The First Easter by K. Denise Holmberg
“Woman, why are you crying?” “They have taken him.” My voice broke like my heart. I wiped my burning eyes and runny nose on my scarf. “If you know where they put him, please tell me so I may go to him.” The massive stone that had covered the entrance to his tomb had been rolled aside. The Roman seal was broken and the guards were gone. I bent over and looked inside. The air was stale and had the earthy scent of myrrh. At least it was not rank with the terrible smell of death. Two figures in white sat where his body has been three days before. One sat at the head of the cold stone slab, the other at the foot. Between them lay strips of linen stained dark brown from old blood. Separate from the linens, and neatly folded, was the burial cloth that had been around Jesus’ head. I had watched as Nicodemus wrapped him in it. I stared at the cloth. How strange that someone would steal his body, yet take the time to fold it instead of just casting it to the side. Then tears fo