To Know His Voice

This article was beautifully written by Jeanie Bland.

When I read this, I knew that I had to share it with you. I will not add, nor take away anything from the beauty of this article. I hope that you find it as personal and soul-searching as I did.

To Know His Voice by Jeanie Bland

The shock of His death still numbed Mary Magdalene’s limbs as she crumbled before the now-empty tomb. Proximity to His body seemed the closest thing to comfort right now, but someone had denied her even that.

Where was His body?

Her mind, dulled by sleeplessness, struggled between questions of where and why. Even now, scenes from His torture and murder played over in her mind relentlessly.

The echo of the slaps on His hooded face as accusers demanded that He guess who was striking Him. She winced now as she remembered how unnecessary the hood was.

His eyes nearly swollen shut from the continuous abuse…

The blood that ran from His ears, mouth, and nose as His silence goaded them to more violence…

The mockers’ spit that joined the blood and sweat dripping down His bruised face…

His skin hanging from His back in ribbons while they beat Him mercilessly…

How the soldier swung the whip indiscriminately, not caring where he struck the bound, helpless man…

A deep moan of sorrow escaped Mary’s lips as she recalled His mother’s screams of horror at the exposed muscle and bone of His back, sides, chest, and legs…

Shuddering, she recalled how all those nights of her former life spent with various soldiers had afforded her a “front-row seat” at the day’s events. From Mary’s vantage point of the beating, she could hear the wind whistle from Christ’s lips each time the whip landed. His blood still stained her sandals.

She continued to puzzle over the unfamiliar whispered sounds she thought she heard coming from the Master’s swollen face, though no movement of His mouth could be detected.

Cancer, infections, depression, Alzheimer’s, migraines, lupus, Crohn’s, multiple sclerosis, diabetes…

Were they foreign words or vocalized agony? Or was it a list that lengthened with each stripe of the whip? By the time the Romans had nailed Him to the cross and lifted Him high up to His place on Golgotha, He barely resembled a human being.

And then His death.

It seemed like an eternity that He hung suspended between earth and sky. But it was no small comfort that His last breath came a little over three hours after His cross was roughly dropped in its hole. Mary remembered hearing of one criminal who had lived in this suspension for three full days before succumbing to suffocation.

Her swollen eyes welled with tears again as she recalled the sound of more whispers that came from everywhere, yet nowhere. The list she heard at His beating seemed to lengthen at His crucifixion.

Murder, bitterness, lust, gossip, strife, theft, pride, adultery, selfishness, perversion, abuse, death…These additions she recognized!

Looking up into what was once His kind, weathered face, she saw only remnants of human features. Was He speaking those words?

It was then she noticed with every whispered evil it was as if His breathing became more and more labored. As if the very words themselves added unbearable weight to His body.

When words of agony ripped from His bloodied and near toothless mouth, it startled her to her knees.

Forsaken? Surely this Man who had shown such strength in life would not now rebuke God in death. But within a very short time she knew He was gone.

Everything after that was a blur. Until now. Here. At an empty tomb.

Her teeth set on edge as she remembered the foolish question of the two strange men from moments ago. “Woman, why are you crying?”

Biting backs words of bitter recrimination against men who no doubt knew of and approved her Lord’s unjust death, she simply said, “They have taken Him away, and I don’t know where they’ve buried Him.”

Then another spoke, asking the same questions. Turning to the voice, she nearly recoiled. The smell of dirt and sweat permeated the air about Him. Cuts and bruises on His face made Him look so much less than human.

Who was this creature and why was He speaking to her? The brutality of what had been done to this man was apparent even through her tears. The near-toothless grimace that was passing as a smile roiled her stomach.

Swallowing the bile in her throat, she choked out her repeated answer. “They have taken Him away, and I don’t know where they’ve buried Him.”

“Mary.”

With that one word, the nausea was quelled. Breath filled her lungs. She recognized His voice.

Falling to her knees she began to babble all that her bursting heart felt for her Master. It was not lost on her that His wounds and bruises were scabbing and changing to angry colors. The hideousness of what He had experienced and conquered was still fresh on His visage. But despite the marks of brutality, the love He felt for her bled through in His voice.

“Mary.”

He had risen from the dead. He wasn’t healed: He wasn’t necessarily whole, but He was here. Mary’s familiarity with His voice chased away the revulsion of what stood before her. That same voice that had commanded the devils that tormented her to flee was now telling her He was present. The wounds on His hands, feet, side, and face seemed to mirror the pain of her deepest being. But while the gruesome wounds may have obscured the Man she longed to see, nothing could change His voice and the resonating comfort she felt from it.

How glad she was to know His voice! For it was in that knowledge she recognized that no matter how He would appear, she would know Him.