A Very Dead Man

The silence was loud and expectant, the darkness deafening. A darkness that could be felt. The room, silent as a tomb. There was only but a faint light, a small hope.  Nothing moved.  The great expanse held its breath.   

A dead man lay on a bed, the physician standing next to him.  The glow illuminated only the two of them, the doctor waiting silently, expectantly, and the dead man, cold and stiff.  For he was very dead.  The physician held the man’s wrist between his fingers and his thumb.  In a place like this in a distant land, there were no monitors, no cords, no drugs, no way to heal. The dead man, had lived, knowing that it was only a matter of time before he would be killed and now, in this place he lay spent.  He had made enemies of the wrong people, and they had hated him.  Here, his final resting place.  Dead and cold.  

This had been no accident, though are there ever, really any accidents?  Random acts of kindness and random acts of violence occur, but this act was anything but random.  This death was designed and planned and foreknown, carried out and premeditated by evil men who did the world a favor by killing him. 

The physician rested his palm on the man’s forehead.  It was still as cold as the grave. The doctor bowed his head.  He had seen it happen.  He was there.  Right there.  He had wept but did nothing to stop it.  The crowd, the screaming, the violence the sudden death and now here he stood quietly waiting.  The doctor cared deeply for the dead man, which is all that seemed to matter.   

The murderers celebrated because their enemy was dead.  The friends of the dead man silently wept, angry at the doctor for doing nothing; doing nothing when he could have done everything.  No one knew or cared what the doctor was doing now.  All they knew was that he had done nothing before.  The physician watched and waited.  Waited for just the right moment. 

But he waited for what, a miracle?  Are there such things as miracles in circumstances such as this? Dead is dead and death is forever.  His friends wept over his body before it was taken from them. They had wept, but now they were gone, off to do whatever someone does after a friend like this dies. Get on with life?  Run away?  Go home, but where could they go to escape this.  There was nothing left for them, but a life of questions and wondering if they could have or should have done something different than what they did. 

The physician placed his hand on the man’s chest.  Then it happened. 

A breath.  One, single, silent, gasping breath and a smile crossed the face of the Physician.  Another breath followed, then another until the breathing was steady and normal. The wounds had not healed, but at least there was hope now.  He watched the man breathe for an eternity.  Then the eyes fluttered, a shudder behind closed lids.  Then they opened.  Slowly at first, looking for all the world like a first-born looking for his mother at the moment of his birth. 

His eyes searched the room and then saw the Physician.  A very, weary, slight smile crossed his lips.  A whisper of a smile, but still a smile.  He lifted his head, thought better of it and rested it back onto the bed.  He winced and closed his eyes again.  Resting.   

“Father?”  whispered the man on the bed.  “It is finished.”  

“It is.” Replied the Physician. 

Another moment while the man on the bed rested.  The Physician spoke again, “You’ve been busy the last two days.”   

The man nodded.  “Multitudes came to us.”  A huge breath and a sigh of relief.  His voice was strengthening, but still weak.  “I am so very thankful.  Thank you for never leaving me. It was so hard.  I never realized what the suffering would be like, but now the pain has ended… forever.”  He tried to raise his head again, grimaced and settled it back down onto the stone.  “Well, not all the pain, I guess.” His chest heaved in small silent laughter.  His Father laughed too.  

A few moments passed in silence.  “The pain has ended for everyone because of you.  All is as it should be, as it should have been… finally.  Well, done, my Son!” His Father said.  The man on the table opened his eyes and smiled.  They both smiled.  Then they began to laugh.    

Jesus held up a hand.  “Help me to sit up.”  The Great Physician grabbed his hand.  The tomb was filled with an inexplicable light now.  When he was sitting on the edge of the stone table there was a sudden roar from heaven that startled him, and he jumped and then laughed. They listened, together.  It was the victory cry of thousands upon thousands of angels, cheering and screaming and creating such a racket that if one had ears to hear he would have thought the heavens were about to come crashing down upon the earth, and in actuality they were… or, had already, moments before. 

“Let me get you some help.”  And angels came, surrounding Jesus, tending to him, helping him to regain his strength.  They tended his wounds, clothed him, gave him food to eat and water to drink and in a few hours, he was back to his full strength, though he still looked like he had been in a fight.   The stone was rolled away from the entrance.  Jesus and God, the Father, embraced each other.  “Nicely done.  Son.”  

“Thank you, Father.” 

“It’s time for you to leave this tomb. People will be coming to look for you soon and we have faith to build.”  Jesus nodded and stepped out into the bright morning sun.  Every living thing bowed down to him as he walked along the path, trailing the eternity of peace and joy in his wake.