The first morning

The dawn may have broken like any other morning in that dry
and dusty country. It may have come without much colour,
without much beauty.

What no one knew was that this first day of the week was
different from any other in the history of that land. A tomb was
empty, grave clothes were folded and a story which had
finished was beginning again.

John saw the tomb and was too afraid to go in. Peter went into
the tomb but did not understand what he saw. Mary met the
man himself but thought he was the gardener.

Then he said the first words of his return. Who are you looking
for? he asked. And getting no reply, he said Mary.

It was enough. She knew even in the half-light of dawn who
was speaking. Her master had returned to her.

The sun rose and, bit by bit, the message began to sink in.
The man who had first called their names by the Sea of
Galilee would go on calling their names and calling the names
of countless others as each new dawn brings each new day.
He was, is and always will be: risen