G. C. Jeffers

When the even was come, there came a rich man of Arimathaea, named Joseph, who also himself was Jesus’ disciple:

The furor of yesterday is ended. Those who demanded a drama have been satisfied. And Joseph, broken-hearted and cold, has come.

He went to Pilate, and begged the body of Jesus. Then Pilate commanded the body to be delivered.

He has come to ask a satisfaction, to beg of Pilate a conclusion. And Pilate, the distaste of his own cowardice still in his mouth, assents.

And when Joseph had taken the body, he wrapped it in a clean linen cloth,

No dignity in life, my brother-friend, but you will have cold dignity now. Yield your broken body as a memorial.

And laid it in his own new tomb, which he had hewn out in the rock: and he rolled a great stone to the door of the sepulchre, and departed.

To rot, as was the custom, until the bones could be taken and buried. All things end. We are but dust.

And there was Mary Magdalene, and the other Mary, sitting over against the sepulchre.

Turning and seeing his sister-friends, he mourns their dead hope. He stifles the sudden sob and flees into the mournful gray morning.