Cold stone, silent and still. A rich man’s voice, “Build it here.” “As you wish.”
The chip and clang of chisels and mallets, harsh and steady. Jokes, curses, grunts of effort. “Joseph” carved with no ending date. Whitewash splashing over tooled stone. Sighs as the sun descends, bringing a Sabbath’s rest.
Days, weeks, months, seasons, and years passing in heat and cold, sunshine and moonlight. Wind song. Creak and rustle of spiders’ haunt and lizards’ lair. Leaves blown in on an unswept floor.
Shouts from the city and bawling of sheep, waiting for sacrifice. Fierce taunts. Hammers ringing on giant spikes. Jeers and wails. Cries of pain and agony. Darkness during daylight; mighty grumbles of an angry earthquake tearing the earth apart. Stones rolling and bumping down hillsides nearby.
Men’s voices. “Put him here, Nicodemus.” Women weeping. “Thank you, kind Joseph.” “Not enough time, Sabbath’s coming.” Footsteps descending.
Tramping of feet, marching uphill. “This is the one; seal it up.” Clatter of weapons, clink of tools. Sighs, snores, and quiet conversation.
Morning, still dark. Absolute quiet. The stillness of the grave.
A quiet gasp; the breath of God. The rustle of cloth, and the earth shudders and shudders again.
Men are shouting, screaming, and then, dumbstruck. An angel’s step. Stone grinding on stone. Feet walking away, downhill.
Women whispering, “How will we get in?” “Look! The grave is open!”
Angels speaking, “Why do you seek the living among the dead?” Sounds of confusion, men and women searching.
“They have taken him!”
“Why do you weep?”
“He is risen.”
“He is risen!” “Did you hear, Christ is risen from the dead!”