Christ Arose

Christ Arose: A Tomb’s Tale

By Faith Blum

Text and cover copyright 2017 by Faith Blum
Cover: Faith Blum | www.faithblum.com | Image ID: 55174243 | Copyright: Lindasj2


To all Christians.
May we never forget the somberness, gravity, or joy
of Christ’s death, burial, and resurrection.

I am empty. Bereft. No one visits, no one comes near. The garden is a comfort in some ways. The beauty of the flowers, the trees, and the sky above. But I am lonely. Not like my brothers and sisters nearby. They have been used. They are filled with the bodies of their masters’ loved ones.

Yes, I am a tomb. The rock I am made from was created by God the Creator long ago. Sometime later, Joseph of Arimathea bought me and had men work on me until a beautiful place became hollowed out for my master’s body and for his loved ones when they went to be forever with their Creator.

It has been many years since those masons worked on me. I used to love when they came. I listened to their conversations and relished in their company. Then they left after making all the ledges and hollows they needed.

Then something amazing happens. I have seen many things over the years, including some eclipses, but this one is the most unusual. In the middle of the day, the sky becomes dark as night, the ground shakes and cracks form in the ground far away. The stones roll away from many of the openings in my brothers and sisters and the people inside start walking toward Jerusalem! My brothers and sisters and I murmur among each other wondering is happening.  Is it time for our Creator to make the earth new already?

The darkness lasts three hours. Then the sky slowly lightens and when it does, I see some men coming toward me. Two men carry a body between them. A shiver of excitement goes through me as I see the man in the lead. My master has come! But who is he carrying? And where are all the mourners? Ah, there… There are only two mourners? Who is this man that only four people would come to mourn his death?

The men stop in front of my entrance and I gaze down on the poor, friendless man. If I had breath, I would have lost it all as I recognize Him. This is Jesus, the Son of the Creator! How could He have died? Where are all of His followers? The last time I heard of Him, He had hundreds of people following Him.

Joseph and his friend carry the body of my Creator’s Son inside and set Him on the best of the ledges. As His body settles onto the hard, cold rock, my master and his friend roll the stone in front of the opening and walk away. The two women stay behind and weep next to me for some time. I wish I had arms to wrap around them to try to comfort them. After a while, they leave. I can only assume they go to make preparation for the Sabbath.

No longer can I say I am lonely. But oh, how I wish I can! Who could have done such a thing to the Creator of the world? Who has so much hatred for Him? Ah, but I do know who is behind this. Beelzebub, that serpent of old has triumphed over the Creator’s Son. If there was anything I could do to make sure that serpent never touched His body, I would do it gladly for my Creator. If I but had a voice, I would sing of my Creator’s praises.

Low in the grave He lay,
Jesus, my Savior,
Waiting the coming day,
Jesus, my Lord!


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