Peter’s story continues through a difficult Sabbath to the empty tomb.
I made my way back to the upper room where we had celebrated the Passover the night before, and found the others huddled there. No one spoke. We were too numb. Then the voice of the shofar rang out in the distance, calling us to Sabbath prayer. We obeyed.
In my life, I have passed many Sabbaths in times of mourning and distress. Usually, it has been a comfort to me. It was not so that day. Never in all my life have I been so unable to find peace as I was that day. It was a Shabbat without shalom.
The next morning was a quiet one, though some did at last begin to speak. What had the others seen? Had we been wrong about Jesus? Were we in danger? And most of all, what were we going to do now?
I said very little. I was struggling with the same questions they were, but there was something else about the whole thing that I just couldn’t shake: Jesus knew this was going to happen. I saw it in his eyes. He chose this. Why? Jesus was the Son of God. I could see that. I couldn’t escape it, even if nothing else made any sense. Watching the way he had borne suffering and death had only made that more clear. John knew it, too. The others hadn’t seen as much as we had. Still, I didn’t know what to say. There was nothing I could say that would make anything any better. I let them talk.
Then came the report of our missing member: Judas had hanged himself from the guilt of his betrayal. It was silent as we took in the news. Hanged himself.
Finally, someone spoke. “Serves him right,” he said. We looked at him, then at each other. Some nodded. Some grunted.
After a few moments, another said, “Maybe it would serve us all right.” Ten sets of eyebrows rose in his direction. “Judas may have betrayed him, but none of us stood by him,” he explained. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one struggling under the weight of my personal failings the day before.
No one said a word after that for a good, long time. The air was heavy around us. I thought about his words. There was truth in them, much truth, but an unsatisfying, incomplete truth. The fact was, I could beat myself black and blue, I could run out and hang myself like Judas, but I knew it wouldn’t change what I’d done. Not a bit. As I considered this, I realized there was only one thing left I could do. And in that moment, words of Jesus that I had forgotten flooded back over me: I have prayed for you, Simon, that your faith may not fail. And when you have turned back, strengthen your brothers. I stood.
“It is true that we have been faithless,” I said, my voice wavering as I grasped at my own newly-forming thoughts. “Maybe we do all deserve a tree like Judas. But I think we know that if Jesus were here, that is not what he would want. Alas that just when we need him most, he is not here! What, then, are we to do?”
It was quiet as they considered this, then all agreed. We spent the rest of the day in prayer and fasting.
The next morning I woke to raised voices and a great commotion. I got up to see what was going on. The women had risen early to go to the tomb and honor Jesus’ body, but they had returned much sooner than expected. We listened to their breathless report as they told how they had found the tomb open, the body gone, and an angel sitting there who said Jesus had come back to life. We were highly skeptical. Most thought the women were simply delirious from grief, but John and I ran straight to the tomb to see for ourselves.
When we arrived, we found the tomb was indeed open and empty. At least, there was no body in it. But the grave clothes were still there, neatly folded. Resurrection is hardly the most logical explanation for a missing body, but who takes a dead body and leaves the wrappings, never mind folds them? The idea that Jesus might have come back to life still seemed a small chance, but I couldn’t hold back the leap in my heart. John and I returned to the upper room to tell the others, but Mary Magdalene stayed behind.
A few minutes after we arrived, Mary came running in. “I have seen him! I’ve seen Jesus!” she cried. “He’s alive! He spoke to me!”
“What!? When?” I said, leaping to my feet.
“Just now, right after you left.”
Her words stung. You might think it was the best news I had ever heard, and it was. But if it were true, why would Jesus wait until after I had left to appear to Mary? Had he rejected me? I certainly wouldn’t blame him if he had. The nauseous burning of shame and fear began churning up within me again, a hot black ocean rising to blot out the hope that had dawned. What if Jesus had risen, but I was cut off from him forever?
Mary responded to the incredulous looks that met her, “I know it’s hard to believe, but just wait. You’re all going to see him, too. There’s something we didn’t get a chance to tell you earlier before Peter and John ran out the door. The angel said to tell you all, and especially Peter, that Jesus is going ahead of us and will meet us in Galilee.”
And especially Peter. The words broke like a shaft of light on the murky darkness of my soul, like a hand reaching down to pull me up out of the water. God had seen. He knew. And he was not done with me yet.