Easter Sunday: The other gardener

 'Supposing him [Jesus] to be the gardener she said 'sir if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him?'

[John 20.15]

Me? I’m a gardener. Have been since I was young. Followed in my father’s footsteps.

 

I’ve cared for this garden and its tombs for years now. Followed in my father’s footsteps.

 

Good soil, grave soil, gives good growing, and the plants come up nice. Or they would if they weren’t being trampled by hordes of Galilean feet rushing to and fro.

 

You wouldn’t credit it! I came here at first light to water the borders, and there’s a woman talking with someone hidden by the shadows. She’s clearly surprised as I heard her cry out ‘Teacher!’ Then she rushed off.

 

No sooner had she gone than a couple of rough looking Galilean fellows came rushing into the garden, knocking over my daffodils and rushing to the spot where the woman had been talking to that teacher fellow. They too then rushed off like their tails were on fire. I couldn’t make head not tail of it.

 

I carried on watering, tidying up, and cursing the day that had seen some of my flowers crushed when I felt a touch on my shoulder. A man was standing behind me. He said ‘peace’ and suddenly I felt peaceful. I looked him over, he had soil underneath his nails and what seemed like starlight in his eyes. But when I looked again he’d gone. Strangest thing though, you wouldn’t credit it, all my crushed flowers were back as they were before they were trampled, some looked even better than before. Weird!