Follow me. The call has no expiration. It echoes beyond the voice of the one who issued it. There is no shaking these women; models of faith and devotion, all the way from Galilee to the end. Unafraid to obey Jesus, and follow, even though it must have been far easier to slip away. How heartbreaking to gaze upon this cold, pale body that once radiated such vibrant life that he drew all things to himself. Their love finds exercise in caring even for his corpse, for all that is left. They are the witnesses to the final resting place, not just the location but precisely the way in which he was laid. Details that the next day would prove vital, but now were just away for them to linger after their Lord, to delay leaving his side. May we prove to be as faithful. They depart only to prepare for their return; with spices to perfume the air, ointments to make his skin shine as if he were not dead but alive, as he soon shall be.
Image: “The Lamentation over the Dead Christ” by 15th century Italian painter, Andrea Mantegna.