When the stone was rolled away

“Mother, tell me the story, once again,

when the stone was rolled away.

Of angels there, of the empty tomb,

and the words you heard him say.”

And the mother stilled her labors,

as she faced her child so dear.

A smile warmed the woman’s face,

and she pulled the young boy near.

“To understand the power and beauty,

and the hope that was brought that day,

you must first learn to see how dark it was,

long before the stone was rolled away.

Before the Savior came to us,

we wandered, and knew not why.

Our life seemed bleak, we searched for signs,

grappling with prophecies, by and by.

The blind man grasped for the familiar,

the deaf listened for a quiet song.

And troubled minds, possessed and despaired,

lived in darkness before He came along.

As He touched their eyes, the blind found sight,

and In blessing the deaf, could they hear.”

Then the woman’s voice softly trembled,

as she remembered her own desperate fear.

“And I was once a mind possessed,

darkness had its way with me.

Imagine the Love I felt for Him,

when, in mercy, He set me free.

Such hope we had never known before.

We prayed our time with Him would last.

But the wicked would not believe His words,

and their time for restraint had passed.

They bound him and tried him, swift and unjust,

a Prince of mercy beholden to those without.

They hung God’s Lamb on Calvary’s cruel cross,

and cold, thick darkness was spread all about.

In Joseph’s tomb, His body was laid,

and we sought him there that day.

But we stared in wonder, throats tight with fear,

for that stone had been rolled away.

All left, but I, tears fell down my face,

until I heard Him call me by name.

‘Mary,’ he spoke, ‘Master,’ I cried.

Such joy, I can never explain.

Not only had the Redeemer conquered sin,

but death no longer carries its awful sting.

Sight restored, will ever remain,

and one day all will hear as the angels sing:

‘He lives, no tomb can hold Him,

no broken heart or sorrow can stay.’

You see, my child, this is what it meant,

when the stone was rolled away.”

-hb mercy

(i think mothers tell the best stories. and artwork by j. kirk richards)