The angel said to the women, “Do not be afraid, for I know that you are looking for Jesus, who was crucified. He is not here; he has risen, just as he said (Matthew 28: 5, 6).

There are numerous Marys in the gospels. Some say five or six. Others argue seven. Before dawn, after the Sabbath, several women arrive at the tomb to anoint Jesus. This dramatized account fuses them into a single, thoughtful character we will just call “Mary.”

***

Awakening in the night, she’s drawn out of slumber, first with a slow sense of unease, then in a lurch that throws her back to the scene she can’t forget. Jesus on the cross, flanked by two strangers, isolated in blood and pain. Mary closes her eyes. But the persistent image of parched lips and ebbing life seizes her. 

Like suffocating on sadness. 

“It is finished,” Jesus says, as Death raises its fist. 

But what comes after?

Mary considers settling back to sleep. It’s a tempting reprieve. Instead, she sits up and whispers, Shema Yisrael, Adonai Eloheynu, Adonai Echad. Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is One. 

She rises up out of bed.

Dressed, Mary busies herself, gathering the spices to take to the tomb. Burying Jesus before the Sabbath was a rushed, chaotic affair, leaving barely enough time to pour Nicodemus’ lavish gifts of myrrh and aloes over his lifeless body. Today, she thinks, I will anoint him with the tender, patient love he deserves. Gaze at him one last time. Remember him alive and whole.

Her heart aches with gratitude whenever Mary thinks about the Lord. Plucked from obscurity, everything that gives life meaning has come to her, courtesy of Jesus. The teachings that transformed her mind. The forgiveness that transformed her heart. The thousands of moments she pondered, when understanding failed. But faith sustained her. 

Now, nearing the tomb, she wonders again. 

What comes after?

She considers the stone. Maybe a passerby by can roll it away, so I can enter the tomb and anoint my Lord. She smiles at the audacity of anointing Jesus. Mashiach. Messiah. Anointed by God. Perhaps I can honor him. If only someone will remove the stone. 

And then! Mary feels it before she hears it. And hears it before she sees it. The rumble beneath her feet. The muffled cry from inside the earth. The trembling that starts her running. To protect her Lord? To be buried with him in the rubble of God’s anger? 

Or just to be with him.

Suddenly, like lightning, like snow, a dazzling angel moves the stone and sits upon it. The guards are frozen in terror. The angel turns to Mary. 

“Do not be afraid.”

The words, familiar as an embrace. Words she’s heard from Jesus. Words the Father spoke to comfort Abraham. Moses. The prophets. 

The angel continues. 

“Come and see! Go and tell! He’s not here! He has risen!”

Mary races to find the others. Suddenly, there’s Jesus. 

Standing right there. 

She falls at his feet and worships the risen Lord. Her broken heart finds consolation. Yet her mind has not caught up. Between the light and the trembling and the angel and the spices. She has come to understand one thing.

JOY is what comes after.

Just as he said.