Talk about a horrible day. Their brains were in a fog from trauma of having witnessed their loved one - their everything - brutally tortured and killed. Some things were in their control. Some were not. Legitimate threats against their own lives shook the ground beneath their feet. The earth quaked and split open the core of their foundation. Hearts fainted as fierce lightning and thunderous clouds burst on the scene. Right as the sky turned pitch black, he gave up his last. His final cry wrecked the souls of those nearby more than the storm that sent some running in terror and caused others to stand paralyzed. Hope was gone. He was gone. Cruelty mocked his death through wagging heads and piercing words.
Soon afterwards, his loved ones hid and trembled behind locked doors. Lies circulated and false accusations ran amuck throughout the nation, the city, and even within their own homes. Their whole world, as they had known it, completely crashed within a 24 hour period. Their horror came out of nowhere… or so it seemed.
Eventually they put puzzle pieces together. Previous conversations with their loved one foretold of this living nightmare and agonizing grief. He tried to give them advance warning but they did not understand. Yet in the pain, they also remembered other things he said that anchored them in a different kind of hope when nothing yet made sense.
As was his style, he left things in order. He had taken cloths from his body, folded them neatly, and set them in a corner. A Gardener appeared and tended flowers from seeds sown. Then a Servant cooked fresh fish and called out, Come and eat breakfast. Over and over, he came as the Wounded Healer who allowed them to touch his scars. And always, his voice reverberated throughout the chambers of their hearts from times when he had called them each by name.
And they would rise again to say his name if only with a whisper…