It was Sabbath, a day meant for rest and gathering. Yet, as everyone sat around the table, an unusual hush enveloped them. No one seemed to have any appetite. Mark stared at his plate of food, but each morsel felt like a weight in his stomach. Around him, sorrow hung in the air, thick and suffocating. Peter sat silently, lost in a world of regret, still berating himself for denying Jesus. At the same time, the haunting absence of Judas lingered like a shadow. The man they had loved more than anything lay cold and still in a tomb, and Mark’s heart ached in a way it had never known before. Tears would spill down his cheeks unbidden, each one a reminder of the profound loss they all shared.

Mary Magdalene and Mary, mother of James, moved among them with expressions of disbelief etched deep into their features. They felt a compulsion to act, a desperate sense that there was still something left to do. Their lives with Jesus had revolved around caring for His needs; without Him, they felt like fish out of water, floundering in a world stripped of purpose. Amidst their sorrow, they had made tentative plans to rise early the next morning, armed with spices from the market, to go and anoint Jesus’s body. That simple plan brought a flicker of calm, anchoring them in a horizon of hope. They could work towards something, a way to reclaim a sense of usefulness, a distraction from the overwhelming grief that threatened to swallow them whole. Mark watched their harmony with a twinge of envy; they had found solace in a shared mission while he struggled to find his footing amidst the chaos of emotions.

As night fell, exhaustion draped over them like a heavy blanket, yet sleep eluded every one of them. Their Rabbi, their brother, their dear friend lay shrouded in darkness, and here they were, each on their own mat, grappling with their solitude in a world without Him. Mark could hear the soft whimpers of sorrow through the night, quiet, lingering cries that suggested no one could fully surrender to sleep. Thoughts danced like shadows in his mind, conjuring memories of wonder, wisdom, laughter, and love. How could he ever forget the presence of such a phenomenal man? How does one simply let go of everything He stood for, everything He had taught them? In that tangled web of grief and reminiscence, he clung to each heartbeat echoing the legacy of their beloved Jesus.

Mark finally stirred from the depths of a restless night as he became aware of the soft footsteps of the women bustling about in the kitchen. The air was still thick with darkness, the kind that wrapped around the world like dense fog, yet he felt an urgent knowing deep in his heart. They could no longer put off their journey to see Jesus. Sleep was a distant memory for the women; instead, they were compelled by an unwavering resolve to fulfil the plans they had made the night before.

With a sigh, Mark closed his eyes, seeking just one more hour of sleep, desperately hoping that it would offer him refuge for a short while. When he was jolted awake by the clamour of chaos echoing from downstairs, he realised with a start that he must have slept far longer than he had intended. The frantic shouts and echoes of hurried footsteps filled the air, piercing through the fog of his slumber and pulling him into the unsettling reality of the moment. In a flurry, he threw on his tunic and rushed down the wooden steps, anxiety clawing at his chest as he tried to decipher the noise.

As he reached the bottom of the staircase, the source of the commotion came into focus. He could make out the nearly frantic cries of Mary Magdalene swirling through the air like a tempest. Fear gripped him; he wondered if something terrible had befallen them. The sight that met his eyes froze him in place: Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome stood huddled together, their faces as pale as new parchment, their expressions mirroring the horror and bewilderment that loomed.

Words tumbled from their lips in a frantic rush, a chaotic blend of revelations about Jesus’s tomb—a stone rolled away, an angelic figure dressed in white seated within the tomb’s cavern. Each phrase rang in Mark’s ears, a waterfall of terrified excitement that poured out without cease.

Finally, Simon Peter restored a semblance of calm to the group. The women shared their story: uncertainty clouded their thoughts as they made their way to the tomb that morning. They had been grappling with the daunting question of how they would ever move the massive stone that sealed the entrance to Jesus’s tomb. They had overheard Joseph of Arimathea mention that it weighed close to three thousand pounds, a seemingly insurmountable obstacle. Yet, their determination burned brightly; they were resolved to reach Jesus and honour Him, regardless of the challenges that lay before them.

As they approached, a thick veil of darkness still clung to the early morning sky, casting a shadow over the landscape. Yet, the women could see something startling from a distance. The massive stone that had sealed the entrance was mysteriously rolled away! Fear surged through them, igniting an instinctive urgency as they broke into a frenzied run toward the site. Their hearts raced with a mix of dread and anticipation.

When they reached the entrance, their breaths came in shallow gasps, and they cautiously peered inside, bracing themselves for what they might find. To their astonishment, a young man sat clad in a gleaming white linen robe. The air surrounding him was truly striking; it was as if he radiated a gentle light from within, illuminating the dim chamber in a soft glow that contrasted starkly with the darkness enveloping the world outside.

As they stood frozen in a blend of awe and fear, the young man turned to them and spoke in a calm, reassuring voice. “Do not be alarmed,” he said gently. “You are seeking Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has risen! He is not here. Come and see the place where they laid him.” With a wave of his hand, he gestured toward the empty slab, a profound silence hanging in the air. “But go, tell his disciples and Peter, ‘He is going ahead of you into Galilee. There you will see him, just as he promised.'”

Stunned and trembling, the women spun around, terror driving them back toward the house, desperate to share the incredible news with the disciples.

Mark stood, grappling with disbelief. Shaking his head vigorously, he struggled to absorb what he had just heard. “This simply cannot be true!” he thought. “They must be imagining things, overwhelmed by their grief, concocting a fantastical story to cling to in their sorrow. They need anything to restore hope in this time of darkness.”

The thought of a single man surviving such unimaginable suffering was incomprehensible. Mark’s mind raced as he recalled the brutal beating Jesus had endured—a punishment so severe that most would not have survived. Furthermore, the notion that someone could die on a cross and then return to life within mere hours seemed not only absurd but impossible. “This is absolute nonsense!” he exclaimed, frustration boiling within him as he grappled with the shocking possibility of what had just transpired.

Just then, two men burst through the door, their excitement spilling like an overflowing cup. “You won’t believe what we saw!” they exclaimed, their voices clamouring to be heard. They couldn’t wait to share their incredible tale: they had walked with Jesus for seven miraculous miles from Emmaus to Jerusalem! At first, they hadn’t even recognised Him. But then, when He sat down to share a meal, He took the bread, blessed it, and broke it. At that very moment, everything changed; they realised it was Jesus! Their enthusiasm was infectious, and deep inside Mark, he felt a flicker of hope blooming. The more he listened to their accounts, the stronger his desire became to believe that it could be true.

Suddenly, Peter leapt to his feet and dashed out the door. Mark could only assume he was off to see the tomb for himself, driven by the urgent need to confirm what the women and these two witnesses had claimed.

Time seemed to stretch on endlessly until, at last, Peter returned, breathless and alive with joy. “The tomb is empty!” he exclaimed, laughter erupting like sunshine breaking through clouds. His cheeks, stained with tears, now shone with elation. Mark felt a wave of happiness wash over him. The tomb was empty! The tomb was empty! They celebrated this miraculous news, dancing around the kitchen, the phrase becoming their joyful mantra.

But then, just as quickly as the spirit of joy had lifted them, a burden of uncertainty settled over the room. They paused, suddenly aware of the question hanging in the air. “But what does this mean?” Mark thought as the echoes of their laughter faded. A whirlwind of thoughts rushed through him. What could this incredible event possibly mean?

They all gathered around the table, their hearts heavy with uncertainty and fear. The door was bolted tight, a barrier against the outside world, for they were haunted by the phantoms of those still lurking in the shadows, yearning for revenge against anyone who dared to call themselves followers of Jesus. Whispers of the empty tomb and the resurrection stirred bewilderment and awe within them, leaving them grappling with the reality of these reports.

With a heart full of worry, Mark reached for a piece of unleavened bread, his hand trembling slightly. Just as he prepared to take a bite, a radiant figure suddenly appeared amidst them, illuminating the dimly lit room. It was Jesus—alive and standing before them. The sight nearly caused Mark to fall backwards, disbelief washing over him like a cold wave. Here was his Rabbi, his teacher, with nail-pierced hands that bore the marks of suffering, and as Jesus turned, he revealed the wound in his side, a poignant reminder of the sacrifice he had made. Thomas, consumed by doubt, struggled to comprehend the miracle unfolding right before his eyes.

Jesus surveyed their faces, his expression shifting from warmth to sternness. “Where is your faith?” he demanded, his voice resonating with authority. “Why are you so stubborn to believe the witnesses who have come to you with tidings of my resurrection? Do you not remember the prophecies?!” His words cut through the uncertainty like a ray of light breaking through the clouds.

Then, in a voice that rang with purpose, he continued, “Go into all the world and preach the gospel to all creation. Whoever believes and is baptised will be saved, but whoever does not believe will be condemned. And these signs will accompany those who believe: In my name, they will drive out demons; they will speak in new tongues; they will pick up snakes with their hands; and when they drink deadly poison, it will not hurt them at all; they will place their hands on sick people, and they will get well.”

His command filled the room with palpable energy, igniting a spark of courage in each of their hearts as they listened to the instructions of their risen Lord. Mark knew in that instant that this Jesus was the Son of God, and He reigned from everlasting to everlasting.

Mark felt an overwhelming surge of joy bubbling up inside him, and he couldn’t resist the urge to lift his voice in a heartfelt song of praise. The melody soared into the air, rich with meaning and gratitude. As if responding to his spirit, his ten disciple brothers gathered around him, their voices harmonising beautifully with his own. Together, they sang with exuberance, their hearts unified in a declaration of their faith.

“Jesus, the King of kings and Lord of lords, lives!” they proclaimed in unison, their words echoing in that small, dimly lit room. Their joy was contagious, each note vibrating with the truth of their faith. They sang of His incredible victory over death, a triumph that no darkness could extinguish.

“Death could not defeat Him!” their voices rang out, brimming with conviction. With passionate zeal, they spoke of the miraculous moment when He conquered the grave, shattering the chains of death and suffering. They knew that it was through Him that salvation was offered, a gift of eternal life extended to all who believed. The bond between them deepened as they rejoiced, each voice adding to the melody of worship that filled the air—a testament to their unwavering faith and love for their Risen Saviour. All Hail King Jesus!

Written by Izelle Hickey