What's Going On Here?

I still haven't actually slept. Oh, sure, I dozed in the garden, and I think I dropped off for a little bit when I got to the house after the burial. I may have slept last night too, but it was the sleep of a tortured man.

I was half asleep when the noise came. Pounding. Like hammer on nails... nails through flesh and bone... Oh, will the nightmare never fade? It was Mary. She was jabbering about the tomb and heaven knows what. I was still groggy; I wasn't quite following her. But when she said "The body's gone," well, I understood that well enough.

I took off running. One of the others did too. We got there, and sure enough, that tomb was empty. The huge stone, all those crazy precautions for nothing. None of us knew what to make of it. The stone was there so we wouldn't move him. The guard was there to protect the tomb from us. Yet we had done nothing and he was still gone.

Back at the house, we argued again. We're trying to figure out what happened, but nothing we come up with makes sense. I mean, the Romans wouldn't... and the teachers of the Law wouldn't... certainly not the Sanhedrin... we've been hiding here... Lazarus. It's the only explanation that makes any sense at all. But could he? I mean, sure, he raised Lazarus, but could he raise himself? Impossible! I want it to be true...

What if it is true? How can I face him after what I've done? He knew. He warned me. Of course he would know. He always knows things like this.

I can't take much more of this tearing at my brain. Something is going to have to give, and soon.

Peace be with you.

I would know that voice anywhere. Am I hearing things? He's dead. John saw it.

He's here.