The Third Day

The Third Day

It was late. Or rather, it was early. I discovered I spent the entire night in my sad reverie, and now the sun was beginning to poke into the eastern sky. I didn't care. I had nothing to look forward to. My days, which had always been full of excitement and anticipation because of Jesus, now promised to be a sequence of endless boredom. I felt that a very real part of me had died with him.

I searched my memory for a saying or a deed or a promise of Jesus that would make sense for me. I prodded the very depths of my faith. I mused over the past years, over the many times I had heard him speak, sobbing as I recalled his commands and precepts and rules for living. All I had experienced with Jesus flashed across my mind.

I remembered his fixation with water, how he could even walk on it and calm it when it got stormy. How he produced a boatload of fish for Peter, and fed a crowd with bread and fish. I smiled through my tears at his love of children and the warmth and friendship he shared with Lazarus and his sisters.

My brain ached at the intensity of my effort to encompass the whole of Jesus. I remembered the crippled man at Sheepgate, and the man with the withered hand. I thought of the Samaritan woman at the well, the woman taken in adultery, and the ten lepers he cured. I tasted again the fine wine he conjured up at Cana; and I remembered his tantrum in the temple, and what he did there. And what he said there. And then it hit me! It had been there all along, before my very eyes but I didn't see it. Now I did!

The temple! Of course, the temple! That was it! The temple was destroyed but it really wasn't. My mind was foggy as I tried to recall his exact words: "Destroy this temple and in three days I will rebuild it." We all thought he was talking about the temple building, but we were wrong! He was talking about his body. Judas told me that Jesus said his body was a temple. I didn't understand it then but now it was crystal clear.

The rising sun marked the beginning of the third day! The temple was indeed destroyed, but the body of Jesus…his temple, was not! Overwhelmed with excitement, I just couldn’t think any further. I realized that I was now sobbing uncontrollably.

Suddenly I heard shouts coming from the direction of the tomb: loud, exuberant, joyous shouts. My heart almost jumped out of my chest at what I saw next. The Apostle John was racing up the street. "The stone! The stone!" he cried. Then I saw Peter, coming after him. He was out of breath, but managed to pant, "It has been rolled away! The tomb is empty!"

Someone asked "What about the Roman soldiers, the guards?"

"They're gone," John said. Peter added, "the burial garments are still there, but the body of Jesus is gone!' He had recovered his voice now, confident that something miraculous had taken place.

He glanced at John and they shared a knowing look that confirmed their faith that Jesus was alive. Then, I was amazed when they looked directly at me and nodded, as if they knew who I was! Everyone was shouting and congratulating the two apostles, who tried, but simply could not control their excitement.

I listened eagerly to the comments that arose in the crowd surrounding John and Peter:
"Nobody could have moved that stone." "It was too heavy." "It's been three days." "He said he would come back." "Maybe he truly was the Son of God."

My eyes opened wide when I heard that. Is it possible that God so loved this world that he sent his son to suffer and die to save it? Is it possible that a man can be killed so brutally, be buried in an unassailable tomb, and still come back to life?

Of course it is, I thought, if that man is Jesus, the Christ, the Son of God.

The morning sun was now beginning to blaze on the horizon. My mood brightened along with it. Exhausted and hungry, I left the celebration and headed for home. On the way I passed the large house to which Judas had led me. For some reason I felt drawn to it. He said they had eaten supper there, and it was there that Jesus told them that his body and blood were to be their food.

I went in. The house was empty. Judas said they had eaten in an upper room, so I began to climb the stairs. They creaked as I went up. At the top of the stairs I saw a door slightly ajar. I pushed it open; its hinges creaked in harmony with the stairs.

I entered a large room, completely empty, except for a long table. I thought it strange that a single plate remained on the table along with some bread and a jug of water. Unconsciously I moved to the table and sat down.

I was convinced that someone had prepared this for me. Someone knew I would be coming here. Why else would I be so intensely drawn to this house and to this very room? I tasted the bread. It was crisp, fresh and still warm!

Then I poured a little water to wash it down. But it wasn't water that came out of that jug. It was wine! An excellent wine; a wine whose taste I remembered ever since that day at Cana.

Suddenly I was aware of his presence. He was here! In this very room! He had set this table for me! He had led me here to share this most precious gift of his own body and blood. I couldn't see him, but I didn't need to. I didn't know how or why this was happening but I believed it was real and I was overjoyed by it.

As I savored the wine and the memories it evoked, I was overwhelmed with love for Jesus. I felt one with him. He had taken over my life; now he had taken over my soul as well. I loved being so close to him. I wanted to be united with him for all time.

Awaking from my ecstasy, I went down the stairs and into the bright sunshine of the third day, my faith in Jesus confirmed by an unexpected gift of bread and wine.

(This article is adapted from The Jesus Diary, by Dave Mishur. The Big Tent, a sequel that uses the same technique of an anonymous diarist to examine The Acts of the Apostles, will be published on May 1 and will be available at Amazon and other online retailers and can be ordered at any bookstore.)