Mary of Clopas nodded. “Fear has no place now.”
Mary Magdalene stood. Her voice quiet, but firm:
“He said, ‘Destroy this temple, and I will raise it again in three days.’” (John 2:19)
They gathered spices and linens—one last act of love. Blowing out the lamp, they stepped into the silence of the night.
The Journey
Darkness clung to Jerusalem’s stone alleys. The three women walked quickly, clutching their jars. Cold wind sliced through their cloaks.
Mary of Clopas asked quietly, “Will the guards let us near?”
“Leave that to God,” Mary Magdalene whispered.
They remembered His power—His miracles. But their minds also echoed the sound of the nails. The silence of the tomb.
The eastern sky began to glow orange.
The Garden
They reached the tomb. The air heavy with the scent of olive trees.
Salome froze.
“Look… the stone… it’s gone!”
The tomb stood open.
Mary of Clopas whispered, “Could someone have…?”
Mary Magdalene stepped forward. Her breath caught. Inside—only the burial cloths. Folded. Undisturbed. Empty.
“He is not here. He has risen!” (Matthew 28:6)
An angel stood beside the tomb—radiant, unshaken.
“Do not be afraid. You seek Jesus of Nazareth. He was crucified. He has risen. He is not here.”
— Mark 16:6
They fell to their knees—shocked, weeping, trembling.
“Go tell His disciples—and Peter. He goes before you to Galilee.”
— Mark 16:7
The Appearance
Mary of Clopas and Salome ran. But Mary Magdalene stayed. Confused. Tears burning. Grief twisting into something else—hope?
She knelt by a rock, staring at the tomb. “If You are alive… where are You?”
A voice broke the stillness.
“Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you seeking?”
She looked up, eyes cloudy with tears.
“Sir… if you’ve taken Him, tell me where—”
Then He spoke her name.
“Mary.”
One word. Her name. Spoken in a voice she knew better than her own thoughts.
She looked. It was Him.
“Teacher!”
He smiled—alive, strong, gentle.
“Do not cling to Me, for I have not yet ascended to the Father… Go tell My brothers…”
— John 20:17
She stood, heart pounding. Joy crashing over her. The tomb—empty. The Teacher—alive. Her Lord—risen.
The world had changed.
The Mission
Mary ran. Every step pounding the message deeper into her soul.
He lives.
He kept His word.
He crushed death.
She had to tell them. All of them.
