(John 20:19)
I can still hear the strike of the hammer as the soldiers drove the nails into His hands – and the sharp, agonizing cries of pain that followed. I can still see His broken body, beaten beyond recognition, hanging between the two criminals as the sky darkened, as if in mourning.
How could this be? The One who calmed storms, gave sight to the blind, and raised the dead -now lifeless on a cross?
I had left everything to follow Him. I walked the dusty roads of Galilee by His side, and listened as He spoke of a kingdom – built not on earthly power – but on love, mercy, and forgiveness.
I had seen the sick healed at His touch, demons tremble at His word, the dead rise at His command.
And yet, as His final breath slipped away, my heart sank. Had we misunderstood everything? Was this truly His Kingdom? Was it all over?
I had been there the night before when He knelt to wash my feet – my Master, my Lord, humbling Himself like a servant before me. I didn’t understand it then. I barely understand it now.
He told us this would happen. That He would suffer and die. But how could the Messiah – the One meant to reign forever – be beaten, mocked, and crucified like a criminal?
When they took His lifeless body down and laid Him in His mother’s arms, I turned away. I couldn’t bear it anymore. My Master was gone.
We hid in that upper room, locked away in fear. Would they come for us next? No one spoke. What was there to say? Everything we had believed and hoped for, had died with Him.
His voice still echoed in my mind – His laughter, the way He called my name, the way He broke bread and said, “Do this in memory of Me”.
How were we supposed to move on from here?
Guilt gnawed at me. I should have done more. I should have kept awake and prayed that one hour with Him when He asked. Now it was too late.
Then came Sunday morning.
A frantic knock shattered the silence. The women burst in, breathless.
“The tomb is empty!”
“We saw Him,” Mary wept. “He’s alive!”
Could it be? No – it was impossible. And yet, something stirred within me. Something I hadn’t dared to feel until now – hope.
And then… He was there!
Standing in the middle of the room! And the door was locked!
I could barely breathe. His face – His beautiful, familiar face – radiated an indescribable light.
Then He spoke.
“Peace be with you.”
His voice – and those words – instantly melted my fear, my doubt, my sorrow.
Tears filled my eyes as I fell to my knees.
I had doubted. I had nearly lost all hope.
But the Lord has returned.
Death had not won. He did!
Everything He had said was true. Every lesson, every promise.
No, the cross was not the end. This was just the beginning.
And now, I understood.
Now, I believed.
Shared by Cheryl Sim
Disclaimer:
This article is a personal reflection inspired by the events of Holy Week. While it seeks to remain faithful to the Gospel accounts, readers are encouraged to refer to the Word of God for the biblical narrative.