Joseph of Arimathea cries out: “Who, has left Our Lord’s mortal vessel slumped on the chair like this?”
Within the tomb, an elderly turbaned man emerges from out of the shadows. Dressed in an embroidered stola, a walking-stick decorated by intergrown knots helps bear the load of sombreness he carries as he shuffles into a space of light.
“I am Nicodemus of Judea,” his voice is hoarse, dry and pitched upwards, “High Priest of Sanhedrin and I swear to Almighty God, that it was not I. Perhaps, instead…” a stubby index finger extends outwards to form an accusatory pointing device, “it was him, over there!”
“Me?” John the Evangelist looks up from his position perched upon a modest-sized boulder, visibly taken aback. “All I have been doing is taking notes, that’s all. I didn’t move anything but my ink quill along this here papyrus.” He holds up the evidence. “My questions is this, where now is Our Lady of Sorrows?”
Joseph, Nicodemus and John freeze in motion, except for their roving eyes trying hard to penetrate the gloom.
“I am here.” A calming voice fills the attendee’s ears with celestial sound vibrations, “I am with Mary of Magdala. We are using the chair, while we prepare the place where the body of my Son shall lay.”
Joseph of Arimathea motions for the two women to come out of the murk and into the foreground, where the men are holding the main discussion.
“So, where did you find this chair Mary, Our Lady of Sorrows? It is unusual and distinctive in design, not like anything such as I have seen before!”
“I did not find it,” Mary replies, “Mary of Magdala appeared with it soon after you and Nicodemus brought His Body here.”
“Mary of Magdala,” Joseph of Arimathea addresses the red haired hottie, “from where did you source this chair?”
“Is it of great importance, Joseph of Arimathea?” Mary of Magdala replies.
“Well…” Joseph of Arimathea pauses to give proper consideration to the thrust of Mary of Magdala’s query. “It is just that… I don’t imagine any of us present have ever seen such a chair before.” Looking around his fellow brethren, he opens out wide his arms, in a gesture of appeal. “Isn’t that about right fellas?”
“That’s right,” said Nicodemus, “for sure, not.”
“It’s true, I have not come across such a wheeled chair before.” John The Evangelist approaches, carefully stepping around Our Lord’s legs, to gain a closer examination. “I should say ’tis akin to a miniature chariot… without the horses indeed!”
“It is fit for purpose. Soon we will be ready and have no further use for it.” Mary of Magdala relieves a persistent itch on the end of her nose. “It’s called a caster wheel office chair, John The Evangelist. If you want it, you can have it.”
Brinkinfield 