Peter: I was tired. Friday night I hadn't even tried to sleep. There was too much churning through my head. I cried, I cursed, I tried to pray for awhile...but I couldn't. I felt like a hypocrite. Peter...the rock....some rock I had turned out to be. First I'm telling Jesus He's the Lord, the Christ...then when it really counts I can't even own up to knowing Him. I went to John's on Saturday night. I attempted to sleep, but it was restless. Every sound on the street outside sent me in to a cold sweat. Were we next? Had they're murderous venim been satisfied with the master, or would His disciples be hunted out as well?

Mary: And so it was with great trepidition that we started down the road to the tomb. We were a small group, led by Jesus's mother and myself - the two Mary's, as we had been dubbed. We had brought spices for preparing His body. I would have come the day before, but Mary felt her Son would have wanted us to honor the Sabbath. I had protested briefly. After all, Jesus had healed on the Sabbath....but she was right. So we set out Sunday morning just as the first rays of sunshine peeked over the horizon...

Peter: and filled my room with this glorious light, as if it were a beautiful day. As if there was something to be happy about. I drew the blinds, and returned the room to a darkness that was more in fitting with my mood, my thoughts, my soul. This should be a dark day, I thought. Every day from now on should be dark. Yet, it was bright out.

Mary: So bright we had to shield our eyes as we walked down the road. It was Joanna who first thought of the stone. In the whirlwind of emotion none of us had even considered how we would get past that giant rock and into the tomb. We tried to think of a way to move it. The practicality of it was a nice reprieve from the torment of silence we had been in. We had been brooding too much, replaying the week over and over in our minds. Now, we had a problem to solve. If we couldn't move the stone, He wouldn't even receive the respect of a proper burial, and that was the least we could do.

Peter: "It's the least we can do," the women had said. I had thought of the stone... after they told me they were going to prepare His body. I thought of going to help, but what was the point? It wasn't the least we could do. The least we could have done would have been to stand up for our Lord, but we hadn't. I hadn't. The time for "the least we can do" was past. I had done less than the least. I had done less than nothing. They drove nails into His hands. I had driven them into His soul.

Mary: Before we knew it, we were there. We still had no idea of how to move the stone. I was about to return to get Peter and John to help, when we saw it...

Peter: When I heard the footsteps outside and the pounding of the door, I thought that was it. The soldiers had come for us. Unlike in the garden, this time I had no will to fight. Even death would be a welcome oasis from my guilt.

Mary: I don't remember running back down that road. I must have tripped at least once (laughing) my knees were skinned. I don't even remember getting to John's, panting in fatigue and exhileration. Then Peter came to the door.

Peter: Mary? I thought she was at the tomb, and there she was standing outside John's house. She had been running. Would the Romans stop at nothing? Were they hunting down the women as well?

Mary: John was right behind him. Whatever I said, it must have sounded like babbling nonesense, because they just looked at me like I was crazy. All I could think about was that...

Peter: The stone was rolled away? Was it grave robbers? Had His body been stolen? Was this some cruel trick by the Pharisees?

Mary: Oh, but there was more!

Peter: Then this ridiculous story about men in white, saying, "Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here;"

Mary: "He is risen!"

Peter: Risen.

Mary: "Don't you remember what He told you in Galilee?"

Peter: Yes, yes. "The Son of man must be delivered into the hands of sinful men and be crucified."

Mary: "And on the third day be raised again." We hadn't remembered until they reminded us.

Peter: But we all knew He must be talking metaphorically, or in one of His parables. It always seemed we couldn't figure out what He was talking about half the time anyways, unless He explained it to us.

Mary: John looked excited....though a little confused. But Peter...I could tell by looking at his eyes that he didn't believe me.

Peter: Well, what do you expect? I had watched him die two days earlier, now this overexcitable woman was telling me He was alive? Would have you thought any different?

Mary: It was so frustrating...maybe I got a hint of what Jesus felt like when no-one would hear what He was saying.

Peter: Still...I had to see what she was takling about. John and I started to run to the tomb. John ran ahead of me...It's not that he was faster than me, or more athletic, you understand. I could have kept up...

Mary: Peter's a little sensitive about this...

Peter: I was just...apprehensive. I was sure Mary was wrong. How could Jesus be alive?

Mary: But if He was...

Peter: But if He was, how could I face Him. After what I had said and done? I got to the tomb, and John was standing outside. He hadn't gone in. He looked at me, and in his eyes all at once I saw fear, anticipation, pain, joy...I must have looked the same to him. I went in first.

Mary: They saw just what I had...the stone was moved, Jesus body gone...the graveclothes, folded neatly in a pile...

Peter: But no men in white, no proclamations of a risen Christ. Just silence. When John came in, he let out a holler of joy. I didn't quite share his optimism yet. I was still so confused.

Mary: Confused about what the men had said. Confused about Peter's reaction. Confused about whether we'd actually see Jesus again....or was He just gone?

Peter: Which would be better? If I had to meet Jesus and see the pain of my denial in His eyes, or if He had died and that was the end of it. In some ways, the first was even more scary than the second. I think that's why I wouldn't let myself believe.

Mary: How could I convince Peter of what I had seen and heard?

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