Mary is sitting alone, tracing a piece of linen belonging to Jesus, turning it over in her hands, almost absently, almost ritually. Her eyes are glassy, weary of weeping, too exhausted to focus.
She closes them and bring the linen to her cheeks, and breathes in.
“My Yeshua” she murmurs.
She pauses like this a moment. Then inhales a shaky breath and steadies her hands. She looks up across the room at some distant point, and allows her hands and the linen to drop into her lap. She then looks about her, as if awakening from a dream, and chides herself for her idleness.
“The preparations for the burial aren’t going to make themselves. Rise, woman, there’s work to do”
She continues to sit for just a moment, and then, with a shuddering sigh, summons her strength and begins to move towards the centre of the room.
Suddenly grief washes over her and she doubles over as an internal scream devours her.
She gasps her tears and wailing… virtually no sound emitting, until suddenly she cries out in a loud wail, “Why!?”
She reaches for the wall to steady herself as the grief literally knocks her off of her feet.
“I just want my son back” she cries out.
Interspersed with tears, she falls to her knees and begins to pray.
“Adonai! Have you lost!? You told me my Son was to be the Messiah!
Now How, if He is dead!? You disgraced me before my people, an unmarried woman carrying a child, but I had faith. You sent angels to encourage me, and you gave me this amazing gift of your Son!
Angels sang about Him, told us about Him, warned us to avoid Herod who wanted to kill Him. . .
Where are the angels now? Where are you!? Yahweh!!!! Yahweh!!!”
[tears. She then rises and begins sorting through some items on the table when a block of wood catches her eye]
“Oh, Jesus! How proud you were of your first carving! Has it been more than a day since you came running in to bring this to me? Wasn’t it only yesterday that I nursed you at my breast? Yesterday that I dusted you off and cleaned your scraped knees?
But no… I couldn’t run to you yesterday [sobbing]. How is a mother supposed to watch her son as those guards visciously tore your flesh? The same skin that I washed… soft skin that I caressed. Oh my son!
[braces herself against a table and looks down, determined to stay in control of her emotions]
“Until the very last moment, I thought you would do something miraculous. I knew you had the power, I thought surely you would come down from that awful cross. Jesus… my son… What is left for me now? Why did you leave me?
hat went wrong!? How can deliverance come in death!?
I’m so terrified! Yahweh! Where are you!? Have you lost!?
I just want my son back! Forgive me… I just want my Son back!