Matthew 27:57-61  As evening approached, there came a rich man from Arimathea, named Joseph, who had himself become a disciple of Jesus. Going to Pilate, he asked for Jesus’ body, and Pilate ordered that it be given to him. Joseph took the body, wrapped it in a clean linen cloth, and placed it in his own new tomb that he had cut out of the rock. He rolled a big stone in front of the entrance to the tomb and went away. Mary Magdalene and the other Mary were sitting there opposite the tomb. (NIV)

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It’s rainy and cool this morning after last night’s storms. It was a fitting end to a stormy day. I don’t suppose there’s ever been a day like it. Hopefully, there’ll never be another. 

I had planned to go to the tomb this morning just to make sure we had done everything we were supposed to. But the rain and the Sabbath will keep me away today. Maybe tomorrow. 

I don’t really want to see the soldiers. They’re surly enough in good weather. They’ll be in an even worse attitude in this weather. What a terrible duty. They have to guard the tomb of a dead man. 

They killed him. They know he’s dead. They know that’s the end of the story, but for a couple of days, they’ve got to sit in place to make sure people like me don’t steal the body and make up some wild rumor. 

I don’t have the energy to steal anything today. Fact is, I don’t have the energy to do much of anything. A sleepless night, filled with fresh memories from the horrors of yesterday, all I want to do is curl up in my robe and hide from the world. 

Funny how the dripping of the rain from the eaves sounds like the fall of my tears last night. My guts ache from my heaving sorrows. My mind is dull. My body is exhausted. My spirit knows no vitality at all. 

So here I sit, listening to the sound of the falling rain, wondering how I will start my life over again now that I’ve wasted it on what seemed to be too good to be true and was. 

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I will sit, listen to the raindrops, feel the uncomfortable damp, and wonder what it was like to live a God-forsaken day.

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Our Father, do not allow me to rush through this day. Help me to feel its meaning, its loss. Teach me its lessons of deepest grief. Don’t let me miss its minutes and hours. Amen.