If Only ... But Then ...

If only it would rain …

The Empty Tomb Courtesy Google Images

If only she would come in. Find shelter. 

I couldn’t tell you how long she remained after the events of the day. None of us kept track of time.

No one could.

We’d all followed, trying to keep a distance but compelled to stay close to hear every syllable he breathed.

We’d followed, hoping to grasp how this man, who was loved and praised not three days ago, could be so deserving of this … bloodbath.

No one could escape the splatter of blood as his flesh was ripped from his body. Not one of us could stop streams from forming as blood mixed with sweat and tears and cut trails down the hillside.

Everything was now saturated in it, including her.

If only it would rain …

If only she would come in. Find shelter. Change her clothes … wash her face.

But she would hear nothing of the sort. Instead, she dropped to her knees, face to the ground, sobbing. Her tears mixed with the soil.

She had embraced him in life and now in his death. She refused to let him go. She would not hear the tales that spread about his blasphemy.

But then the sky turned black, and the ground shook beneath us. We ran for cover, afraid, hoping the earth wouldn’t open and swallow us whole, as it did to Korah and his people after they rebelled against Moses and Aaron.

I sense the emptiness and the ache deep within, as the earth groans over his absence. This could only be the work of God. 

She clung to the earth, refusing to be moved. Her shadowy form splayed across the ground as though it were her source of security. She turned her face toward the cross where he hung—lifeless now—and wailed, piercing our hearing with a force to shatter glass.

If only it would rain …

I turned my face towards the cross, where I could see the outline of his body, slumped against the wooden frame. My mind’s eye could see him.

A sight I don’t believe I will ever escape. I’m unsure whether I should try.

I really wish it would rain. But then, no amount of rain can wash these images from my mind.

Words. His words begin to flood my memory as I squint to make out his form.

I remember, my heart begins to pound.

I can hardly breathe.

Hope floods my soul.

This is not the end of his story. And now I long to join her out there, nearer to him as we wait … wait for him to complete what had begun today.

Because I am certain of this: HE will reign.

Numbers 16

Matthew 27:55

Luke 23:49