If I could go back in time to the first Easter, I hope that my choice would have been to go to the tomb early on Easter Sunday.
Walking the typically rocky road with home-made sandals, I know that I could have felt my heart pounding. It would have been so loud that I couldn’t hear the women talking about the predicament of moving the stone. Knowing what I know now, but keeping it secret from those in that day, I would be straining to look ahead.
Maybe the sight of the absent soldiers would have confirmed what I know. They had been blown on to their backside and been terrified that they would be executed for failure to do their duty. All they had to do was keep Jesus’ disciples from stealing the body.
Yet, a power so great as to knock these professional soldiers out-of-the-way, disintegrate the Roman seal on the tomb as if it was never placed there, and then to move the stone out of the ditch in one instantaneous episode took place in a blink on an eye. Like frightened children the soldiers reported to their authorities and rehearsed the lie that they were told to give. That was better than execution or imprisonment to them.
The women were shocked to see the stone moved away. Their confusion would have been my excitement. Hearing the angel conversation would have thrilled my mind.
All the theology that I have learned would be validated through a few words. As the women wondered what to do, they may have asked me what we should all do. That’s when I would have let some of today’s Bible knowledge leak out, “Let’s go tell the disciples what we have seen!”
On the jog back to the gathering, I would have left the women, “You go report what we saw. I’ve got two disciples on the road to Emmaus that I need to see.”
“What are you going to say to them?” they would have asked in surprise.
“I want to hear what their companions will be telling them,” I would smile. “Don’t worry what anyone else says. I believe what y’all (Texan for “all of you”) believe. HE HAS RISEN!”