When the men unlatched the heavy door Mary spilled into the room. Her face was taut with concern and beads of sweat darkened the curls that had fallen forward across her temples. She had been running and blurted “He’s gone. Someone has taken his body away!”
The men jumped up to surround her. “It’s still dark,” said Mark, who had holed himself up with the apostles in the upper room. “How could you see?”
“I could see,” she said, her voice firm. “The stone was rolled back.”
Peter signaled John toward the door with a jerk of his head. “Wait here,” he said to Mary who was still shaking from her headlong race to the Cenacle.
The door latched behind the two men and they broke into a run. The sun had slipped up over the horizon dimpling the shadowed path. Peter slowed to avoid stumbling, because his greying hair had tumbled across his eyes. John raced ahead through the streets toward the tomb at the city’s perimeter. In the early glow he could see the great stone had been rolled away from the dark maw of the entrance. To catch his breath he stopped himself short of the cave and leaned against the tree that grew from base of the rock.
When Peter arrived he went straight into the tomb past the younger apostle. As soon as his eyes adjusted he noticed that whoever had taken the body had left the burial cloths behind. He didn’t know what to think. His brow furrowed as he wracked his brain trying to remember Christ’s last words to him.
John, who had stepped in behind Peter, understood instantly. He nudged the elder leader and whispered, “He is risen.”