“From John—who, expecting to find us with Martha and Mary, had come directly from the tomb of Joseph of Arimathea after he had seen the empty grave with the stone rolled away, just as Mary Magdalene had reported it to them. John told us everything he knew, from the trials of Jesus before the high priest and Pilate to the horrible crucifixion and the burial by Joseph. But as John spoke, there was something in his manner that puzzled us. Instead of tears and recriminations he seemed joyful, and even in our sorry condition of self-pity and heartbreak we looked at each other with consternation. Then John told us that Jesus had risen from his tomb, but none of us believed him. We scoffed at his warning that we should tell no man, for who would pay heed to such madness anyway? I remember John tried to remind us of what Jesus had said about his death at the hands of the authorities and how he would rise on the third day, but we taunted him until he went away.”

“And what did all of you do?”

“We remained where we were until dark and then returned to the city and went to the house where we had celebrated the Passover supper, in order to extend our sympathy to the brave mother of Jesus, who, according to John, had witnessed her son’s crucifixion at his side. But his mother would have none of our condolences. She told us that the living Jesus needed no tears. Peter was in the house, and he, too, was filled with joy—urging all of us to go to the tomb to see for ourselves that our Lord had risen from the dead as he had said he would.”

“Matthew! Joseph!” A harsh booming voice interrupted us. I turned to see a heavily muscled man, wearing only a leather girdle and sandals, rushing up the path in our direction. He slapped a smiling Shem on his rump as he passed and, throwing down his wooden staff, raised Joseph from the ground in a crushing embrace. Then he turned to Matthew and apologized for not coming at sunrise.

“Matthias,” panted the old man when his breath returned, “this is James.”