part four: the end of the Sabbath

James made the trip from Nazareth with all haste, toward the end stumbling ahead through the unnatural darkness. By the time he got to Jerusalem it was after sunset -- the beginning of Passover. No one was out of doors; no one but the Roman patrols.

What was he to do? Knock at random doors, where people were eating the Pesach? Accost a passing squad? "Pardon me; I am looking for the mother of Jesus, and his disciples." He would end up on a cross himself. "That might be the best way out," he thought. "My own brother, and I didn't stand by him alive. I could at least follow him in death." His old dreams of military glory, the two of them striding across the pages of history, mocked him. How could God let Jesus die? He wanted to grab a sword, charge into Herod's palace, and see how far he got. It would be better than this. He was reduced to wandering the deserted streets.

The night drug on: the Passover, the night of the Destroyer. This night, Death and Chaos walked the world. "When I see the blood, I will pass over you." That had been the bulwark against the darkness for thousands of years. Now it was gone. All the old forms, the rituals he loved, Passover and all the rest -- with Jesus dead, they were swept away, meaningless. James muttered "It is all coming to an end. Here. Now." He looked at the moon, still hours from its setting. This was the end of the world, and they had brought it on themselves. "We have killed him. It wasn't just the priests, or Herod, or the Romans. We all are part of it." The Messiah, the Lord's Anointed, was dead. Hell would swallow them all.

But what if Jesus was right? "Behold my Servant. . . ." What if he was indeed the Servant, and somehow good would come of this? "Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows. . . he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed." Healing, out of this?

James knew this part of Isaiah well; as teenagers, he and Jesus had recited chapter after chapter to each other until they both had them memorized. As the hours crept toward dawn, he turned it over and over, muttering verses to himself. But he could not make sense of it; something was missing.

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Mary sat on the floor in the furthest corner of the room, her arms wrapped around her knees. She had been there all of Friday night, not moving, not responding to anyone. For some reason, John had tried to take care of her. He had brought a blanket over and awkwardly wrapped it around her. Salome had slept on the floor beside her, or tried to; no one was able to sleep. There were about thirty of them, all crowded into an upstairs room somewhere in the city; Mary did not remember how they had come to be there. The men were nervous, whispering to one another about whether to try and make a run for it before the soldiers came. Every sound in the street, every creak of the walls made them cower in fear.

As the Sabbath wore on through midday and into the afternoon, Mary realized, dimly, that James was there, even though she thought he was back in Nazareth. He, Peter, and the sons of Zebedee huddled by the door for a long time; it looked as if James was trying to convince them to let him stay. Eventually, he came over to her and knelt down beside her. He muttered something about being sorry, and patted her shoulder. She ignored him. But he stayed, settling himself against the wall beside Salome. John brought her a cup of water, and food. She shook her head and buried her face against her knees. The room darkened again into night.

Much later, Mary Magdalene knelt before Mary, and brushed the hair from her face. "Mary," she said. With bleak eyes, she looked up. "It will be light soon. A few of us are going out. . . . out there. To the tomb. We should take some more spices, and check on things." After a moment, "You want to come?"

Mary roused herself enough to answer. "No." Then: "I should. . . . No. I can't do it. Not yet." Mary Magdalene smiled, sadly. She touched Mary's face with her fingertips. "We'll be back in a while." She, Joanna, and Mary the mother of James slipped out, each carrying a bundle of spices.

Outside the window, the sky grew light. A little grey sparrow landed in the windowsill, chirping and singing. Mary looked up at it, smiling in spite of herself. The bird looked at her and sang, as if just for her. It was going to be a glorious morning; the sky was clear, and a soft breeze brought its message of springtime. She shook her head, sadly; a thousand springtimes would not undo what had happened.

Mary Magdalene and the other women were doing what women always did in the face of ruin; they had taken a deep breath, and gotten on with life. Mary had done it herself after Joseph died, but this time was different. There was no life to go on with. Soon enough they would realize it; without Jesus, there was nothing.

Mary Cleopas interrupted her thoughts; "We have to get going today," she said, kneeling beside her. "Now that James is here, he and Salome can bring you back to Nazareth when you are ready. Cleopas thinks that we should get out of town; it is too dangerous here. If we leave soon, we can make it to Emmaus by evening."

There was a commotion at the door; the two Marys looked up. It was Joanna and the mother of James. They were out of breath as if they had been running, talking to the men, gesticulating, insisting on whatever it was that they were saying. The men shook their heads at them, obviously thinking "They're just women. What do they know." Mary could not tell what was going on. She saw John tug Peter's sleeve and gesture toward the door; the two of them slipped out while the others argued.

Some of the others looked at the two Marys, as if wondering what to do. Joanna pushed Thomas and Matthew aside and strode across the room toward them. She was still breathing hard, flushed from running, and from what seemed to be . . . excitement? joy? What was going on?

"He's gone," she said. "Jesus. The stone... it was moved aside, and the tomb was empty. We looked." Mary's heart fluttered for a moment, but sank again. Surely it was grave robbers, or the Romans. They had taken his body. Joanna knelt before Mary and took her hands. "And we saw angels. Real angels, two of them. Their clothing shone like the sun. Mary, they told us that he is alive! 'Why seek ye the living among the dead,' they said. 'He is not here, but is risen.'"

Philip and Andrew came over. "Joanna, what do you think you are doing? Upsetting his mother over some bit of nonsense. Now stop it." Joanna drew herself up to her full height and put her hands on her hips. "I will not stop it. I will never be silent, not about this." The men threw up their hands as if to say "What's the use," and turned away. Joanna pulled Mary to her feet and hugged her fiercely, laughing and crying. Kissing Mary on the cheek, she twirled away across the room like a child, dancing for joy.

Mary could hardly breathe. He was dead; she had held his cold body in her arms before they buried it. If Joanna was right... it would be a miracle. More than a miracle; it would be all the promises of God, all come true.

Another commotion at the door; it was Peter, breathless from running. "The tomb really is empty." John tumbled in, behind Peter.

The others shouted questions: "Did you see him?" "Did you see angels?" John and Peter told their story, interrupting each other in their excitement. In the midst of the hubbub, Cleopas came over to the two Marys and whispered in his wife's ear. He turned away, gathering their things to go. "We really have to go now," Mary Cleopas said. She hugged Mary and said "I don't know what to think of all this. And I really, really don't want to go now, not knowing for sure. But it can't be helped." The two Marys hugged again. Cleopas and Mary took their satchels and slipped out the door, unnoticed by the others. The men were arguing now; some of them had decided it was all some kind of vision, some of the others (and all of the women who had gone to the tomb) insisting it was true.

Salome had come over to Mary and stood by her at the edge of the room, arm around her waist. "Mary, you know more about these things than any of those," she said, gesturing at the men. "What do you think? Can it be true?" Mary could find no words.

Yet another commotion: Mary Magdalene burst into the room, her face like that of an angel. Everyone looked at her, a sudden silence in the room. Breathless, she said: "I have seen the Lord!"