Sitting on an old boulder along the hillside, I watched quietly as if I had gone way back in time. Under the overcast skies, stood a few men that looked as though they were dressed in biblical robes milling about a field. Several knelt before the base of a rough-cut pole. I watched them pray in the shadows and observed the amazed disbelievers. They gazed upon the monument where the crucified King hung not so long ago. I presumed it must have been day four or five since He was entombed in the limestone cave. They stood praying in His honor and breaking off pieces of the treasured cross.
I heard a woman weeping as she threw herself around the base of the up righted cross. Aided by two disciples, she reached up and carefully removed the remains of His loincloth hanging from the driven spike. She tore the cloth into threads, and shared the pieces –much like a first communion. “Our Savior lives! Our Savior lives!” she announced. I began to shed a tear, for I knew the truth! They, too, saw the empty tomb and knew what happened to Him.
From her soiled hands, she passed out a thread of faith. Each of the disciples carried their pieces as a sacred memento. The doubters watched while others came forward and found salvation with her communion. As I watched, I could tell they were the first to become born-again Christians for they now accepted He was the Christ.
I don’t think they saw me; maybe I didn’t exist to them but what I saw while sitting on that ominous boulder in a pair of jeans was incredible! As much as I wanted to walk up to the site, I thought better of losing the mirage. I, a mere messenger, can only report what I saw that day. The sun broke through and before it set, I watched the rays as they lifted them into the heavens.