He is risen...
He must be risen. He's not there in the grave anymore. I, Simon, have seen the grave, the wrappings rolled up and at either end of the burial slab. The grave was empty - he wasn't there.
The women went there early this morning, to anoint the body, they said. I wonder how they expected to do that. The High Council of our nation had gotten guards to be posted there. It was said that the guards were there to keep us from taking his body away.
And yet... And yet, the women were able to see inside the grave. The heavy stone had been rolled away, and the guards were like dead men. They were dumbstruck, unconscious. They were no guards at all.
The grave was empty. The women saw a young man dressed in white, who told them that the Master was not there, and that we would see him soon. He wasn't there. He was not there.
How could this have been? How can the dead rise? We were told that he had died. John was given care of Jesus' mother. He was able to brave the top of Skull Hill, to actually stand there as the Master died on that cross. He was able to do that. I wish I had had the courage...
I have learned about myself from all this. I have learned that I am not as brave as I thought. I have learned that I am not as strong as I thought. I can never forgive myself for what I have done. I did not believe him. I denied him, just as he told me I would. I ran like a coward when the soldiers came and took him away. I can not forgive myself for my weakness.
He called me Peter - the Rock. How little he knew me. I am nothing like a rock. I am a weak, fearful person. Call me Simon; don't call me Peter. I am not a rock.
If he is risen, then everything is changed. Everything he told us, somehow, it must make sense. I haven't been able to understand it all. I may never understand.
I will try to be strong. I will probably fail. I have learned that I can fail despite myself.
If he is risen, then everything is changed, everything is new. What was true then, is not true now. I must understand - I can not live with myself if I fail to understand. Three years of being with him, day and night, three years of eating and drinking, listening and speaking, three years of living with him in all sorts of places. I must see it make sense.
So. I must understand this new thing, and I must live for the next day. If he has died, and then risen alive, then death is no longer a finality. Death holds less terror. Death is not an end.
So. I am Simon, called Peter, a simple man trying to understand my Master, who was called the Son of Man, and the Son of G-d. I will say that this is true. I will act as if it's true. I will believe. I will have faith.
He is risen.