April 20, Easter 1C (Isaiah 65:17-25; Luke 24:1-12)
As the women prepared the oil and spices, I think they must have told stories.
Oh, to have been a fly on the wall, or perhaps on the edge of the bowl, as Mary turned away to take another spice jar from the rack on the wall to add to the fragrant mix she was pounding in the mortar. I imagine a stray tear fell from time to time, lying atop the oils being mixed with the ground spices. As the women worked steadily to prepare the spices and ointments with which they would provide Jesus with an honorable burial after the horror and ignoble nature of his death, did they do so in silence? Did they discuss what had just happened? Did they relate a favorite memory of the person they were preparing to bury?
I grew up in England in a time before bodies were whisked away to cold storage until the funeral. My mum’s mum, my Nanny, died suddenly when I was 12. The women of our family laid her out on her bed upstairs. They washed her body, clothed her in her best dress and shoes, brushed her silver hair, and made sure her dentures were firmly in place. For two days, family, neighbors, and friends stopped by the house to share their sorrow and condolences and—if they wished—to go up the narrow stairs to sit with Nanny for a while and say goodbye. My memory of that time is vague, but I do remember thinking how nice Nanny looked. I also remember that there was lots of laughter as well as tears, as my very large extended family caught up on all the news and told stories. So many stories.
In his telling of Jesus’ death, Luke makes a point of highlighting the presence of “the women who had followed him from Galilee” (23:49). After they see where his body is placed—unwashed, naked, hair unbrushed, simply wrapped in a linen cloth—they make preparations to return after the sabbath to honor his body in death.
