When morning came, all the chief priest and the elders f the people took counsel against Jesus to put Him to death. And they bound Him and led Him away and delivered Him to Pilate the governor. Matthew 27:1-2 ESV

That day, which we now day “Good Friday,” began for Jesus, one morning in 33 A.D. The night before He had been betrayed and then unlawfully arrested by the religious leaders. It was still very early when they brought Him to Pontius Pilate. Then began for Him an agonizing day, during which He was beaten, crowned with thorns, spit upon and finally crucified between two thieves.

One thousand, nine hundred and forty-eight years later, I began Good Friday morning in entirely different circumstances. I was just nineteen years old, and still very confused about life. I had followed my dreams to California and discovered that no dreams were there for me. So, with just a few dollars in my pocket, an old guitar, and a sleeping bag, I began hitchhiking back East, hoping my grandparents would take me in. Standing so close to the Pacific Ocean, that I could hear the waves lapping the sands, I stood holding a cardboard sign on which I had playfully written my destination: Connecticut!

For Jesus, at the end of the day, He hung limp, bloody and very dead on that cross. A few friends begged permission to have Him buried before nightfall. Having gotten Pilate’s approval, Nicodemus and Joseph of Arimathea hurriedly took Jesus down, wrapped Him in a cloth, laid Him in a sepulchre carved in the side of a hill and rolled a stone over the entrance.

Having had some luck with rides out of the metro area, my night ended near a highway exit one hundred and thirty-six away from my starting point, curled in a sleeping bag on the side of the road. Fortunately for me, no rattlesnakes or scorpions seemed to have any interest in taking up residence with me that night. On Holy Saturday, Jesus’s journey ended in Heaven, while mine simply brought me to a rest area somewhere outside of Phoenix Arizona. I still recall stretching my sleeping bag out on the top of a picnic table, and then looking up at the stars, wondering where I belonged. But Jesus had a plan for me that no one seeing me could have imagined in their wildest dreams.

The next morning, just outside of Jerusalem, there was a commotion, when the Mary Magdalene and some of her friends came and found the tomb empty. The guards had fled the stone over the entrance had been rolled back. Inside, sat two angels with the news, “He is not here, He has risen!” While the other women ran to tell the disciples, Mary remained, still weeping. Then a man that looked a bit like the gardener walked by and asked her, “Why are you weeping? Who are you seeking”

Astonished at first she said to Him, “Sir, if you have taken Him away, tell me where you have laid Him.” Jesus answer was only one word, “Mary!” At hearing Him speak her name, she fell at His feet.

 “But for me, my morning began quite ordinary. I used the rest area washroom to shave the best I could with cold water. After drying off, I met some young people, and asked them for a ride. What had happened on Easter morning outside Jerusalem was the miracle that has changed the course of His-story. But what happened on my morning was the miracle that changed the course of my-story. At that rest area, I met a carload of young people headed to church, and with their promise of a free meal after the service, I eagerly accepted, still entirely unaware that it was Easter. Now, looking back after fifty-five years, I am amazed at both God’s grace, and His love that reached me, as that night I gave myself to Jesus. Today, Jesus is still reaching lost teens living on the road, as well as elderly folks sitting in wealthy suburban living rooms. On every continent and with all different kinds of people, Jesus is still showing up and asking the same questions, “Why are you weeping? Who are you seeking?” Then just as Mary did, we can meet Him, just outside the empty tomb!