The night is silent. Dark.

Black as the sin that nailed the holy,

lowly Nazarene

to the rough-hewn timbers of a cross.

The air is heavy.  Damp.

Moist as the burning tears that fell unchecked

from stress-strained eyes

at noon two days before.

Now, on their mission of mercy,

three women move gingerly toward the tomb,

bearing fragrant spices

to anoint the body of their Lord.

As they arrive, the first, faint light of dawn

glows in the eastern sky.

A ray of hope.

A gleam of promise.

A hint of joy.

A burst of glory as the sun rises

to reveal an abandoned place of burial.

The tomb is empty.  Bare.

Free of the acrid stench of rotting flesh.

It could not hold

the body of the Lord of Life!

Death has been conquered.  Beaten.

The sun of Easter morning is risen.

And the Son of God is risen.

He is risen indeed!