ITunes Prompt "Brick" By Ben Folds.
Okay, so I’m going to hell for this… BUT.
The entire city seemed silent and gray, even those who did not understand what had just transpassed on that Friday, stayed calmer on that Passover holiday. The rites and rituals were carried out, the goats were sacrificed and the lambs laid to slaughter. Children still laughed, and mothers still scolded, but it was as if they were muted, as if some great woolen blanket had been laid atop it all. The most silent of all however, was the buildings that housed the followers of the rabbi once known as Joshua bar Joseph, called the messiah. They had lost, and now it was time to lick their wounds, and go home.
It was over.
The men all sat atop various seating structures, their pillows crushed beneath the heavy loads, the food and wine laid untouched. They would stay in such a manner, talking in hushed tones about what should have been done differently, if they should have lied, how they missed a betrayer of the likes of Judas of Kyroth, and when they were going home. They all knew that this was a time to stay quiet, to mourn in the proper Jewish manner, however, after spending three years working up to a point, a moment, and having that moment dashed aside? Not all the rites of death were being completely observed.
The women, the women however, were not so broken. Not so torn down that they could not continue. Joshua was not totally buried yet, and their time for grief hadn’t yet begun because of this fact. Three women woke early that morning, far before the sun even began to rise, and they started to prepare the linen and ointments. Their movements were slow and dedicated, as if their entire lives went into this cloth, as if nothing else mattered.
Mary of Magdala was one of them, her clothes ripped in grief, her eyes still wet with tears. However, she stood strong, or, as strong as possible, pushing herself to be as the bricks of the great temples.
"So! You can destroy the Temple and build it again in three days, can you? Well then, if you are the Son of God, save yourself and come down from the cross!" Matthew 27:40
Though, doing such didn’t seem so great by chance after all.
They passed a dead man, hanging on a tree, none even looked up from their path, set in stone, to notice. And, if by chance, they had? What were they expected to do? Go and retrieve him? Bury him with their rabbi? That man, the one whose body laid slack, moving only with the wind and the vultures picking at his eyes and hair. Were they really to touch something so unclean? No. Of course not. They simply passed him by on their way, he was just another mile marker on their path.
Their arms were linked as they traveled down the dusty pathways and roman roads, until they were outside of the city gates, not to the pit for where enemies of the Roman rule or criminals, but to a set of stone tombs. Joana took the vases and their last few coins to go and bribe the guards, Mary, the mother of James went with her. It was there, that she went and wept, and waited.
…
For him.
The entire city seemed silent and gray, even those who did not understand what had just transpassed on that Friday, stayed calmer on that Passover holiday. The rites and rituals were carried out, the goats were sacrificed and the lambs laid to slaughter. Children still laughed, and mothers still scolded, but it was as if they were muted, as if some great woolen blanket had been laid atop it all. The most silent of all however, was the buildings that housed the followers of the rabbi once known as Joshua bar Joseph, called the messiah. They had lost, and now it was time to lick their wounds, and go home.
It was over.
The men all sat atop various seating structures, their pillows crushed beneath the heavy loads, the food and wine laid untouched. They would stay in such a manner, talking in hushed tones about what should have been done differently, if they should have lied, how they missed a betrayer of the likes of Judas of Kyroth, and when they were going home. They all knew that this was a time to stay quiet, to mourn in the proper Jewish manner, however, after spending three years working up to a point, a moment, and having that moment dashed aside? Not all the rites of death were being completely observed.
The women, the women however, were not so broken. Not so torn down that they could not continue. Joshua was not totally buried yet, and their time for grief hadn’t yet begun because of this fact. Three women woke early that morning, far before the sun even began to rise, and they started to prepare the linen and ointments. Their movements were slow and dedicated, as if their entire lives went into this cloth, as if nothing else mattered.
Mary of Magdala was one of them, her clothes ripped in grief, her eyes still wet with tears. However, she stood strong, or, as strong as possible, pushing herself to be as the bricks of the great temples.
"So! You can destroy the Temple and build it again in three days, can you? Well then, if you are the Son of God, save yourself and come down from the cross!" Matthew 27:40
Though, doing such didn’t seem so great by chance after all.
They passed a dead man, hanging on a tree, none even looked up from their path, set in stone, to notice. And, if by chance, they had? What were they expected to do? Go and retrieve him? Bury him with their rabbi? That man, the one whose body laid slack, moving only with the wind and the vultures picking at his eyes and hair. Were they really to touch something so unclean? No. Of course not. They simply passed him by on their way, he was just another mile marker on their path.
Their arms were linked as they traveled down the dusty pathways and roman roads, until they were outside of the city gates, not to the pit for where enemies of the Roman rule or criminals, but to a set of stone tombs. Joana took the vases and their last few coins to go and bribe the guards, Mary, the mother of James went with her. It was there, that she went and wept, and waited.
…
For him.