It’s been the worst two days of my life.
Now my eyes peeled open to the third day.
The first rays of light teased at the new day – one I wasn’t sure I could endure.
But I had to get up.
The women who had been cooking for us told us last night that they would be going to the tomb to anoint his body.
I feel guilt even recounting it to you now. I should have helped them. But I was numb. If someone didn’t tell me to do something, I didn’t do anything.
I was alive. My friends were alive and still here with me in this room in the Holy City.
I should be thankful.
I think we were only together because we had no place else to go.
Our whole world fell apart when they killed Jesus!
A week ago, it was so different. Crowds adored and praised him as he entered the city. They hung on his every word.
It was all good until that last meal. Jesus revealed that Judas would betray him – and that I would deny him.
He was right – on both counts.
Judas led a mob to us Thursday night and they took him away.
Friday morning – I can’t bear the thought – I denied I even knew him. It has been my deep shame since the moment I heard the rooster crow that early morning.
I pulled my stiff body off the cushion that Sunday morning and set about helping with breakfast. The bread was already in the oven, my shame compounded by my late rising.
I was about to ask what I needed to do when the ground shook. We all stopped and looked at each other. It was over quickly and we moved on.
I was tasked with cooking some fish – my specialty. We all worked together to try to have a hearty meal ready by the time the women returned.
They returned sooner than expected with a crazy story.
They said Jesus wasn’t there!
John and I high-tailed it to the tomb. He beat me there but I went right on in. There were the burial clothes, neatly folded. No body.
We went back confused.
Was there reason to hope?
Could he be alive?
I dare not believe it.
That evening, we were all gathered in the upper room. We had locked the doors because there were rumors going around the city that we had taken the body.
I gotta say, I was a little more than scared.
I might have been a little grumpy too. I wasn’t the only one. We were all in a very bad place.
Until we weren’t.
No one saw him come in.
He was just there.
At first we jumped in surprise. There was a scream or two. One of them might have been me.
He spoke peace to us.
Peace came like a wave.
Then, such elation came over us that cannot be described.
Our Messiah lives!
Over the next few weeks, he visited us several times, explaining the good news of his death a resurrection.
He even took the time to meet directly with me to forgive my denial of him.
Eventually, he took us up on a mountain where he – I’m not exaggerating here – flew up to heaven.
It wasn’t like the cross. This time we knew He was alive. We knew he was preparing a place for us in heaven. Until then, we had good news to tell everyone.
It’s the news that Jesus paid the price for all our sin. He sacrificed his life to fulfill the requirements of the Law for all. Then, on the third day, he showed his power over death by rising. Now we have power over death by believing and trusting Him.
I, Peter, saw all this. My eyewitness accounts can be found in the Gospels. I can now be found in heaven, thanks to my Jesus.
I hope you enjoyed this look into the events of that first Easter. I did embellish the story so it is fiction based on truth. That truth is the Gospel.
It is my hope that you may read this and find that truth yourself.