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Wonder of wonders

 

It is incredible, unbelievable. I cannot comprehend it, even now. Even having seen the miracles wrought by my Lord, I still can scarce take this day’s events in. I marvel at the wonder of our God!

I went to my Lord’s tomb early. I missed Him so, and wanted to be near Him.

I was dismayed and distressed to find the guards lying as if dead and the tomb where they laid my Lord’s body empty. Who would do such a thing?

I was distraught and ran to tell Simon and the others. They ran immediately back to the garden I had just left. Breathless, I followed. Simon Peter had already entered. I waited outside, still in disbelief.

When he came out, he shook his head, mystified. My Lord’s body was not there, but the cloths in which he had been wrapped so hastily lay where His body had been.

Oh, who had done such a thing, and where had they taken Him?

I fell to the ground, weeping. Who would wash His bruised and broken body, anoint it with perfumed oils, wrap it lovingly in spices and cloth? I was inconsolable. I heard the disciples leave, but could not bring myself to abandon the place I had last seen my Lord, who had saved me.

Tears soaked my clothes and sobs wracked my entire being, and I could not stop weeping. I thought nothing could be worse than the grief at His undignified death, and then to find His body gone ... What were we to tell His mother?

Suddenly, someone was beside me, asking why I was weeping. I couldn’t see through my tears. Thinking it was the gardener, I begged him to tell me what he knew, if he had seen where my Lord had been taken.

“Mary,” he said.

I shook my head in disbelief.

I knew that voice, and the love with which he addressed me.

But how could this be?

I had seen Him breathe His last, had seen the soldier put the spear in His side, seen the men lower His bloody, broken, beaten body into His mother’s arms one last time. My eyes had seen Him placed hastily into the very tomb I sat beside now, and the stone rolled to close it.

This could not be!

Yet now, as I looked, there were the marks from the nails in His feet.

It was my Lord! But His body was no longer bruised and broken. I hardly knew Him, except for the love in His beloved voice when He called my name.

“Mary,” He said.

And I knew, without a doubt, this was my Lord. Only our great God could do such as this! How many miracles had I witnessed in the company of my Lord? Had He not promised He would not leave us alone?

I was overjoyed, ecstatic. He was not dead, but alive!

I fell and kissed His scarred feet, bathing them now in tears of joy.

He was alive!

My Lord asked me to tell the others He had risen, as He had promised.

I raced to tell Simon Peter and the others, and the mother of my Lord.

I knew it sounded -- well, like it came from the woman I was before my Lord sent the demons away. It was too far-fetched, I almost didn’t believe it myself. Yet, I know it was my Lord. No one else speaks with such love, and there is no other who bears the scars of such unbearable agony and yet lives.

I have seen my Lord!

He is risen from the dead!

He lives!

He has worked so many wonders, but this ... The grave holds no power over Him! It is beyond comprehension.

Oh, what can this mean?

My Lord is alive!

Masses at St. Ann Catholic Church are 5:30 p.m. Saturdays, and Sundays at 7:30 a.m., 9:30 a.m., noon (Spanish), and 5:30 p.m. Visit www.stannslv.org for more information.

 
 
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