“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” (Matthew 27:59-60).
The beauty of the grass, trees, and flowers, cannot hide what lies beneath the ground. The entombed lifeless bodies of people who loved and were loved. They once lived, worked, and played. Babies, children, brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers, the single, the married, all engulfed by the earth.
The grave cries out that death, the enemy of us all, is victorious. Yes, death is our enemy, the enemy of life (1 Corinthians 15:26).
I want to again experience my father’s hugs and hear his voice. To eat my mother’s pies, pot pie, and more, to hear her words of love, and her giggle, at least once more. I remember and miss my grandson sitting in my lap, curled up asleep in my arms. I wonder what he’d be now. The grave keeps them from me. The grave, its stark coldness, its mocking darkness, is death’s strangling grip on my heart.
Death feeds the grave. The grave feeds my fears. What is life if all it does is lead to the grave? “Death is the destiny of every man” (Ecclesiastes 7:2). “Man’s fate is like that of the animals; the same fate awaits them both: As one dies, so dies the other” (Ecclesiastes 3:19).
Jesus Christ, the Son of God, the Creator, his lifeless body on a stone slab in the darkness of the tomb. Hope died as the big stone was rolled in front of the entrance to the tomb.
“After the Sabbath, at dawn on the first day of the week, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to look at the tomb” (Matthew 28:1).