He had been dead for three days. His grave was just as any resting place for the dead should be. It was stone-cold, echoing of nothing and yielding only silence. Dark, grey, black. No shadows. No light. A body lay on a large stone, cut from the cave. Lumps of herbs protruded from beneath the white linens that delicately hugged the body. The ripe scent of frankincense and tears left by weeping women lingered gently. A faint whiff of cauterized blood lay close to the sheets. Hope had been lost when he cried from the cross then exhaled his last whiff of life. As the air left his lungs the world he had come to save was lost. At least hell though it was so. But hell knew nothing of the supernatural power that would silence pain and death forever. If it had, no scoffing would have been made at his sacrifice, the sacrifice that tore down hell’s fiery gates and tossed them to the wayside like a pile of inflamed garbage.
The man had gone below the earth to claim what was his. He had overtaken death and snatched the keys from the horned overlords. He stared demons confidently in the eyes as theirs, glazed with evil, glared back into his. Glare they might but there was no confidence beyond the posture. The power had been taken from them. The moment this dead man tossed the gates aside like they weighed nothing, they had known it. Many howled in anguish as Yeshua rose, leading hundreds upon hundreds of people in tow. Many continued to jeer and mock, just as the soldiers beneath his cross had. Their end would not be pleasant and it was coming soon, so soon.
A slight tremor rippled across the stone followed by the subtle rise and fall of the dead man’s breath. A slight twitch of a thumb. Black. All lay still once more. Another ripple, the hand moved. Another and the dead man’s torso lifted. The blood on the linen bandages receded. Dark red, light red, faded red, white, pure white. Another tremor, a rumble sounded and faint cries could be heard just beyond the stone cage. In a matter of minutes, rays of light shot through the stone walls, piercing the minerals and forming galaxies of glitter against the dark rock. White bandages shone. The man stood, blood no longer covered his body. Flesh no longer hung from his bones. The stone guarding the grave had not been rolled away, exposing the walls to sunlight yet everything was awash with a fresh glow. He was the light.
Yeshua lifted his brown eyes to the edge of the grave and began to walk. The holes where nails had pierced through flesh, tendons and ligaments remained. They would speak and pour healing out on all nations.
A deep, gushing warmth filled his belly. He bent his head back and thrust his fist in victory. They had done it. They had won. With a resounding crack, the door split. With a dull roar, it twisted away from him and into the flowered garden beyond. Elohim, the Perfect King, would, once again, have His treasure, His prize, His people. They would know love and life like they never had before.
Yeshua grinned brightly as sunlight filtered in, exposing the way he had come to save, the truth of his unconditional love and the life he had given them. All nations and people would know unthinkable passion, love and truth in a way they never had. He was the hope to all who were lost, broken and in need. He was the only Way to the Father and to life at its fullest. He was the author and finisher of all lives and destinies. A giant smile pulled at the corners of his lips. The people Elohim had made would soon know life to its fullest. The people of the earth would have a personal relationship with the Creator of all. Yeshua took a deep breath of the fragrant air and exhaled slowly. He tilted his head towards the sun, his dark face warmed by the rays of the great star.
And to think, each of their stories was just beginning.