It was still dark when John came,
Tho’ the women had already gone,
With their bowls and their cloths,
Their herbs and oils,
Their spices and ointments.
Busy!
Fit for the King, they said.
John met them on the way,
Hurrying,
Worrying,
Fearful their strength would not move the great stone
Enclosing their Lord.
John came with news of Mary,
Safe,
Protected in his home.
John said, she had kept vigil
All the long hours,
Silent,
Sleepless,
Still.
Taking only a little water.
Waiting ….
Until, as dawn approached
She stood, at last.
Facing the death of the night,
The birth of the day.
John was exhausted,
He too had kept vigil
Beside her.
His charge – his mother.
We made him rest,
Take some food.
And so we sat,
Wordless,
Wondering,
Waiting, together.
Until, the darkness broken by the dawn,
The silence broken by the women.
Returning.
Breathless,
Breathing their unbelievable tale
Of an open, empty tomb,
All tidy and neat,
And of a young man in white
Waiting for them.
He must have been an angel, surely?
He had a message,
From the Lord, he said,
The Lord, Our Lord! would see us soon.
I heard John, beside me, breathe so softly …
“He promised, oh, he promised,
We must go to him, now, now.”
And gathering us like chickens,
we ran to him,
Ran to our Lord.
SPB
Angel from Wreay, Cumbria.