I followed Jesus wherever He went. I’ve always been shy and fearful—meek, my mother said. It made me obedient and submissive, like a good Jewish woman should be. But it also made me wilt in the face of trials. The day they crucified my Messiah, I did nothing. Admitted nothing. And I should have.
He was the one who gave me strength. He was the one who said, “Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.” The meek? Did that mean me? It made no sense–so much of what He said and did made no sense. He wasn’t the grand King we’d imagined, He didn’t arrive majestically like we thought He would. But I saw His miracles, heard His teaching, felt His tenderness. And instead of saying, Yes, this is my Lord, I said nothing.
We’ve gone into hiding after His death yesterday. Crammed in the tight room with us is Peter, one of Jesus’ closest disciples. He denied Christ, just as Jesus predicted He would. For one, terrible, selfish moment, I thought, At least I didn’t deny knowing our Lord. But I’m not responsible for Peter’s actions; I’m responsible for mine.
I tell myself that nothing I did would have made a difference; I am merely a woman. Who would listen to me or care what I thought? But Jesus did. He treated all of us with dignity and love. He said, “Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid.” I’m so tired of being afraid. Forgive me, Yahweh. Help me.
Mary Magdalene was the one who brought the news: Jesus had risen! It seemed incomprehensible, but it was so beautifully true, just as the prophets foretold. He showed us His hands. The scars made me weep, but I was reminded of His earlier words: “Take heart; I have overcome the world.”
He was with us for forty days before ascending to heaven. He was lifted up, out of sight, and my whole body trembled. But I wasn’t afraid. He had saved us! And He will return for us. Oh, what a glorious day!