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On the first day of the week, very early in the morning, the women took the spices they had prepared and went to the tomb. Luke 24:1

Every year about this time I’m drawn, for obvious reasons, to the end of the Gospels to read the account of Jesus’ death, burial and resurrection. I never want to miss the emotion of that time in the lives of those who knew Jesus personally.

We as Christ-followers must never lose sight of the emotion of that time in the lives of Jesus close personal friends. As I grow older and hopefully wiser and as more and more of my loved ones have gone on before me I get just a glimpse of the pain, the agony, the sorrow and confusion of the days leading up to ‘Resurrection Day.’

I’ve felt the heartache of losing a brother who died ‘too soon’. I stood by the bedside of my mother as she breathed her last. I’ve held a mother as she sobbed over the body of her little boy. I’ve stood by the gurney of a friend who’d been ushered into glory just hours after I’d talked with him.

Painful as those times were, none of my anguish could compare to those who watched Jesus get beaten, humiliated, stripped naked and hung on a piece of wood for all the world to watch his slow, painful death. As I write this I get goose bumps just thinking of it.

In the midst of all that trauma. In the midst of all that pain. What drove the women to the tomb before sunrise on that Sunday morning? They’d watched him be placed in the tomb. They knew there was a huge stone covering any hope of access to the body. Why didn’t they get some men to go with them? Did they try to solicit help or were the guys too broken up and scared to go out so soon after their master was murdered by a power hungry mob?

I may never know the answer. It may not even be important. In reality I have an idea what one of the reasons was for their early morning mission. It was love.

The ‘Mary’s’, and perhaps a few others, couldn’t let Jesus body be cast aside without the proper spices. They couldn’t bear to let the one who never neglected their needs be neglected at his time of biggest need. Dangerous? Perhaps. Futile? Maybe. But this was Jesus. It had to be done.

Then I ask myself this question. Where would I have been that morning? Would I have held the lantern to light the path? Would I be ready to lift the stone or fight off some Roman Guard? Or would I cower on my mat and be afraid at every noise in the night.

I hope I’d do the former. I pray that I’d be leading the way, because like the adulteress I’m not condemned. Like the blind man, I’ve received sight. My hunger is filled, my thirst is quenched. A risky walk in the dawn mist is the least I can do for my Jesus.

PRAYER: Jesus at this season of the year I’m in awe of your love and compassion for me. I’m reminded of how much you’ve given and how little I deserve. I worship you for all you have done for me. I praise you for your grace, your mercy and your forgiveness. Help me to be like the women who set aside everything else to tend to you. In your wonderful, marvelous and most holy name, Amen.