“But on the first day of the week, at early dawn, they went to the tomb, taking the spices they had prepared” (Luke 24:1).
I’ve never felt compelled to go back to the cemetery where my mother and father are buried. I know that many people do. Before his own death fourteen years later, my dad planted flowers at my mother’s grave at a church in suburban Philadelphia. Others return to talk to deceased loved ones. Some go to confirm genealogical information.
Those who went to the tomb were women who had come from Galilee with Jesus to Jerusalem. They watched as Joseph (from Arimathea) and Nicodemus (John 19:29) took Jesus’s corpse from the cross, wrapped it in linen, and laid it in a cave, a garden tomb cut in stone. That all happened late Friday afternoon, just before sunset, the beginning of the Sabbath.
These women went to the tomb to complete the burial ritual for Jesus. This includes washing the body, rubbing it with spices, and wrapping it with a shroud, before placing it in a tomb. It was a last act of love, a final goodbye, and part of their grieving process.
It probably wasn’t the first time they had done this. But death is death, and their hearts were heavy. Their minds were filled with horrific images of crucifixion. They had no thoughts about the future. They focused on the task at hand.
To catch the nuance of this verse, try to remember a moment when you had to say goodbye.
It was that kind of a morning.
This is the second in a series of reflections on Jesus’s resurrection as recorded in Luke’s gospel.
Waite for it... 