Jonathan and the Roman Centurion had witnessed the crucifixion and burial on Friday. They returned to Jonathan’s abode in Bethany early Saturday and after sleeping a while sat on his patio facing the Mount of Olives.
Columba and I comforted one another, conversing on the patio in the sunshine, partaking of wine and food. Our conversation was dominated by the events of the preceding day. We could think of nothing else. The image of Yeshua on the cross remained before me every moment. If not for Columba, the gloom I felt on this Sabbath, might have led to despair.
“I keep thinking of what the soldier said when we were in hiding behind the boulder. Do you think He will rise from the dead, Jon?” my friend asked.
“When He was on the cross, I hoped God would rescue Him. I am afraid to hope for His resurrection from the dead.”
“There is always hope my friend. He cured the beloved servant of Cletis. He raised Lazarus from the dead. I believe Him to be the Messiah. I am not a Jew, yet my hope rests in Him.”