Bread, Straight from the Oven

The door closed softly, and Mary opened her eyes. In the pre-dawn dimness, she could just barely make out the doorframe; it had been easy to pretend she was still asleep, exhausted from grief, when the other women had left to put spices with... to put spices in the tomb.

She took a breath that ached in her chest, and the smell of the spices and perfume filled her nose, though the jars were gone. Part of her wanted to leap from bed and hurry to the tomb; she knew the others would be walking no faster than was comfortable for Salome, and she knew she could catch up to them with little difficulty.

Instead she remained lying down, watching the sky as it gradually lightened from violet to pink.

As the sunrise filled the room with a rosy glow, the door opened. Mary sat up in surprise as a man walked in. His face was familiar, but she couldn't place who it was - perhaps it was Salome's son James, the brother of John who... who had been told to take her into his home. The stranger's expression was eager, or perhaps impatient, and Mary remembered a trip to Jerusalem with Joseph and... and her son (her breath caught in her throat, and she turned her head away from the visitor). The three of them had stayed with Joseph's nephew Areli, and in the morning she had awakened to find Joseph still asleep, and her son sitting next to him, waiting with the same sort of eagerness-or-impatience for them to wake up and come to breakfast.

Areli's wife had just taken bread from the oven, and her son had said...

Mary's remembering was interrupted by the man saying, "There is bread, straight from the oven," exactly as her son had said it twenty-one years earlier... and she turned back to face him and then put her hands to her mouth in surprise as he said, "Would you like some, Mother?"

As he said "Mother", she recognized him as her son, and her shock at recognizing him was almost surpassed by her wonder at not having recognized him as soon as she caught a glimpse of his face. She stood and hurried to the table, where he was waiting, her heart full of joy. As he handed her the bread, she saw the nail marks in his wrist, and then he smiled at her. "The other women will be returning soon," he said, "Praise-of-God has told them to tell my disciples to wait for me, but they will surely hurry to tell you the news as well."

Mary took a bite of the bread, unable to think of anything to say to her son, unable to understand how it was that he was there with her, unable to disbelieve that it was her son, alive and next to her. The bread was warm and delicious, and out of the corner of her eye she saw her son eating as well. As she finished her piece of bread, she opened her mouth to say something - what, she was not sure just yet - and Jesus - and it was, it really was Jesus - finished his own last bite, brushed crumbs from his hands, and said, "Do not be afraid, Mother," and then he was gone.

She thought for a moment that perhaps it was a dream, but the cloth that had wrapped the bread was unfolded, the knife was set on the other side from where Salome had put it, and there were crumbs on the table where Jesus had been sitting, and crumbs on her hands from the piece she had eaten. She touched the place where he had been sitting, and it was warm.

The door opened with a clatter, and Salome hurried in, with Mariam the mother of James and Joseph right behind her.

"Mary!" Salome exclaimed.

"We have been to the tomb!" Mariam said, at almost the same moment, setting a jar that sounded nearly full on the floor at her feet.

"He is risen," Salome said, her voice full of wonder.

"Indeed, He is risen!" Mary answered, filled with the same wonder.