Mark's Story Read online

  THE NEXT DAY, the Sabbath, was the worst Mark could imagine. Even the servants seemed subdued as they cooked and delivered meals to him and his mother and the disciples. Mark felt sick to his very bones, and yet his mother persuaded him to eat so as not to make things worse. When finally he forced down some olives and then grapes, his appetite—and his imagination—was stirred. As he ate, something drew him to the tomb.

  About an hour after sundown, Mark asked his mother if she wanted to go with him. “It’s truly quite a beautiful spot,” he said.

  “Maybe in time,” she said. “Just now I cannot bring myself to go. The pain is too fresh.”

  Mark recalled that it had taken some time for her to visit even his father’s grave. “Do you mind if I go? I will not tarry long.”

  “Please don’t. I will worry after you.”

  “Don’t go, or don’t tarry?”

  “You may go. But please, return swiftly.”

  MARK TOOK HIS HEAVIEST cloak and ventured out. While it felt good to be away from the morose atmosphere at home, every step through the city brought back memories of the horrifying events that filled the last several hours.

  Mark was stunned to enter the area of the garden tomb and see through the branches of the olive trees flames from torches in front of the grave. As he drew nearer, he heard men talking. Peering into the clearing he discovered Roman soldiers arrayed before the heavy stone Joseph and Nicodemus had rolled in front of the opening.

  Some of the men stood at the ready, but most milled about, looking bored. Something about how they carried themselves made Mark approach them without fear. He stepped into the clear and pretended to be younger than his sixteen years. He idly found a pebble, which he threw far above the trees.

  “Hey, there!” he called to the soldiers, pitching his voice higher than normal and waving.

  Some smiled at him. Most ignored him. He moved closer. “What are you doing?”

  “Just following orders,” one said. “Guarding the tomb.”

  Mark scowled as if deeply puzzled. “Why guard a tomb? Keeping people out, or keeping someone in?”

  The guard laughed. “We wondered the same. Truth is, somebody reminded the governor that this character predicted he would rise from the dead after three days. Pilate wants to make sure his friends don’t come and steal his body, then claim he arose. We even sealed the stone with heavy wax and the governor’s mark. We’ll know if anyone tries to budge it. It would take several men to move it from that decline.”

  Mark found a spot to sit where he could dangle his legs.

  “You want to be a soldier when you grow up?” the guard said.

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  Sure, that’s exactly what a Jewish boy wanted to become. A Roman soldier.

  MARK COULDN’T BRING HIMSELF to tell his mother what he had seen. No doubt she would see this as a desecration of the grave. Fortunately, the soldier had made it clear that this duty was to last only three days, so by the time his mother did feel up to visiting, the men guarding the tomb would be gone.

  The lad did not know what to make of the governor’s fear that someone would claim Jesus had risen from the dead. He lay back on his cot that night, as miserable as he had ever been. This was worse than the death of his father, which, while tragic and unfair, had plainly been an accident. Mark covered his eyes with the heels of his hands and pleaded with God to somehow comfort his heart and help him understand all that had come to pass. Had Jesus really been the Son of God? And if so, how was it that God had allowed Him to be slain by mere men?

  Above him Mark heard the slow plodding of the disciples. Voices were muffled, and there was not one sound of a psalm or hymn. What was to become of these men? Would they all return to their homes in Galilee and their former occupations?

  They seemed paralyzed with grief, but even worse, fear. That still angered Mark, but he could hardly blame them. Most were recognizable. They all could be identified by someone as a follower of Jesus, who was now seen as a rabble-rouser, a rebel, a troublemaker for both the Jews and the Romans. If He had been deemed worthy of execution, what about them?

  The disciples themselves had made no claims of deity, but Jesus had told both the high priest and the governor himself that they had correctly deduced that He was a king.

  And what would become of John Mark? Just a few days before, he had allowed himself to imagine growing older, maturing, becoming an adult friend of Peter and the disciples and, yes, even Jesus Himself. Now his future seemed bleak and foreboding.

  Very late that night Mark roused at the sound of John returning. John asked a servant to awaken Mark’s mother, and apologized profusely.

  “Not at all, sir,” she said, appearing pale and shaken. “What is it, John?”

  He reported that the other women were attending Jesus’ mother, “allowing me to return to the disciples. But Mary of Magdala wants to visit the tomb in the morning. I wondered if you would care to join her. I cannot bear the idea of going.”

  “Nor can I,” Mark’s mother said. “Unless she would otherwise be alone.”

  “No, others have agreed to go and help anoint the body.”

  “Then I would beg your pardon and prefer not to.”

  “I understand.”

  And with that, John bade her leave and mounted the stairs to the upper room. Mark could tell that the rest were gathering to hear the latest from John. Mark thought about the Roman guards at the tomb. Surely the women would be troubled to discover them there. He set out his sandals and tunic and cloak, planning to go along and help talk the guards into breaking the seal on the stone and allowing the women in. Would the guard he had talked to recognize him and suspect him of having been sympathetic to the condemned?

  Mark drifted off, confident that going was the right thing.

  SIX

  They won’t believe us!”

  “I hardly believe it myself!”

  “I don’t believe it!”

  “But they were angels!”

  Mark’s eyes popped open at the sound of the excited women’s voices. They flew past his window and lifted their skirts as they raced up the stairs. And he realized he had slept past dawn and missed his opportunity to go with them to the tomb.

  What could they hardly believe, and what was that about angels? Whatever it was, they felt it justified racing straight to the upper room without even announcing themselves to the mistress of the house. Now they were rapping at the door above, and Mark heard murmuring and footsteps. He grabbed his cloak and slung it over his shoulders as he too headed upstairs.

  By the time he arrived, the disciples—plus several of their greater company from Galilee who had come for Passover—were covering themselves and rubbing their eyes, seeming overwhelmed by Mary of Magdala, another Mary, and several others.

  “What is it?” Peter said.

  John, the last to rouse, squinted at the women as he approached, pulling on his sandals. They all seemed to talk at once until John held up a hand. “Please, please,” he said. “Sit and tell us all that has happened.”

  The others looked to Mary Magdalene. “I hardly know where to begin,” she said, “and if we hadn’t seen it with our own eyes, we would not believe it ourselves. We went to the sepulcher just before dawn with our spices and oils, prepared to anoint Jesus’ body but wondering whether—even with all of us working together—we could roll away the huge stone. We arrived to find it already rolled away.”

  “Oh, no!” a disciple said. “What more can these people do to us, to Him?”

  “Was the body still there?” someone else said.

  Mary Magdalene took a deep breath. “We entered the tomb to see and were met there by two angels who—”

  “Angels!” Peter roared. “How do you know they were angels and not grave robbers? They could have been—”

  The women shook their heads, and Mary of Magdala said, “Their countenance was like lightning and their raiment white as snow. We were scared speechless and hid o
ur faces, but these men actually spoke to us!”

  “They spoke? What did they say?”

  The women all began to talk again, but finally Mary silenced the others. “They told us not to be afraid and that they knew we sought Jesus, who was crucified.”

  “You’re dreaming,” someone said. “Why defile our memory of the Lord with fanciful tales?”

  “Let me speak,” Mary said.

  “Yes, let her finish!” John said.

  “One of the angels said, ‘He is not here, for He has risen, as He said. Remember how He told you when you were yet in Galilee that the Son of Man must be delivered into the hands of sinful men and be crucified, but the third day would rise again. Behold the place where they laid Him.’ We looked, and He was not there.”

  “Nonsense!”

  “Foolishness!”

  “Believe it or not at your own peril,” Mary said, “but the angels told us to come and tell you that you would soon see Him.”

  “Idle tales!” someone raged, but Mark noticed Peter and John lock eyes. Then they burst from the room and flew down the stairs.

  Mark turned to follow them but ran into his own mother. How much had she heard? Apparently enough to know that she didn’t want him following Peter and John. No matter how much he pleaded, she was resolute. “Son, you will stay right here with me until they return with a report.”

  Mary Magdalene, however, slipped away alone and headed from the house.

  MARK’S MOTHER INSISTED that he and the servants prepare breakfast and serve everyone while waiting for John and Peter to return. It was all Mark could do concentrate, but he had to admit he found himself agreeing with the disciples who chose not to believe the women’s report. He didn’t know what to think. He wanted to believe this, but it was so far-fetched! But could they all have conspired on such a tale, deluded by their grief and hope? Had Jesus predicted His own resurrection? And if so, why couldn’t Mark believe it any more than His friends chose to?

  As they sat eating in the upper room, it was clear the other women were offended by the men’s skepticism. And yet it did not seem to dampen their enthusiasm. Mark made sure he stayed close enough to hear them recite over and over the astounding events of the early dawn.

  Presently a servant stood in the doorway. “The men have returned!”

  As one, those in the upper room rose, and Peter and John stomped up the stairs. Peter proved mute due to breathlessness. John, gasping and grinning ear to ear, held up a hand for silence.

  “It’s true, beloved! It’s true!”

  Peter, catching his breath, gushed, “The youngster beat me to the tomb, but I ducked in ahead of him. The grave clothes remain intact, but the body is gone!”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I say He is risen!” John said.

  “We don’t know that,” Peter said.

  “Did you see angels too?”

  “Can it be?”

  One of the women asked if either of the men had seen Mary of Magdala.

  “We thought she was here,” Peter said.

  So the women left to search for her.

  As the disciples talked excitedly among themselves, Mary Magdalene arrived and stood in the doorway at the top of the stairs. The men fell silent and stared at her.

  “I saw the Lord,” she said, barely above a whisper.

  Thomas rushed to her and helped her sit. “What? Tell us everything!”

  “I was crying outside the tomb, fearing we had all been mistaken and that someone had taken Jesus’ body. But as I stooped to look into the tomb, the angels were still there—one on each end of where He had lain—and they asked why I was weeping. I said, ‘Because they have taken my Lord, and I know not where they have laid Him.’

  “I backed away and turned to see a man I assumed to be the gardener standing there. He said, ‘Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you seeking?’

  “I said, ‘Sir, if You have carried Him away, tell me where You have laid Him, and I will take Him away.’”

  Mary stopped and pressed her lips together, fighting tears. “Then He said to me, ‘Mary!’ and I knew. I said, ‘Teacher!’ He told me not to cling to Him, for He had not yet ascended to the Father, but He said, ‘Go to My brethren and say to them, “I am ascending to My Father and your Father, and to My God and your God.” ’”

  Mark had never seen anyone so radiant as Mary. John had been excited, thrilled to find the empty tomb. Peter still seemed to doubt. But Mary said she had talked with Jesus! Mark wanted to believe her so badly.

  Just then the other women who had been at the tomb arrived with a similar story. “Jesus met us on the road,” they said. “He told us to rejoice! We fell and held His feet and worshiped Him. He said, ‘Do not be afraid,’ and told us to tell you that you will soon see Him too.”

  THE REST OF THE DAY was spent reviewing all the accounts, the eleven disciples and many of their associates from Galilee arguing among themselves how much could be believed and what should be discounted. Many ventured out, hoping to see Jesus, but most of the eleven, fearing they would be recognized, stayed in the upper room.

  Late that evening, all those who were closest to Jesus—save Thomas—sat around the table, eating and trying to make sense of the day’s events. There was a knock on the door, and two of the Galileans entered with haste.

  “We must tell you what happened!” one named Cleopas said. “We were walking the seven miles to Emmaus—conversing and wondering aloud about all that has happened—when a man drew near and walked with us. We did not know him. He said, ‘What kind of conversation is this that you are sad?’

  “I said, ‘Are You the only stranger in Jerusalem and know not the things which have happened?’

  “He said, ‘What things?’

  “I said, ‘The things concerning Jesus of Nazareth, who was a Prophet mighty in deed and word before God and all the people, and how the chief priests and our rulers delivered Him to be condemned to death, and crucified Him.’ I told him we had been hoping that it was He who would redeem Israel, but that it had already been three days since these things happened. I added that certain women of our company, who arrived at the tomb early, astonished us with their report that they did not find His body, but that they had also seen a vision of angels who said He was alive. I told him that certain of those with us went to the tomb and found it just as the women had said, but that they did not see Jesus.

  “And then, gentleman, this stranger said, ‘O foolish ones, and slow of heart to believe in all that the prophets have spoken! Ought not the Christ to have suffered these things and to enter into His glory?’ And beginning at Moses and all the Prophets, he expounded to us all the Scriptures concerning the Christ.

  “When we drew near to Emmaus we begged that he abide with us, for it was toward evening and the day was far spent. And he stayed with us and sat at the table with us. My friends, when he took the bread and blessed it and broke it and gave it to us, our eyes were opened and we knew Him. It was the Lord. And He soon vanished from before our very eyes.

  “We said to one another, ‘Did not our hearts burn within us while He talked with us on the road, and while He opened the Scriptures to us?’ We rose up immediately and rushed here to tell you, the Lord is risen indeed!”

  It had to be true, Mark thought. It just had to be. And yet he could tell from the looks of the disciples that even they weren’t sure. But as they all sat pondering, suddenly Jesus Himself stood in the midst of them and said, “Peace to you.”

  Mark froze, terrified that he was seeing a spirit.

  Jesus said, “Why are you troubled? And why do doubts arise in your hearts? Behold My hands and My feet, that it is I Myself. Handle Me and see, for a spirit does not have flesh and bones as you clearly see I have.”

  He showed them His hands and His feet, but Mark sat like all the rest, overjoyed but still finding it hard to believe. And Jesus said, “Have you any food here?”

  John immediately rose and gave Him a piece of a broil
ed fish and some honeycomb, and He ate. Mark noticed Peter, pale and wide-eyed, and yet appearing afraid to meet Jesus’ gaze. Everyone else just stared, unmoving.

  “These are the words I spoke to you while I was still with you,” Jesus said, “that all things must be fulfilled which were written in the Law of Moses and the Prophets and the Psalms concerning Me. As the Father has sent Me, I also send you.” And He breathed on them and said, “Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.”

  And Jesus disappeared from their midst.

  Soon Thomas arrived.

  “We have seen the Lord!” the others told him.

  He looked warily at them and shook his head. “Unless I see in His hands the print of the nails, and put my finger into the print of the nails, and put my hand into His side, I will not believe.”

  Mark was at first nearly as disappointed in Thomas as he had been with Peter. But he had to admit that even he would not have been able to take the word of these men and women he knew and admired and trusted. Had he not seen the risen Jesus with his own eyes, neither would he have believed it.

  SEVEN

  For the next week the excited disciples didn’t dare venture far from Mark’s mother’s home. Jerusalem abounded with rumors and danger, and much of the disciples’ time was spent planning their return to Galilee. Mark, unknown to the authorities as an associate of the crucified Jesus, ran errands with the servants, buying foodstuffs and taking care of the disciples’ needs. His heart was full to bursting, since he himself had seen the risen Jesus and knew he could never again be dissuaded from believing.

  EIGHT DAYS AFTER JESUS had appeared to them in the upper room, the disciples were again inside, this time with Thomas present. With the door shut, Jesus once again appeared in their midst and said, “Peace to you!”

  He said to Thomas, “Reach your finger here, and look at My hands; and reach your hand here, and put it into My side. Do not be unbelieving, but believing.”