| Easter Monday ~ The Gardener's Story | | Print | |
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~ You are welcome to forward this to others, please credit the author. ~
Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene came to the tomb and saw that the stone had been rolled away. She ran and told Simon Peter and the other disciple — the one whom Jesus loved, "They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we don't know where they have laid him."
The Gardener's Story
by Deborah Beach Giordano
© April 9, 2007
I like to start my work early: in the morning quiet I can think and wonder, and talk to the flowers... I suppose you think that's crazy, talking to the flowers? Well, that's how you get when you are alone a lot, like me. Not many people want to be around a fellow who spends his days among the tombs, surrounded by the dead. My work sets me apart: I am a walking reminder of what awaits us all.
And then, I'm "polluted," too. That's what the Law says of me because I've helped with the burials, come in contact with dead people... I'll have to undergo a cleansing before I can go into the temple again. Funny notion, it seems to me: dead folks cannot do us any harm — it is the living who cause all the trouble! It is not easy, doing what I do. I see things that are hard to see: the grief of the mourners who come to bury their loved ones; the sorrowful faces of those who come to visit the graves, watering the grass with their tears. I see the memories and hopes littered upon the ground: a scarf, a toy camel, a walking stick, a love letter, a hair pin, a baby blanket. There are things that I don't see, too, if you get my drift. Like when bodies are brought in that aren't supposed to be here. You know: criminals, rebels, robbers, revolutionaries. Folks that have been crucified. The Romans say they are supposed to be left unburied. But I think that's just plain wrong. The punishment has to stop somewhere. And what about their families? Why should they suffer any more? I could tell you a story about one of those, too, if you're interested. But you'd probably decide I was completely crazy, then. Nutty guy who goes around talking to flowers. And sees dead people get up and walk away.... It was really something, though, let me tell you. The whole day was weird from the beginning. I was awake very early. I don't know why. The sun wasn't up yet, but I wasn't the least bit sleepy. I was lying in the darkness, thinking about nothing in particular. Dog was in the corner, asleep; I could hear her snoring. I could have sworn I saw a flash of lightning and heard the rumble of thunder, and Dog was on her feet, barking. I wrapped my robe around me and went to the window. There were no storm clouds. Not even any fog. Night was just turning to dawn, and there was the morning star — so bright that it seemed to be glowing. It reminded me of the time, it's been many years now, that a bright star appeared in the sky. Oddest thing: seemed to just stay in one place — it didn't move across the heavens the way stars are supposed to do — seemed to stay over some little town... Nazareth, if I remember correctly. Anyway, caused quite a stir at the time. Where was I? Oh, yes. That morning, when the star was so bright. And the lightning that wasn't really there. Anyway... I figured that since I was awake and on my feet anyway, I might as well start the day. So I made myself some breakfast — Dog got her fair share, as usual, and then we headed up to the cemetery. When I got there everything seemed to be fine. It was as quiet as the grave — ha! that's my own little joke! But then I thought I saw a light in the south section — over there near Nicodemus' family plot. Very wealthy family, and well-connected, but nice folks. Anyhow, I figured I'd better go over and check; can't have any grave robbers or disrespectful people messing about. Bunch of fool kids got in here one night, daring one another to go into one of the open tombs. I fixed that. I put one of my old shirts on the end of a stick, moved in real quiet-like and then waved it around right behind them. They ran out of here shrieking like a herd of demons was chasing them. That was good for a laugh, and saved me having to report them to the priests. Could have caused a lot of trouble for everyone. You don't mind my having fun ... do you? Anyhow, when I got over to that section, nothing seemed out of order at first. Then I noticed that the stone had been rolled away from the newest tomb. I couldn't believe it. I knew it wasn't the kids again: that big rock was way too heavy for a healthy adult — or even two — to move aside. I wasn't going to go in a check. No way! Poor fellow had been crucified — you know how brutal that is. I helped put him in there, just before Passover — that has to be our secret, though! It was awful. There were scratches all around his forehead, and a gash in his side as if he'd been stabbed with a spear. I surely wouldn't want to see that again! And he'd been in there for three days — there would have been a terrible stench! Then it dawned on me. Of course! The Romans had found out he'd been buried and had stolen the body out of the tomb. They would take it out to the pit and throw it in with the others. Cruel swine. It's just the sort of thing they would do. While I was considering what to do, and how to discretely let Nicodemus know what had happened, Dog decided to have a look around on her own. She set her nose to the ground and headed straight for the entrance to the tomb. In an instant — I couldn't believe it — she raced up and went right in. She's never done anything like that before, or since. I called and whistled and clapped my hands, but she ignored me — you know how stubborn those creatures are! So there was nothing for it, but to go and get her out of there. There are folks who would be horrified to know that a dog had been inside their tomb. Silly, if you ask me: dogs are cleaner than most people... but there you are. Anyhow, I had no choice but to go into the tomb. And that was another odd thing: as I got closer, I could have sworn I heard music. Nothing I could recognize; it wasn't one of the psalms the priests chant, nor one of the shepherds' songs. It was soft and sweet and low; comforting, like a mother's lullaby. It was a bit of a climb to get there, and when I arrived I was out of breath. I leaned against the entrance and looked in. There was Dog, standing in the middle of the empty tomb, wagging her tail as if she was meeting an old friend. Happy as a clam, staring at nothing. Darned fool animal. But, funny thing is — it seemed brighter inside the tomb than it was outside in the morning sunshine. I can't explain it, but I remember that when I looked in, I had to shield my eyes — the way you do when you're looking toward the sun. It seems impossible, now: a brilliant light inside a rock cave ... but I know it really happened. When Dog saw me she barked once, and then hightailed it out of the tomb and back down the hill. She knew she shouldn't have been in there. As I followed her I passed a woman coming quietly up the path, her eyes downcast. She glanced at me for a moment, then continued on her way. I caught up with Dog back at my cottage; and when I picked up the kettle to make myself another cup of tea — it was still hot! All that had gone on that morning ... everything I'd seen and done seemed to have taken place out of time — beyond time; in some sort of special category. I don't know how else to explain it. By rights that pot should have been stone cold. I was sitting there, talking to Dog about the crazy things that were going on around here.... Yes, I talk to animals, too! Now you'll never believe what happened next. But it is God's own truth, I swear it. A man passed by me; walking toward the east. He had the most astonishing eyes. That's what I remember most: so kind and gentle, filled with .. how can I describe it? Compassion? Love? That's a funny word, too; people use it so casually. This was a greater love than I've ever known. I can see it yet: that look so full of kindness and understanding. It was as if he knew everything I'd ever done, every sorrow I'd ever experienced, every unkind thought, every wrongheaded choice I'd made. It was as if I were known completely, to the depths of my soul, and I felt ... forgiven. Loved. Filled with hope. He didn't say a thing to me, just looked at me — and in that moment I felt as though my life was renewed; as if infinite possibilities had been opened up for me. I felt restored... That Nicodemus fellow I told you about earlier? He calls it "being reborn" — he talks about it all the time. And that's where my story ends. Oh, and one more thing. That fellow — the one with the amazing eyes? — I could swear that he was the man Jesus. The one who was crucified. The one I helped Nicodemus put in the tomb. It looked just like him. I really believe it was him. By now you're sure that I'm a crazy old man, aren't you? Well, you're entitled to your opinion. But Dog was with me, and she knows what happened. There! Did you see that? She just winked at us! May the garden of your life be filled with blooming hope and abundant love, Jacob the Gardener As dictated to Deborah Beach Giordano, this Easter Monday, and sent forth accompanied by virtual hugs and real-time blessings. This Week's Suggested Spiritual Exercise: Rejoice and give thanks to our God. You are forgiven, loved, and free. Go forth and preach the Good News — using words, if necessary! -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- JOIN OUR LIST: If you would like the weekly Reflection to be sent directly to your email address, you may join our list for free by emailing dbgiordano@comcast.net with the word "Reflections" in the subject or body of the email. The Reflections mailing list is NOT used for any other purpose. UNSUBSCRIBE: If you no longer wish to receive the weekly Reflection, reply to this email with the word "unsubscribe" in the subject or body of the email. |
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