His eyes open but there is nothing to see.
He woke up and opened his eyes, at least he thought he did. It was pitch black, so dark he at first doubted that he had opened his eyes at all. He tried holding a hand up in front of his face but could not see it; could see nothing at all. He must have been asleep, he reasoned, but didn’t know for how long. But why would he be sleeping on anything so hard and cold, it felt as hard as rock beneath him and in places lumps were digging in to him. He reached a hand that he couldn’t see out, extending it above himself and finding nothing within reach so sat up, slowly and carefully.
Bringing his hands back to his sides, he began to feel along the surface on which he was sitting. He understood now why it was so cold and hard, is was rock. Moving his hands slowly, feeling with his fingertips he found it dropped away on one side and there was a wall on the other. Turning carefully, unseeing, away from the rough wall, he swung his legs out over the drop, making a skittering sound as his heels dislodged what he guessed was a few loose stone chips. As the back of his legs again touched the side of the surface he was sitting on, so his feet also touched the ground and he realised he must be sat on a low rock shelf.
Staring hard he thought he detected a small patch where, although he couldn’t actually see light, the darkness seemed slightly less intense, grey not quite black. Standing up, without thinking to check above with his hands, he bumped his head. Stooping so as not to do it a second time again, he made his way slowly towards the grey patch, shuffling his feet forward only a foot’s length at a time with each step as he moved. His hands which he held out in front of himself, came to rest on a cold hard surface just below the patch of grey he had been making for. He couldn’t yet be sure but he thought that the grey was getting, almost imperceptibly, lighter.
The surface his hands were now resting on was cold, hard and much smoother than where had lay a short time ago. Moving his hands slowly outwards from where they rested and feeling around he realised he was standing by an aperture, a doorway perhaps. If it was, then the door was heavy, very heavy. Leaning closer to the patch of grey, his eyes caught a glimmer of light. There was a tiny gap where dim light slipped through. Pressing his cheek to the cold stone he found that the crack was too slim to see anything through, although, he guessed it was night and that the lighter patch was moonlight. It would be pointless trying to get out until at least dawn so, moving again slowly he turned around and shuffled the few steps until he again felt the rock ledge. He settled into a fairly comfortable sitting position on the uneven surface and prepared to wait, he did not know for how long, until there was more light and day was coming.
Watching intently the grey patch where the moonlight filtered in, he could just see it wane until eventually, he never knew after how long, the patch began to spread. As it spread, so its quality of light began to change too, from the cold white purity of moonlight to the amber of the sun at dawn. As the light spread further he began to discern the shape of the aperture, although he still couldn’t see anything else in his solitary space.
Moving carefully back to the doorway, which he could now make it out although little else, he pressed with his hands against the rock trapping him inside. It didn’t move. Leaning into it with his whole body weight, he felt it wobble; just the minutest movement then settle back to it’s original position. Again he tried with the same result; still trapped. It was too heavy to push and he could get no purchase to roll it sideways.
He Closed his eyes again, shutting out what little light there was; another light blossomed within his mind, the light of his Father clear in his minds eye. Reaching out again to the boulder he rested his fingertips against it and made a slow rolling motion sideways. The boulder began to roll with the movement of his hands, not completely silently but the only sound was a skittering as stone chips and pebbles were dislodged as the boulder moved.
Stepping out into the sunshine he blinked, momentarily blinded by the morning light, and stood stock still shading his eyes with his hands until his eyes adjusted and he could see more clearly. It was then he noticed the piercings, already beginning to heal, in his hands. Looking down, he saw similar marks in his feet too and there was an odd sensation in his side. The injuries were still sore and he was sure there would be scars. Then he realised he wasn’t wearing his robe, just a light, long cloak more like a shroud. Looking back into the tomb, as he now realised it to be, he saw a robe folded neatly at one end of the ledge where he had lay, just beyond where his head had rested. Stepping back inside, he donned the robe. It wasn’t his but it fitted well enough, it would do for now.
Coming back out of the tomb, he wasn’t sure where he was or which way to go and he couldn’t see anyone about to ask, so early in the morning. He set off, choosing the path that looked most trodden but after walking only a couple of minutes, he saw a small group of Roman soldiers. Something stirred in his memory and deciding it would be better to avoid them, he retraced his steps to look for another way out, of what now seemed to be a garden. Just before he passed the tomb from which he had emerged such a short time ago, he met a woman and again a memory stirred at the back of his mind. She spoke before his thought had crystallised, “Are you the gardener, Sir; Do you know where they have taken my Lord?”
It all came flooding back. His betrayal and arrest, the sham trial, his torture and crucifixion. He knew who this woman was too, and spoke her name “Mary”, almost unaware he’d said it out loud as more memories of the events of the last few days returned. A moment after Mary’s name had escaped his lips, realisation hit her like a bolt of lightening. She cried out “Teacher”. Before leaving Mary Magdalane, he gave her a message to take to the disciples, saying that “I am returning to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God”.