My task is done. There is no more I can do. I have served my Lord as well as I could, and given him the best that I have. But my service will never be remembered, my gifts are overcast with gloom and despair.
For I have served my Lord’s dead body, preparing it with myrrh and aloes, and wrapping it in strips of linen. With the help of Nicodemus, we laid it in the tomb I cut out of the rock with my own hands, the gift I gave my crucified Saviour. How shallow and meaningless are these final actions! Why was I so late? Why did I wait to show my allegiance to him until after his death?
Oh yes, I am a member of the Council, respected by many. And my wealth has afforded me a very comfortable life. In the public’s eye, I have all any man could ask for. Yet, until I heard the message of Jesus, my life was hollow and empty. His words freed my heart and I believed. Yes, I believed, but secretly, oh, so secretly! How fearful I was that my position and wealth might be lost if I proclaimed my devotion to Him! Now the Council, even Pilate, know my true feelings. But what does it matter? I was too late! How often I longed for the touch of my Master’sHand! Instead I have felt the cold and broken flesh of his lifeless body. Death has claimed my Saviour and death has gripped my heart.
© Paula Kirkpatrick, 2015