Sunday Morning, 33 A.D.

The soft sound of leather scuffing stone nudges her awake.  Raising her head, she sees a sad, smiling face in the circle of candlelight.

"Would you like to come with us?"

The Magdalene struggles upright to stare at the candle. She drags the back of a hand over dried tears.

Silently the three women move through the snoring bodies of the Rabbi's disciples.  One of them starts to sit up, a dream bringing his outstretched hand up and grasping.  They step around Peter as he sinks back into sleep.

Softly closing the gate, the three pause to re-position their baskets.  A heavy sigh and muffled sobs escape the group as they move away.

Eyes begin to adjust to the darkness of the narrow street.  Once free of the city walls, moonlight paints the path in silver and shadow. They walk on, each carrying their own burden and sorrow.

A whispered thought pierces the silence.

"The stone.  How will we move the stone?"

"God will take care of it."

A pause. Another whisper.

"And the soldiers?"

The pace of the women slow at the danger of being in a secluded spot with soldiers.

The quiet, strong voice of the Magdalene helps them regain their pace.

"And He will take care of that as well."

They turn onto the small path that moves towards the tomb of the Arimathean.  The memories, raw and fresh, bring silent tears.

They follow the path around a huge boulder and stop.  The moonlight shows them what they fear.

A small contingent of Roman soldiers stand at attention on either side of the path while a group of Temple guards sprawl by the entrance to the tomb, some sitting, some reclining, most asleep.

An older man with a leader's bearing barks an order as he approaches the women, his sword drawn.  The squad of young Romans clumsily move to flank both sides of the Centurion, hastily blocking the path..  Behind them the Temple guards struggle to their feet, moving with the unsteadiness of the newly-awakened.

The women freeze as the Centurion strides to within sword's reach and drop their gaze to the ground.   His granite face barks out a question.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!"

"We have come to finish the burial, sir.  We have brought spices and cloths."

"LOOK AT ME!"

Three heads swing up in unison, locked by the fierce grey eyes before them.  A pause as recognition softens his voice.

"You.  You were there?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you two.  You were there, too?"

Heads nod as their eyes go back to the ground.

The Centurion steps back as he sheathes his sword.

"I..."

The women's faces lose all shadow as an intense gold light bursts past the soldier.

A silent explosion flings the Centurion to his knees, blowing off his helmet and scattering unconscious men like storm sand.  The women stand, their robes and scarves motionless.  No force touches them.  Only the golden light.

The Centurion struggles to his feet, fighting for balance as he turns toward the tomb.  His eyes widen in fear.

It's a man.  A towering giant who shines like sunrise.  Power pulses from him, hitting the Centurion like heavy surf from a thousand beaches.  The Roman falls forward, slowly, as if in a dream, hjis eyes fixed on that huge smiling face.

A joyous thunderclap of a laugh explodes as the shining one turns toward the tomb.  A huge hand brushes away the massive stone as if it were crumbs on a table.

The three women stand, waiting.

The towering figure sits on the fallen stone and leans forward to place elbows on knees.  His smile shines brighter, his voice gentle as the faintest breeze.

"Do not be afraid.  I know you are looking for Jesus, who was crucified."

The glowing smile nods toward the opening of the tomb.

"He is not here."

Getting to his feet, he looks down at the women then lifts his gaze to the sky, turning slowly as if in the Arena.  Suddenly a huge, blazing fist punches toward the stars in victorious salute. He roars the words that ignite tumultuous cheering in Heaven and terrified screams in Hell.

"He - is - RISEN !"