hThe dark was thick and sticky. Like tar. No light penetrated. No sound. No movement. It was tangible. Evil. The stuff that smothers a soul and drains all life away.
Three days it was dark. And silent. And airless. Still.
But on the third day, a sound broke the silence. An intake of breath. More than a gasp. Rather a sucking in of life. And light blazed and life mushroomed.
The man, from whom the light streamed, sat up, sucking in air again. Power roared as darkness fled, shrieking away.
Light was victorious.
It was as if the power of the light moved the stone.
Mere daylight had no hope of overcoming this light. The hills were flooded with gold as the man stepped out into the dawn.
The silence shattered. For there, surrounding the man, on every space they could find, were legions of angels who burst into spontaneous anthems of praise. The man stood and looked at them, smiling, gazing at them so intently that each heavenly being felt he looked only at him.
Man? No, not this Man. For this was Jesus, the Christ, risen Lord, King of kings.
Death had no hold on Him. Darkness was incapable of drowning out His light.
The battle is won, the victory is His!
And angel hymns filled the valleys and echoed off the hills.
Until, on that third morning, three women entered the garden, weeping, unaware of angel choirs, absorbed in their own grief.
Horrified, they stopped, staring in terror at the open tomb.
Two fled, but the third stayed.
The man’s eyes softened in love as He stepped forward.
“Please, sir,” the woman said, “where have they put Him …?”