Christus patiens

A dramatic treatment in the manner of Euripides by our father among the saints, Gregory the Theologian, containing the incarnation of our Savior Jesus Christ which came about for our sake, and the world-saving passion that took place in him.

Since you have piously heard the poems and now wish to hear in poetic fashion pious things, listen willingly; now in the manner of Euripides I shall set forth the world-saving passion, from which you will learn many mystical words, as from the mouth of a mother-virgin girl, a beloved initiate of the Teacher. For the account will first present her now, lamenting as befits a mother at the time of the passion, and groaning from the very beginning over the pretext of the fate, how she was shown to be truly the cause that she should be called the mother of the Word, and now see him suffering unjustly; for if we had not erred through carelessness, we would not have been condemned to death from the beginning, and if we had not been corrupted by the serpent's guile, nor had corruption entered through the beast's deceit, and we had not undergone death by just judgment. So that evil might not remain undestroyed, it was not possible for the life-giving Master, God the Word, to become mortal and endure death, having made the corruptible incorruptible in his love of good, and having made the race of mortals alive; but while he, the Word, remained unemptied, she would not have appeared as mother of the Master, and seeing him now suffering unjustly, she cried aloud in lamentation, worn out with grief. The characters of the drama, then, are these: the all-holy mother, the virgin initiate, and the maidens who are present with the mother of the Master. {THEOTOKOS} Would that the serpent had not crept in the meadow, nor the crooked-counseling dragon lain in wait in its glens;

For if a growth from the rib had not, the wretched mother of the race, deceived, endured to dare a most daring deed, her heart struck with longing for the offspring, persuaded that she would obtain deification on the spot; nor would she, having persuaded her husband to eat of the fruit that was not even expedient for them at once, have been driven out from the all-blessed meadow, condemned to ruin and a grievous fate, and she would not have been called mother of children from an unhappy bed, laboring in grievous birth-pangs and beset by throes, nor would she have dwelt in this destructive land with sweat, with her husband and children, under a final curse—things she was ordained to bring forth in griefs and groans, and to pass on successions to life, and from there to find outstanding reconciliations; nor would the whole race of humans have perished and persuaded the Mighty One to come down to the earth in goodness in a new way, to become mortal and to endure suffering; nor would I have been born a virgin mother, and now I hear the Son being drawn to judgment—heavenly, earthly, pure in his begetting—and I shuddered to see this one so outraged, bearing, alas, a terrible flame without torches, which greatly rages against me and shakes my heart and passes through my heart like a great balance-weight, as the old man Simeon cried out clearly, foreseeing all things with far-seeing eyes. Surely the greatest salvation comes about when a woman does not stand divided against a man, contributing all things to him as is right, nor listens in silence to another's pretext, but is of one mind with her genuine husband. But now all things are hostile and the vital parts are diseased, since she herself betrayed her husband and the glory of her power. For ancient hubris is wont to give birth to new hubris; from tears tears are poured down, of which there is neither measure nor any number; for evil comes into rivalry with evil.

Whence majestic nature, dishonored, groans and weeps, bewailing the mingled calamities and the successions of unbearable toils, melting away all her time in tears, since she perceived that she had been wronged by the enemy and by the harm of her own mother, the first to suffer, and by her father's inclining his ear to the mother—of whom we all who are upon the earth are offspring. She cries out oaths, she calls back the right hands, the greatest pledge of faith, and calls God to witness; for the wretched one has learned from her calamities what a noble thing it is not to abandon one's ancestral land; and she loathes the world, and does not rejoice even when she sees it. For she has now come to such a pitch of grief that a longing has come upon me to go hither and tell of the harms of nature to earth and heaven. For the wretched one does not yet cease from wailing, bearing yet not bearing, and again fleeing from childbirth. Wretch that I am—for I speak of myself—I say that you bear yet do not bear, beyond all reason. For I have known a childbirth without childbirth—for what shall I say?—having fled toils and corruption both now and long ago. I know no delight nor any blameworthy report from any man rather than the dyeing of bronze; for no one has destroyed the bond of maidenhood. And how did I bear a child? O great marvel! But how shall I now endure to look upon one who has been outraged? Having fled toils, how am I pained at heart? How did I once shout for joy, when the messenger came announcing the birth, declaring escape for the race of mortal men and bringing me a great and joyous delight? And I did not appear easily swayed by his words, persuaded by him who brought the divine message, which did not declare that I would bring forth a victim, but that I would bear a king of earth and all heaven.

Nevertheless they were sacrificing also according to the custom of women, and sending up from their inmost heart a cry of lamentation, crying aloud and extolling the tidings, and bearing the fragrant flame that devours offerings, such as the interpreters of the gods tell us to sacrifice—a burning zeal, a contrite spirit, and an unrestrained love, exceedingly fervent, which we know to be a sacrifice well spoken of. And how does the sharp dart now twist my inwards? And I was eager to run by night and to see what suffering the Child might endure; but these women persuaded me to wait for the light of day. {CHORUS} Lady, now cover your body quickly. Men are running, clearly visible, toward the city.

{THEOTOKOS} What is it? Is some hostile ambush announced to be lying in wait in the night?

{CHORUS} A night-time crowd streams together in tumult, and I see a great army throughout all the darkness bringing torches and many swords. {THEOTOKOS} And indeed someone now is coming toward us in haste of foot, perhaps having something new to tell. {CHORUS} May I see what he will say and what word he will announce. Lady, lady, most revered virgin—ah, ah, ah, ah! Great among mortals and not without name have you been called, pure one, by all who dwell on the plain of this land, seeing the bright light of the sun; but now, wretched one, you who were formerly blessed. {THEOTOKOS} What is it? Or is someone perhaps wanting to kill me? {CHORUS} No, but your Child is dying at the hands of avenging spirits. {THEOTOKOS} Alas, what will you say? How you have destroyed me, woman. {CHORUS} Consider your Son as no longer existing. {THEOTOKOS} O you who have spoken dreadful things, will you not close your mouth and let go of uttering every improper word? For how do you say that the one who always exists no longer exists? Know that you must speak reverently, and if you have any need to speak, speak as is fitting, and do not dishonor God.

For he sprang from a golden race; and it is a strange thing that the blood of God should fall by the hands of men; that the immortal one should die has no reason in it. I bore him; I know that I gave him birth. {CHORUS} O wretched woman, you do not know into what evils you have come, and you stir up and heave these words. When dawn appears, you will see the death of your Son, as the murderers decree all through the night. And yet I have seen here some of the Child's followers walking, and a spirit stirred up, directing this course to us in haste; he shows by his presence that he will announce something new. {THEOTOKOS} What, then, does he wish to signify that is new? {CHORUS} Let me see what this man, panting, wishes to say. {ANGEL} Ottototoi! Most fair, O lady, most august Mary, ai ai ai ai! We are lost, soon by some one of the hostile ones. {THEOTOKOS} What cry do you utter? What word do you shout? Come, tell me, what new report frightens you again? {CHORUS} You heard—oh, you heard—oh, have you heard who it is that betrayed your Child to the murderers? {THEOTOKOS} By whom will you announce this other new evil? Who is it? Is it one of those hoped to be loving? {CHORUS} A silver-taker, a perverse mystic, he says, a silver-keeper, more than a silver-gnawer. {THEOTOKOS} Alas, what other evil is this in addition to evil, if we are undone by those who seem to love. Surely the wretch has dared a deed undared? What d—

{CHORUS} Listen to this man, who will clearly announce everything to you. {ANGEL} Listen, wretched woman, once all-blessed, hear the unhappy words I bring to you. {THEOTOKOS} Alas, alas, we are undone; your words make it plain, for you have come, it seems, as a messenger of evils. {ANGEL} Of evils, yes, but true ones nonetheless; for what shall I tell? After he had eaten the new Passover, as he said, setting before the initiates the best of feasts, a great banquet, and had shown in riddles the doer of the word, then having washed the feet of his disciples, he goes out, as was his custom, to the Mount of Olives, and having told the initiates all that he was now to suffer, and having fully instructed them all in the mysteries, among many other things he said these words to God: "Father, grant me now the greatest glory; for never having abandoned the glory that is with you, I shall come to a greater one, having slain the enemy of mortals;" and you give all the nations to him who has them from you: "And having taken all, and as their prize of valor having been hung on high, I apportion them again to your hands. And being glorified by my valorous deeds," call your friends to the feast. Blessed are you, "blessed is he who has accomplished such things." He again sends forth his voice like thunder, declaring a shutting with a cry that speeds through the air: "And having shut before, now I shall shut you more." And when these things had been mystically sounded to the initiates, he comes to them in the place of the brook, toward the garden, where he often gathered, which not even the traitor, knowing it, failed to reach by night, leading a crowd of murderous men in the middle, sword-bearing and murdering in their boldness; who also, approaching the Teacher as a friend, having addressed him as Rabbi and greeted him, kept kissing him perversely. {THEOTOKOS} Alas, alas, what worse than this would anyone dare? What then did my Child answer to him?

{ANGEL} He said nothing, except "Friend, why are you here?" And immediately the murderers laid hands on him; but we, leaving him, fled each in a different direction. And the renowned Peter also denied him in words; but the one who leaned on his breast followed quietly alone. And I thought I myself had heard from someone speaking in silence, gently to him, to the stubborn one, the first of the Teacher's words: "Of impiety—O wretched man, do you not fear God? Do you not revere the law of mortal substance, Adam who sowed the earthborn grain, and the patriarchs of the chosen race? Appearing as an initiate, you shame your fellow disciples, betraying the mystagogue, alas, for silver; you betrayed him to murderers for slaughter." Did he not speak? Did he not take thought for your mind, "to consider for what things he now willingly grieves?" But you did not endure it; therefore you shall soon know. "And know well, the pious race of the Father he warms." For unless Abraham had been restrained by oaths, "he would never have held back from passing these things by" and from rendering you justice there. "For do you think he submitted to these sufferings" unless he were gaining something great from there too? "But now, while he is still from the earth until he comes again," he rises anew, and he will keep silent judgment, "loving against you to the Father your sin" and the audacity of this mad people, "as David's tongue foretold long ago," not being ignorant even before the audacity; "and he will fill all the earth with glorious words" and famous deeds, countless, wonderful, "and you shall see him coming again in the Father's glory," bringing judgment to the living and the dead "and giving to all according to their worth." How then will you and the murderers look upon him, "or what just retribution will you not exact?

But even before this you will pay a just penalty, unless you wash your murderous hands; and those hands, if you are willing even now to understand, he himself will wipe clean with flowing streams. Or else you may now learn by experience what your audacity tastes like, and with you all the throng of avenging spirits. But now, if you must stay, stay for one day, unless you suffer something of the many things fear holds sway over, and I will be a prophet of these words. But get out of the way and be gone, and concern yourself with your own affairs; he himself will set that same matter well. But you, as is fitting, will die miserably, a miserable man, first hung in suspended nooses, having rushed a swift leap down to Hades with speed, stiffened with grief, because you betrayed him for silver, and the stream of all-devouring fire will receive you. For you do not wish now to escape punishment; and you will obtain these things, and I foretell them to you: the coming light of God will not see you; you will not behold the raising of the dead-raiser. For you reach such a depth of folly that, though it was possible again to seize dreadful counsels and, letting all go, to fall before the Teacher and pour hot tears from your eyelids, you will kindle a hanging noose of the gallows, rushing to release your soul in the snares. Nevertheless, even in these things he has not given up on you, and he will somehow save you, looking to your heart at least; for a good man could not remain anywhere else. But he does not wish to gain you against your will; for he does not establish a law of violence among mortals; the will of this man was never tyrannical. For rent shamefully, you will rend your heart utterly wicked. But these things are not so in that way, do not suppose so; you and the murderers are still in the contest, and for all who have joined together there are no small labors.

May all the insolent people perceive these things, whether dead or having seen the light, whom a stream of fire will again receive. This true word has been rightly spoken: hear, Judas, the state of your evils. And yet I will gain nothing except a mere pretext; for God will not compel you to be temperate; but in the choice and judgment of mortals, temperance is always present in all things. Some angel or mortal said this to him, as I have said, the word-doer. {THEOTOKOS} O mother earth and the unfolding of the sun, what an unspeakable voice of words I have heard. Perhaps, my Child, the deed was accomplished by a servant, whom you often showed to your friends in a riddle; for the one who is the cause of these evils did not escape you. O utterly wicked one, for I have this to say to you, you did these things, betraying your benefactor. These are your deeds, demon; for who else would ever have done or counseled them, a hostile man? May the doer perish; but justice knows, and the shameful initiate will pay the penalty he deserves. Money-changer, where did you know this by your deceit? Are you still alive, having done these terrible things? Do you not hide your body beneath the earth in Tartarus? For now you must either be hidden beneath the earth, or die in the flashes of fire in the air. O hatred, O greatest, most hateful evil, (I speak of the head that betrayed the Mistress,) you dared to approach the Teacher as a friend; you came to him, you came having become most hateful also to the Father and to the whole race of humans. How, how did you address him, how did you embrace him while betraying him? You spoke with your tongue, having pollution in your heart. And having done these things, do you still dare, O worst one, to look upon the sun and the earth? These things are not of courage or boldness, to dare to look upon one's benefactor after betraying him.

But the greatest of all diseases among humans is shamelessness. And I have rightly called you to mind, though it brings no profit, but shame to you, even when you are absent, whether you are dead or see the light. For I, having spoken the truth, will be lightened in soul, and you, even not hearing, may learn; for you will learn when you find the recompense according to your worth. From these first things I will first begin to speak. Hear, Judas, the good things done for you by him. He drew you out of the darkness of ignorance, he saved you, he showed you the light of salvation; he gave you a gift of many wonders; he said that you too would sit with the initiates and judge the tribes of Israel of every race. He placed all the silver in your hands, he cut off your pretext of being without money. You were always stealing—do not think it went unnoticed; but he, being all-good, did not reprove you with words, nor when he was being wronged by you, knowing you clearly even before your audacity, he washed even your most hostile feet and gave you a morsel of the most mystical bread. And having suffered these things from him, O most wicked of men, you betrayed him, and you acquired the wages of murder, though many things were at hand. For if you had been without money, you might perhaps have had a handle to desire these things; but now you have no pretext, you have no reason to open your lips and state a cause. For you will never be able to do so much, not even if the whole race of demons should run together with you and fill the whole earth with evil words; since creation knows him to be good, and all have recognized him from his deeds. But the noose of love of money strangled you, which has somehow grown to be the root of all evils; and faith is gone, which you had formerly lost. Having shown yourself such, do you dare to see the light, wretched one? Or do you think that God no longer rules as before, or that the scales of justice now lie empty?

O evil shoot, you were never from the root of mortals, but I say you sprang from bitter roots—first from the avenging spirit, then from envy, murder, and doom, and all the evils the earth nourishes; for I will never say you were born of God—

I, who know full well that the whole is choice; for God does not save the unwilling by force. O twisted one, O worst and blood-stained, what have you done, having done it to your benefactor? May he himself, who was the hope of being a child's father, utterly destroy you, striking you with fire root and branch. Away, shame-maker, corrupter of friendship! I have spat you out, and even in your absence I must not speak with you; for God too loathes the treacherous. O Child, why is it that for gold, when it is counterfeit, you have given humans clear proofs, but for a man, by which one ought to discern the wicked, no stamp has been implanted in the body? But you, knowing yourself, do you wish all others to be ignorant? May the evildoer perish, perish with full justice! Away, away, utterly worst and blood-stained, perish! But I shall look upon my Child alive, even if now, groaning much and stricken by the goads of grief, I, all-wretched, weep; for I am a woman and I was born for tears. {CHORUS} Ah ah ah ah! Be silent, be silent; you will no longer see your Child alive. {THEOTOKOS} Alas, why do you lament? What is the grasp of the drama? {CHORUS} I do not know; but this messenger seems about to speak, not far off, of what concerns your beloved Child there. {ANGEL} It seemed good that your Child die on this day, by the vote of scribes and elders. {THEOTOKOS} Alas, the hope has come, which I, fearing long ago, was wasting away the future with lamentations. {CHORUS} But what contest, what words of the Hebrews brought him down and ratified that he die? {THEOTOKOS} Women, who are near this calamity, women, I cannot endure it, I will not bear it—

I will cast myself down, I will let my body go, I shall be released from life by dying; farewell, I am no longer myself. But tell me, by what manner has it been judged that the Child should die? Is the vote that he die by stoning hand? Or is the judgment that his breath be rent apart by iron? {MESSENGER} I happened to be stepping within the gates from the field, and I wished to learn about what matter—for I always held goodwill toward your Child, seeing what wondrous things he did among mortals, and he opened the eyes of my own understanding. I see a crowd that had run and reached the height, and I asked one of the citizens, seeing the gathering: "What is new in the city? Has some message from hostile Hebrews set the city all aflutter?" He said: "Do you not see that Jesus nearby, standing, running the contest of death?" I see an unexpected sight, which I wish I never had—him standing downcast and silent, and the others running around him in a circle like blood-thirsty dogs, gaping. When the crowd was full of Jews, the wretched leader spoke with double tongue, twisting words now one way, now another in fear; at last he said, marveling at your Son, seeing him pure and blameless, and conducting himself sensibly toward all arguments, but not praising the others as lawlessly murderous, against whom he found no cause for murder, he spoke at least, he spoke: "Who wishes to say whether Jesus must die or not? And to release this man rather than a murderer, one of the robbers whom they held in bonds." They shouted out that he ought to die by the cross, and that the evildoing robber should be released. The governor said the opposite to these things, but he did not persuade the crowd, though he seemed to speak well. For another again spoke the opposite to this, trusting in shouting and unlearned audacity; and he did not praise it; and at this a great uproar of the unbridled-tongued crowd arose.

He who cried out that it is lawful for your Child to die. But that evil man prevails by speaking before the multitude, the one who said that your Child must die on the wood. And already the light has appeared, the darkness drains away, and now they will drag him outside the gate to run the contest set before him for his life, by which death is the verdict; for on this day he will leave life. {THEOTOKOS} Alas, alas, you reveal a word that is the beginning of evils. Yes, yes, I, wretched woman, see such a sea of evils that I can never swim back out nor cross the wave of this calamity. Ah, where will the mind of the Hebrews proceed? What end will there be to their recklessness and audacity, if they dare to contrive even the murder of God? And about him I have no concern; for death will surely not prevail over the one who puts death to death; I bore him, and I know how I gave birth, having escaped the harsh pains of childbirth; but I mourn for them, who are beset by calamity. For there will be, there will be, a justice that avenges the murder which the impious dare to commit lawlessly out of envy. Alas, alas, alas, alas! Not now for the first time, but often has envy harmed many, yet not so much as it will now harm his friends, the crowd of the Hebrews.

{CHORUS} Why do you stir up and upheave these words? Your Child is dead, and you stir up many words. {THEOTOKOS} O you who have spoken dreadful things, will you not shut your mouth? Do you think the Savior of the world has died? {CHORUS} Go forward a little, and you will see your Child's sufferings, as he runs the appointed contest of his soul, so that you may see him now either alive or dead. {THEOTOKOS} Alas, what do I see? With the hands of the avenging spirits, my God-begotten Child, you are dragged and carried, you have come into bonds and are led willingly by them, you who loose the bonds of the race of captives. Ah, ah, ah, ah! These things are not in accord with the Angel's former words, nor in agreement with my hopes, Child. {CHORUS} But they are in accord with what was foretold, which he said he would suffer at the hands of the avenging spirits. {THEOTOKOS} Ah, ah, what shall I do? For my heart is gone. Where, where are you going, Child? How I am undone! For what reason do you complete your swift course? Is it a wedding again at Cana, and are you running there, so that you may make wine from water strangely? I will follow you, Child, or shall I wait for you still? Give, give me a word, Word of God the Father, do not pass by your slave mother in silence; for now I need your dear mouth, to hear your voice and address you, O Child. Give me, by your own Father, O Child, to touch your wondrous flesh with my hands, to touch your feet and to embrace you. Alas, alas, what shall I do? My heart is torn in two. O come, friends, come, let us leave fear behind; come near, greet and address him, take hold of his right hand. Wretched me, how fresh are my tears and how full of fear I am. Ah, ah, all-wretched as I am, I am utterly undone. Women, since I have seen the hateful face of my Child, I long to die, and I can no longer bear to live. Alas, what shall I do? How shall I escape the hands of the people?

For enemies are letting out every rope, and there is no easy way out of ruin. What then shall I do? How shall I escape so many snares? {CHORUS} I do not know, dearest sister; for I am afraid, and a warm tear has rushed down my eyes as well. Come, withdraw backward and go in silence. Creep into the dangers; now is the contest of courage; and we will follow with a timid step; for a maddened crowd runs around him, and it is not right for those who are mindful to draw near. For the mind is heavy, and an hostile, ill-disposed, murderous throng will not endure to look upon his onset, dreadful in the impulse of a hateful purpose; a savage character, the nature of a barbarous mind. And I fear him, lest he devise something new and contrive a sharper calamity for you; and seeing this man especially, I fear the more lest he thrust a sharpened sword through the liver, and then you receive a greater and new calamity, if the child's entrails take the highway. But let us turn aside a little from the accursed ones, and let us watch the deed of the murderous men. Let us go then, let us go wherever there is some glen. {THEOTOKOS} You prevail, since these things please all; and for the rest let us depart where it seems good to you. {CHORUS} From here it is necessary to look as from afar. {THEOTOKOS} Wretched and miserable am I, if I do not see my Child suffering dreadful things, until the tomb takes him. But I fled the crowds, lest I suffer something too. What profit is there for me still to live in life? Would that, would that I might be released by a swift fate, if I cannot grow greatly old, as is my hope, when my Child rises and gathers the nations in just judgment, whom his kinsmen the Hebrews kill out of envy. Yes, I say my kinsmen, of me the wretched mother, not of his Father, of the Word made mortal, whom I bore without seed, I know, beyond reason, and I escaped the hard pains in childbirth.

For I have trusted, yes, trusted, even though I groan much, unable now to bear seeing this man suffering. I bore him; I know how I gave him birth. But I am unskilled at bringing forth mysteries. Nevertheless it is necessary, since calamity has come, that I let my tongue go. First, then, I shall begin to speak from where it first came upon me as a mother, bearing a pure body to this day. Nor do I know delight, whether in hearing by word or in looking at writing; for I am not eager to examine even these things, but I have a virgin soul. I swear by the one who clearly knows all things, that I would not even wish it nor even take the thought—or may I perish ingloriously, nameless, and may neither sea nor earth nor again the pole receive my body, and may the hands of my suffering Son—as is my prayer—[receive my soul]. Hope nourishes me, and it will not put me to shame. These things I know; for now it is not lawful to speak further, lamenting as is fitting. For I have suffered many things worthy of tears, I do not know if I am overly affected. Nevertheless, first I must recount my good fortunes; for to my misfortunes I shall add greater pity. I was unwed and remaining a virgin; for the things found to be modest for a woman, these I labored at, while God measured out much grace and distributed it ungrudgingly. First, then, even if reproach is present or not present for women, this very thing draws ill repute, if anyone does not stay indoors; wherefore, dismissing desire, I remained within the house, inside the halls. I did not admit the clever words of women; but having my own mind as a good teacher, I was sufficient for myself. Knowing in all things that modesty is noble and brings good repute everywhere, I provided silence of tongue and a calm eye to all. I knew those in whom I ought to surpass girls, and those in whom I ought to yield victory.

Taking me from God as undefiled, my husband gave me back again undefiled, keeping the maiden's bed undefiled; and there is no mere word of this—the facts themselves have convicted me. And so, being as I am, I am betrothed to God; and from that, how will you say I bore a Son?—in such a way as no woman shall ever boast to have borne. {CHORUS} O fairest, O lady, O most reverend virgin, we know you alone among all mothers on earth to be a mother without a man and without a bridegroom. The hand of the midwife, receiving no lot, bore witness to the truth of your divine childbirth, and you say you heard God and an Angel declare that you would bring forth, and works such as no mortal race has done; and it is a wonder if he should suffer the suffering of mortals. {THEOTOKOS} You have said a wondrous thing, if the Father is well pleased in this, that through him mortals should have good things. For there is no other remedy among mortals for death, which shall put an end to the wretched from the evils of corruption. And I will teach you how this is well: for the Word, who teaches man knowledge, has made his dwelling in me and dispenses grace. Since the Fashioner formed man from the earth, and placed him in a meadow as a worker of plants, from there desiring to lead him up to Olympus; but the serpent hastened, by a woman's deception, to cast him out of the meadow and hurl him from the heaven; this one contrived in return, as is fitting for God, to be born of a woman and, remaining God, to become mortal, and, slain as a slayer of mortals, to overthrow and cast down with his feet. So be persuaded, and receive God as coming to earth to lead the race of mortals to heaven, and pour libations and glorify and bless this one. For again you shall see him leaping to the earth as from a bridal chamber—a tomb—and then ascending to heaven, as he himself said, and before that the prophets. And hope most steadfast is with me.

For my hope is present with me beyond all those who are left, and I am not deceived in my mind, that I shall have some precious good; and it is sweet even to seem so; but when hope remains more secure, what joy! But I am overcome by my pains, and I foresee how these things will quickly be, and grief is stronger than my hopes. {CHORUS} All-glorious, all-fairest maiden, virgin, who have enriched yourself with the God-child, as you say, you have understood these things, and now consider the rest. For we know that you are wiser than mortals, and that you see these things and understand them, and the end; for all things are fearful and hard for the mortal race to understand, except for the Mother. {THEOTOKOS} O wretched me in my griefs; how many things I know, and I know not how to speak them. How great a wonder it is for me to see this one suspended and dead, even if willingly. Woe is me, woe; ah, ah. {CHORUS} What then, what will you do, you who suffer things beyond help? {THEOTOKOS} I know nothing except one thing: to die, unless I quickly receive a cure for the present pains, since hope is very most secure; I must wait only one more day, so that the care may be completed which now wears me down. But, O beloved Son, do not leave me alone without you. {HEMI-CHORUS} Ah, ah; lamenting much, you show nothing clear; at one moment you persuade me to hear fears and to be terrified by many things in your words, at another you embolden me, and nothing is clear. {THEOTOKOS} The end of my hopes will not be far off. {OTHER HEMI-CHORUS} I myself have not yet entered a ship's hull, but having seen in a picture and heard, I understand; for if the storm is moderate for sailors to bear, they have eagerness to be saved from their toils, one standing by the helmsman, another at the sails, another bailing out the ship's bilge.

But if the great sea, thrown into tumult, overpasses its bounds, they yield to the surge and give themselves up to the rushing of the waves. So too do I, seeing dreadful woes, am voiceless and let my mouth alone; for the fierce billow prevails, as not from God. But as for you, may hope, as you say, keep you secure, all-sovereign lady, mother of the Lord. But from one word another word comes forth; whom do I see here now directing his course? Ah, ah, whom do I behold now coming here, with gloomy face, filled with tears? {ANGEL} Lady maiden, mother of the Lord Word, do not hate me; not willingly, yet willingly, I bring you painful news, in addition to the old, new ones. {THEOTOKOS} What is it? For you begin with a prelude of evils. {ANGEL} Lady maiden, how shall I speak? How shall I tell you? For I bring you a word worthy of deep care and violent grief and bitter pains. O honored maiden, most revered virgin, how I groan for you, wretched though I am as a mystic, yet faithful to the Mystagogue, even though I see him suffering. {THEOTOKOS} What is it? What new thing of the Hebrews do you announce? {ANGEL} Your child is now no longer a child, so to speak; yet he has seen the light for but a brief turn of the scale. {THEOTOKOS} How do you say this? What is this you have spoken? And do you know from where? Come, tell me, declare by what death you now say Christ, the child of the immortal Father, dies? For the hope was that he too would remain immortal and be the deliverer of the whole race of Israel. {ANGEL} When, having left the city of this land of Solomon, they came to the Strewn Stones, dragging my lord, a maddened mob, at once the crowd led him up to the heaven-running wood, led, led him to the utmost end; and upright he was set upright against the upright air.

I was stretching out another crossbar straightway, and they stretched me out and nailed my hands, and they nailed my feet to the fixed wood. And when they had the Master thus suspended, some struck him with a mighty-thrown reed, having climbed a rock that stood like a tower, while others brought a sponge full of vinegar mixed with gall up to his mouth on a hyssop. And these men, having received the sound in their ears but not clearly, nor seen what wonders he wrought among mortals, passed the time otherwise and shook their heads and smote their breasts in ignorance and folly. But I was far off—for I followed the Master—first sitting somewhere in a green dell, and I kept the things from my feet and from my tongue in silence, seeing him but not seen by the crowd, evil-doing and murderous. And when I saw you standing and weeping, I came to speak of things ill done. {THEOTOKOS} Woe is me, woe! Alas, alas, what shall I do? For my heart is gone; how, how do I still live and endure to hear these things? And how shall I, all-wretched, ever bear to see them? Come, O women, children of the land of Galilee, speak to him and send him forth from the land. O come, friends, come, let us leave fear behind. {CHORUS} For would you flee the people—lest you suffer something? {THEOTOKOS} And I—whither shall I turn this man hereafter? Let us go then, let us go; let fear be gone; for what profit is there for us in living here any longer? But let us go away, that I may see the sufferings of my Child. Woe is me, woe! Women, I do not see the bright face of my Child; for he has changed his color and his beauty is strange. Women, when I saw the grim eye of my Child, I long to die, and I no longer endure to live. Go on, go on, I no longer bear to live. O you who appeared as a common benefit to mortals, beloved Child, for what do you suffer these things? And for the penalties of what transgressions are you paying?

For you bear hands pure, pure of blood, and lips pure, and every limb and mouth, a wholly undefiled soul and a heart without guile. And how do I see you hanging with robbers? Not from any affliction brought on by enemies, but a friend destroys you—not unwillingly, but willingly—a initiate whom you pointed out to your friends with your bread, sparing him, wretch, so that he might escape evil, though he did not understand, caught in snares. For whose sake does the Father send you to the earth? Why did he wish you thus dishonorably to die? Wretched me, what a deed, what a deed I now see, intolerable and unspeakable, but I am undone. Alas, alas, Child, for your all-righteous slaughter; alas, alas again, how evilly you are destroyed, not having sinned yourself, but healing the harm of the first sin of a woman. I know, I know these things, and I know not how to speak them, and I understand what these things will be swiftly; but grief lies above my hopes, and I groan often, overcome by the calamity, and my eyes are moistened with warm tears; for always the female race is full of lamentation and full of tears. {CHRIST} See, O best of all women, your virgin son is here, new.

Behold, to you also, initiate, a virgin mother. Why then, woman, do you wet your eyes with tears? Why do you cast down your face and weep and stand confounded, when you are fortunate, and do not receive this state from me with gladness? These things are in accord with what was foretold, which I myself spoke and the mouth of the prophets. Now is the time for the enemy to pay the penalty for the earthborn. Why then do you lament further over your Child? {THEOTOKOS} Nothing; thinking about this people, I have come to words with myself and I bewail these things, overcome by misfortune, and I have wailed at what sort of deed must be done by them from now on, who have hung you up, Child, and I await how everything will turn out. For grief is stronger than sure hope. For the one who has become our enemy you will more easily kill and bring down to death, and going up sooner you will exact vengeance on the avenging spirits; but a woman is female and born for tears. Therefore I also, groaning and struck by the goads of grief, wretched as I am, lament. I am renowned, but nevertheless I perish, deprived of your divine sight. For as this unexpected drama fell upon me, it has destroyed my soul; I am gone, then, having let go the grace of life, I wish to die, Child. For being desolate and cityless I am worn away, having no mother, no brother, no kinsman to take refuge with from this misfortune; and if I do not see you very soon, how shall I bear it, Child? But, O dear Son, do not leave me desolate of you. {CHRIST} Take courage; for I will arrange these things well, and your part is more firmly fixed; proclaim God; you do not know what a find you have found in this. For I will give you again gifts that are most beautiful in heaven and earth and all creation. And for many reasons I will give you this grace. {THEOTOKOS} I have believed and I do not distrust your words at all.

And this is most pleasing to me also, I know it well; I bore you, I know how I gave you birth; yet the pain surpasses what I have known. But I beseech you by this saving passion which brings freedom from passion to the race, and as a mother I touch your feet—pity me, pity me, your wretched mother, and do not leave me desolate, cast out from you, but receive me as a guest in your land and home, unless you would sooner judge your cause; so may your love toward the Father be fulfilled for you from the goal, and may I see you who died willingly raised from the dead on the third day, as you yourself often said to your friends; for thus the whole is safer for me, and you yourself, being blessed and known as the Son of the blessed Father, may be hymned by all creation. Let me not then drag out a grievous life for long, but may the crowd of avenging spirits pay the penalty, having killed you, the Master of earth and heaven. For let them, as they have done, find evils, such as come to impious mortals; but I have no care for them as for children, lest those who are their kin suffer somehow, exacting the impious father-murder; but do you yourself, O tender heart, light born of God, restrain, stop, draw out from murder the remnant of the beloved seed. {CHRIST} I praise this, woman, and I do not blame that either, and for many reasons I am eager to grant you this favor, and you shall not fall short of it. For I will fully take up this aim with you, and you yourself may know the reversal of the penalty, having been released from this despondency. {THEOTOKOS} Alas, for your noble and good heart; O Child, with what misfortune you have been yoked; yet the nobility of your heart remains sound; how great is the forethought you always bring me.

Having reflected on this, I perceived that I had great folly and was grieving in vain, and in vain I had come to words with myself. {CHORUS} Ah, ah! I heard a cry of many groans, I heard a voice, I heard a shout of lamentations. And he calls upon God, as one who has suffered terribly. {THEOTOKOS} And indeed the renowned Peter comes forward, downcast, pitiable, and overwhelmed with grief; and someone calls upon God as one who has done a great evil. Why, Peter, do you lament? You have done a terrible thing, but still even for you it is possible to obtain forgiveness for these things. O Child, O most beloved, O Word of God, forgive; for it is fitting that a human being sin, Child, and Peter also sinned, fearing the crowds. {CHRIST} Now go your way, Mother and Virgin, holding your peace; and I release Peter's fault, since you entreat it; for even before this I obeyed your words for the sake of your piety and your good mind. And let your word be set aside from my account; but tears also draw from me great favor and loose every bond of transgressions. And I advise you in turn: hate no mortal, nor those who lawlessly hung me upon the wood. {THEOTOKOS} Alas, your mind is always so kindly disposed; for even while suffering you do not bear ill will toward the race, nor are you angry with those who nailed you to the wood. For who could endure the wrath of your anger, Child? Or who could withstand your indignation? {CHRIST} Go, go now from the midst of the hostile; for the things for which you have come to my words—some have been accomplished, and the others I shall remember. Here I dismiss this matter from you. {THEOTOKOS} It has pleased you, as it seems, wretch that I am; ah, ah, what dreadful utterance is this you cry out, you who are all sweetness and delight? Of what bitterness have you tasted while thirsting? And again you have cried out loudly that you thirst. {CHORUS} Having heard the cry, I am struck with amazement, all-wretched that I am.

The matter itself, however, for which you now groan, I do not know, but I would wish to hear it from you. Speak something, look here. Alas for my troubles! Why has your eye and your complexion now melted away? {THEOTOKOS} Be silent, women, we are undone; hold back your speech; I wish to question the Child, for I see him already near to death. Yes, yes, I see him bowing his all-honored head, having easily let go a brief conversation. Ah, what do I see? I behold your body dead, Child, a thing worthy of the greatest wonder—he who just now cried out to the Father with a mighty voice that shook the foundations of the earth, whose voice, filling all the earth, made it shudder and echo back; and to those who looked on, he appeared a sight surpassing eyes; whom I just now beheld, who did not yet see this light a long time ago. What is it you suffer? In what manner are you perishing, Child? I wish to learn from you. For the heart that longs to know all things is caught even in evils, being greedy. Eh, eh, eh! These things are in accord with what was foretold. Ah, ah, what shall I do? For my heart is gone. Women, I do not see a cheerful face of the Child; for he has changed his color and his beauty is strange, a dreadful sight; and there is fear to touch a dead man. For I bear a teacher's suffering of the stars, the foundations of the earth shaken, the rocks rent. Go, go, I am no longer able to look upon him as I was, but I am overcome by griefs. And I understand what these things will be swiftly; but grief is stronger than even firm hope. Child of the Almighty, how do you now go to the houses of Hades by the fate of the first-sown? And suddenly you have flown away, as one who has willingly released his soul; for death was never superior, unless you had willingly given up your spirit to the Father. I heard, I heard your voice to the Father.

For what reason does the Father send you from the land? Why did he wish you to die thus dishonored? Why have you made your mother who bore you an orphan by your loss? Alas, would that I might die with you, Child. Look, you are dead—what city will receive me? What stranger, providing an inviolable land and trustworthy homes, will rescue this body of mine? There is none. Let me wait for you then a little while longer, if I may see the third day shining bright, as you yourself said, signifying the resurrection of the dead, and I believe and endure in my hopes. And even now, seeing you a corpse suspended, I groan more for myself than for you, because of your absence; for you have destroyed me more than you yourself have been destroyed. For would that I, Child, had become a corpse in your place. I am undone, Child, and the grace of life is no more for me. Ah, ah, darkness already comes over my eyes; I am undone and now I long for the dwellings of the dead; I wish to dwell beneath the earth, beneath the earth's darkness now, deprived of the sight of you. Wretched woman, what grief I have just now, neither bearable nor speakable. But I am undone. How shall I have consolation from one voiceless and with closed eye, I, a mother all-wretched? So it was in vain, Child, that I myself raised you, you who give nourishment abundantly to all? And in vain did I labor and wear myself out with toils, fleeing the hands of those who would kill you, Child, from the very beginning of your strange birth? But I know not—though I groan, though I weep. I bore you, and I know how I gave you birth; whence I, wretched woman, had the greatest hopes in you, that you would tend me in old age and, when I die, wrap me well in your hands—a thing envied by humans. And my sweet hope has not perished, Child, though you are dead.

O sweet voice, bringing me sweet joy, O dearest face, O longed-for beauty, ineffable beyond all kind, unscribed image of an unscribed form, how is it that you now are gloomy? I cannot bear to look at you. How, how are you now silent, and do not half-open your mouth? Give me a word, give, give me consolation; speak a little something to your wretched mother, Child. Yes, Child, I know you also as my God, even if you bring a death that makes me immortal, a death that brings immortal glory and great joy to the whole race of mortals. {THEOLOGIAN} Endure, O all-ruling lady, though you are eager to weep; for willingly he endured his fate, not unwillingly, so that now, casting off the all-devouring doom of the race, he may come as avenger, the all-working Master, and boiling my body in a golden cauldron, by wise forethought he may renew me strangely. For having scraped away wretched old age with skill from the ancient ruin of man-destroying decay, he will make me a beloved youth in his prime; since now the worst old age wears all men down—yes, yes, old age wears me down with the weight of sorrows from the ancient stain of my deceived mother; but he himself said he would rescue me from sorrows, and turn my mother herself back to himself, and the land and the home she left behind when she came to this land, mother of groans, by the ignorant counsels of a savage beast, with the man whom she had formerly dishonored and known. For the wretched woman knew, through her misfortunes, what it is to leave the breast of the earth before; and for this sake he himself foretold that he was willing to undergo all things, and willingly he endured death, and on the third day to rise from the tomb, bringing joy and great joy to his beloved initiates. And knowing all these things beforehand, he spoke clearly. And now all these things have their fulfillment; there remains only the joyful day, and this we shall now await, and it shall be as he said.

For he who has now truly learned of sorrows will also show forth radiant joy on the third day. And you know best the end of what is being done; and instead of this grief and these laments he will establish for you the greatest honors throughout the earth and will fill the whole heaven and all the earth with glorious words, and the race of mortals will build temples for you. For sooner than this impious murder he will attach a solemn festival to this land, and he will make the land of Salem a holy plain; for the sake of which you must not mourn beyond measure. Therefore, O mistress, do not groan with unbearable grief, neither lifting up your eye nor releasing your face from the ground, nor your eyelids from the flow of tears. Until when will you turn your neck downward, watering the earth with streams of tears? Knowing that the avenging eye of the all-seeing Master will sooner bring you great joy, to whom alone you ought to stretch your eye. For you know, you know: a bright end follows the beginnings, a day of gladness; you need wait only one single tomorrow, so that the care may be completed, which also wears me down. {THEOTOKOS} You have appeared to me as another son, O virgin; for he himself said Son, who is also my only one. And you surely know everything—what need is there to speak? How I gave birth without seed, without birth-pangs, and I escaped the harsh pains of childbirth, and he who announced this Child of God said so, and he did many things, such as belong to God alone. And how could I now endure to see him naked and a corpse, hanging upon the cross-beam, he who hung the earth above the waters, through whom the light of the sun was drawn together, and who darkened all the brightness of the moon, and the rocks were rent in fear, and tombs were opened as a display of power, when he himself suffered for their sake, the Cause.

{THEOLOGIAN} Sovereign lady over all, mother of the Word, I too am struck with awe, unable to bear the sight, a dreadful spectacle—the Master dead, he who breathes life into the living by his breath—and I groan often and pour out hot tears. Yet hope nourishes me, and even in lamenting I endure; for I do not disbelieve the words of the Master. The third day, fair-shining, will show the fulfillment of the hope that nourishes me; may it not pass by—for me, even to die is better. {THEOTOKOS} I hear that on the third day the all-pure body shall rise again from corruption, as I know; but now I see a hateful day, a hateful light, and myself, once blessed, now most wretched. Therefore I regard the things of mortals as rather a shadow, and I would not, trembling, say that the wise among mortals—those who seem to be wise and are careful students of words—incur the greatest loss. For no mortal is blessed by nature; but when prosperity flows in, one man may become more glorious than another, yet blessed he would not be. {SEMICHORUS} Of all things that have life and mind, we women are the most wretched stock—as many of us as have borne children and seen them dead; so may I wish to die three times—

...if I had once given birth and seen the fate of the child I nurtured. But this same report has not come to you and to me alike, O all-sovereign lady, blessed virgin. Truly you are far different from all the race of women; for I, having received the delight of a man, in return for pleasure I nurse birth-pangs in sorrows, and knowing I bore a mortal, I keep silent; for mortals must bear their misfortunes lightly. But you have not known a man's bed, O virgin, and you heard from an angel that you would bear God, so you say; and seeing him now dead, how do you bear it? {THEOTOKOS} Leave me be; what is not dear to me is in no way dear. He announced what he announced; the messenger of the good tidings of glory has no blame; but if I was mistaken in the annunciation, I do not know, for I hold sure pledges. But I must mourn; for I have suffered many things worthy of tears, and I groan and weep until I see him alive who is now a corpse. {OTHER SEMICHORUS} Sovereign maiden, you must have forbearance, if someone in youth, bearing a vigorous heart, speaks vain words; do not think to listen to them; for we know you are wiser than mortals. {THEOTOKOS} Alas, alas! I have endured things worthy of great lamentation. O magnitude not to be measured nor possible to behold. With wretched hands you have wrought murder, you have brought the glorious and renowned victor to lamentation, to tears; a most noble contest, to bring a hand dripping with blood. Woe, woe, when you have understood what you have done, you will grieve with a terrible grief; but if you remain in this to the end, in the state in which you stand, you will seem, though not prospering, not to be unfortunate; but not, I think, will these things pass by unavenged. For what is noble? What of these things does impiety not possess? May you perish, may you perish, hateful murderers, who, having killed the Master, take no thought, seeing all creation trembling.

But you exult in the slaughter as in a hunt. {CHORUS} Evil has been done everywhere—who will deny it? Truly the whole life of mortals is grievous; they love it, overcome by misfortunes. Yet your grief, O maiden, is not like that of other humans, even though you are not alone in being separated from your Child. For your offspring is not like that of the race; nevertheless, it is fitting now to bear all things with a stout heart and to be very fully confident. {THEOTOKOS} Alas, alas! I have seen one of the avenging spirits, O maidens, who have crushed the legs of the murderers, directing a spear into my Child's liver. And I fear him, lest he devise some new thing and work a second calamity against me again, if I should see my Child even as an outraged corpse. Woe is me, woe is me! A dreadful sight I see with my eyes, a new one. Look, look at the blood of the pierced corpse; see, see how a double stream flows; for from his side blood and an unmixed draught gushed forth straightway when he was pierced by the sword—a young man, at the hands of hostile Ausonians. Still the double stream gushes forth from there; and the one who pierced him, struck with amazement, cried out somehow, as if: "Truly this dead man is the Son of God." And he runs—see!—and falls upon the wood; and he falls to the ground, overcome by the sight, and beats his breast and embraces the ground, where the plank is fixed, still drenched by the stream flowing from his side, and he draws from the fountain with his hands and, it seems, anointed his head, that he might have cleansing. {CHORUS} It seems the King is justly joining many evils on this day for the murderers; yet may he do something avenging to them themselves—not to friends—the eye of the all-working Master. Let Justice come, let Justice come openly, sword-bearing and fire-bearing, most swiftly against the murderers. For truly it is a fearful wonder to behold.

For one thrust a spear, it seems, into his side, and from the pierced side straightway a wondrous stream gushed forth, and blood unmixed; a fearful sight, and trembling holds me as I look. For I bring as witness creation itself—the foundations of the earth shaken, the rocks rent, and the tombs of the dead suddenly opened; and the one who pierced him fell trembling and touched him. {THEOTOKOS} O child, O dearest, O divine head, thus you have appeared to all, even to those who are not friends; greatly desired in tears is the calamity; the cleansing blood of the race is for the empty, and even the hostile shudder, gathering strange things, and they have cried aloud plainly that you are the Son of God; all things tremble, as having no understanding; but your own kin killed you with irrational envy—those from whom you ought to have received a crown upon your head, not such as they in mockery somehow crowned you with; these do not even care to lay you in a tomb. How then shall I bring you down from the wood? And in what tomb shall I lay your body? And with what garments shall I cover the dead? How shall I sing the customary songs for you? Whose hands, O child, shall bury you? Alas, what shall I do? What shall I become, all-daring? Why do I rave thus? I must trust your words and the deeds which you showed as testimony, that all things you will are possible. God is the steward of many things beyond hope, and often God brings many things to pass beyond hope, while things presumed have not found their end; but may you yourself find for me a way through things beyond hope. {THEOLOGIAN} And indeed here is Joseph, hastening with eager foot, perhaps having something new to tell. But this is another wonder and beyond expectation—a mystic running together with him somehow by night, carrying vessels suited to the descent.

O blessed one, who knowing the mysteries of God keeps his own life holy and is initiated into the purifications of the soul, shaking off the body from all defilement and crowning his head with a circle of all the virtues, ever hastens to serve God. For to be temperate and to reverence the things of God, I deem this the fairest and the wisest possession for mortal men who use it. {JOSEPH} O dearest one, how I perceived your voice as I listened, wise from a wise man; I have come from a long journey, ready, holding this garb, in haste, that I may bury the beloved dead. For it is right to honor him, who was also formerly a revered friend, as far as in us lies, even as a corpse. How must we bring him down? And how carry him to the tomb? How would you wrap him in shrouds? Now lead me, you who are young, for I am old—you, a virgin, for you are wise; so I would not grow weary, whether until dawn or until evening, until I lay the dead in my new tomb. For as much as is needful—since I have no kinship with him, though he is an initiate—I too pity this man. {THEOLOGIAN} This one himself will lead you without toil, and gives every ease into your hands. {JOSEPH} O all-fair thing of God, my lady, why have you stood here, leading your Child to this desolation, lamenting to yourself your own sorrows? And only the virgin initiate is present with you, having left his brother in the choir of the mystery-celebrants; but the other followers, filled with lamentations, flee, shuddering with great fear, and have not seen any of the newer evils; but you have not shuddered at the ill counsel of the hostile. I fear lest the hostile, malignant, murderous crowd devise something new; for a heavy heart will not even endure to hear, even if we give the dead an honored burial. {THEOLOGIAN} For have they not yet ceased, nor had their fill of murder and evil counsel? {JOSEPH} I envy you;

In the beginning the suffering, and not yet at its midpoint. THEOLOGIAN: What is it, old man? Do not be silent; tell me. JOSEPH: I heard someone speaking—though I did not seem to be listening—having come near the seats where the elders sit, around the solemn colonnade of Solomon, saying that the crowd of elders does not permit this dead man, approaching the ruler of this land, to bury him. Whether this report is clear, I do not know, but I would wish these things were not so. For he handed him over to me as to a friend, when I entreated him to receive the corpse. THEOLOGIAN: All is lost, if we bring new evil upon old, before this has been drained out, as he himself said, that on the third day the sorrows should receive their end with gladness of heart. The Father will not permit the Son to suffer this. The old is left behind by new burials, and that one is not friendly to these decrees. Yet may he act against them; for he will not cease from wrath; he spoke clearly and threatened to burn the city. But against enemies, not friends, may the Father's avenging eye act as defender. No, by the Lady, whom I always revered and now have chosen as mother from the Son, none of them will gladly survive this murder. For he is God, as we have learned from the wonders, many of which you yourself saw and now see; nor were you ignorant of such darkness of the sun, when he bowed his head and willingly gave up his soul; for death was never stronger, had he not, commanded, yielded to the bowing of the head. From that point the sight was more terrifying to behold: you saw the foundations of the earth shaken, rocks split, and tombs of the dead opened. And when someone came shaking his spear, standing near he pierced the lowest side with a sword, a man in his prime; for I felt the deep blow of the cut, seeing the furrow of the wound.

This one thrust a spear, as it were, into his side, and from the pierced side water wondrously dripped forth at once, and blood unmixed with it; for a double stream flowed from there, a fearful sight; and fear came upon all to touch it. But the one who pierced him, struck with amazement, cried out somehow: "Truly this dead man here is the Son of God." And his wretched mother, standing by the platform, falls groaning and clings to the wood; and at once she wailed and embraces his feet, and with her hands she drew from the double-flowing stream, and moving she speaks thus: "O divine head, you who even in death clearly care for mortals, and are a cleansing for the empty race of men—yet no one takes thought to lay you in a tomb." But when she ceased from laments and wailings, desiring to raise up the undefiled body, she clung to it as ivy to the shoots of laurel. And after a time, released from her wailings, she said: "Why do I thus bewail? I must believe the words of my Child and all the deeds he showed as testimony, that all that he wills is possible for him; and he himself gives the passage through things beyond hope." She said this, and immediately you were seen by me. JOSEPH: You have spoken wondrous things, and the matter proves it. But you—for it is not the time for a lady to know these things—be quiet and silence the report, and as quickly as possible lead these people away to a deserted place; and do not approach those who ponder these things, nor come near, but guard yourselves somewhere from his wild character, the nature of his hateful mind. THEOTOKOS: O you glorious in victory, hail, my two friends, Nicodemus together with Joseph the divine; you have come at the right time, and well have you done, well indeed. For to faithful friends the misfortunes of friends, when they fall evilly, do touch the heart. Hurry now, hurry, bring him down; for I see that you both have come for this.

Come up, come up quickly, so that you may bring the dead man down for me, that I may draw down his masterly arms and every limb, moving the flesh that I once nourished. {JOSEPH} Go out, depart, lest one of the murderers do you harm, nor will he endure to see you. But we are going up, as you see, and let us bring the dead man down with our own hands quickly. Yes, my friend Nicodemus, do you first quickly step onto the fixed steps of the ladder, to nail fast the body of the twice-carved lion, which the people rejoiced to have hunted. But do you go out as quickly as possible, even though you mourn; for thus these things have been fixed, and you have no strength to overturn them, even if you groan and weep. {THEOTOKOS} Wretched am I, miserable, if I do not see my Child even dead, until the tomb receives him; and let me flee the crowd, lest I suffer something too. For without my Child, what love of life have I? Allow me to weep for my dead Child and to bury him, to touch his feet and draw down his limbs. Come, O wretched hand of mine, take hold of the dead man. {JOSEPH} Do not, do not put forth your hand, nor touch the dead man, no indeed, since I will bury him with these hands, bringing in Nicodemus as my fellow worker, carrying a most abundant pouring of myrrh, so that none of the hostile may insult him, pulling off his garments and carrying his body from the tomb. For as is fitting for one who has no kinship of family, I too honor the dead man as a friend. How then we must carry him, or what we must do to gratify your mind concerning the dead man, consider; and using my counsels, bear it in silence; for everything will be most seemly. Nor will you see anything cruel done to your dead Child; for I do not refuse to be a Jew.

But never shall I be able to be persuaded of your Child that he was not noble, not even if the whole race of mortals should say so and one should fill the mountain wood with letters, since I know that he is noble. Nevertheless, stretch out your hands, lady, with the maidens, and receive your beloved Child, dead, and weep as you wish, and touch his limbs. {THEOTOKOS} You have spoken a most noble word, and from now on you shall be among benefactors and friends even more, since you are glorious in victory with great fame of victory. Therefore, dearest old Joseph, take him, embrace the Child and draw him to yourself. Take him, take him now and lift up the body, raise the head, placing your arm under the neck on the right, and lift up his side. {THEOLOGIAN} Stretch out your hands, lady, and you other maidens, receive the dead man who gives life to the dead, and I too, as far as I am able, will receive him. {THEOTOKOS} Come, O wretched hand of mine, take the dead man. Alas, alas, what do I see? What am I now carrying in my two hands? Who is this whom I hold dead in my hands? How am I, wretched woman, to lay him with reverence upon my breast? In what manner shall I lament? May you yourself grant that I may address you as a dead man and draw down your every limb, Child. Hail,

Seeing you for the last time, I now address you, whom I wish I had never borne to see you now as a corpse, slain by lawless men. Give your mother your right hand to kiss. O dearest hand, to which I clung so much and held fast as ivy to the branches of an oak. O beloved eye, and dearest to me mouth and form and noble face of my Child; O sweetest touch of the lips; O wondrous skin, and sweetest breath of my Child; O divine scent of your breathing; for even in my troubles I perceived you and my heart was lightened. Why did you wish thus dishonorably to die? Why have you made your mother who bore you orphaned of you? Alas, may I die with you, Child. Better for me to die than to see you dead. How, from one voiceless and with closed eye, shall I have consolation? How shall I endure to remain? O sweet breath of your skin; in vain, then, did my breast nurse you, Child, in swaddling clothes? In vain did I toil and wear myself out with labors from the very beginning of your strange birth? Truly, both while you lived and when you went to Hades, O Child of the Almighty, you touched my heart. From these first things I shall begin first to speak. Insolence it was that tripped up the mother of all and the first father, who sowed the race of mortals and ripened the fairest harvest, and made me bear you, O Child, paradoxically, glorious, as it seemed good to your Begetter, before I and all creation came to be. And when I was born, by your Father's judgment, I think, my father did not feed me at a mortal hearth, and my mother gave me to the sacred house; there, having been raised strangely by an angel's hand, in due time the whole council gave me to a prudent man, to keep me lawfully—not without God, this too, but by divine judgment—so that I might bring a reasonable reproof in due time, and a guardian for the Child, whose origin is strange.

For I remain a virgin again after bearing you, and I know how I remain pure, and you yourself know it, since you know all things clearly. But when you were born from me, from God the Father, many set improper words against me, falsely babbling that I had borne a child from some mortal man. And it was not enough for me to be insulted only in these things, but I fled and ran to Egypt, and I endured many things and was worn down by labors. But I saw wondrous things done by you, and comparing all things and being amazed, I did not think you mortal nor did I fear that you would die; but the pledge of Abraham your father and the embassies and the countless elders and the oath which you swore before for salvation persuaded you to die and to help the race. From there you endured both birth and death; and I, holding you, my Child, dead in my arms as the reward of unbearable labors, lament bitterly and groan and weep; I lament, and I will not bring in another sophist. Joseph is ready to clothe you fittingly in robes, and also to prepare a tomb and to gather the luxury of countless myrrhs, which Nicodemus came boldly bringing, a small kindness to dead friends; for what is the profit from myrrhs for the dead? But your Father will care for those among the dead, whom you yourself will lead out all as spoils from Hades, whom he confined, whom he snatched away, and bound in the chains of the all-dark dwelling. And the Father showed the manifestations of these ineffable mysteries, having slain only his child; and he said that the initiate, your own cousin, greater than all the divinely inspired, as you said, whom the people of the Hebrews handed over to slaughter, a venerable citizen, and one man appearing as an oracle to the greatest number, naked, without food, alone;

He had used blameless nourishment for all, clad in a garment that drew people to him, but repulsive to those for whom fine raiment is luxury, unkempt, filthy, leading a grievous life, where abundant desolation dwells, where the swift Jordan flows with its streams. As the divine prophet showed the manifest signs of burial, auspicious, lasting three days in the deep. And learning these things, I bring delight, watching eagerly to see the end of burial too. So then you dared, Child, already death, and those things are the cause of your present deeds, you who hastened to die and to help mortals. But neither Judas nor wretched Pilate shall escape double judgment, but the Father's avenging eye shall exact punishment from them, and the whole city and the murderous army. You did it, you did it, do not think it has escaped notice, Pontius, the eye of justice all-seeing, even if you washed your hands, as if outside the murder; as also the betrayer threw down the wages of the murder, when he ought to have put a sword to his neck, ought to have put his wretched neck into nooses, or to have destroyed his body in the gray waves, casting himself into the sea as food for fish. For if you had simply sold a man, wretch (for I turn the face of my speech toward you), if you had delivered some other man to death, you would have incurred a calamity according to the law of citizens; but now, the one whom he deemed worthy of many favors, who came from the Father as rescuer of the whole race, you have sold, you have delivered to death out of envy; and what retribution would it not be lawful for you to undergo? {JOSEPH} Already the all-just mystic has been judged justly, the all-wicked one who delivered up the Master; he was seen hanging in suspended nooses; but faster than the nooses he falls headlong from on high to the ground with countless wailings; for being near to evil, the wretch did not recognize it. {CHORUS} Well, well has he been judged and justice has been set right.

{THEOTOKOS} O Child, how great indeed is your Father, as he rightly heard my prayers. A scourge struck him, because he betrayed you—faithless, godless, lawless, unjust; for since he was a thief and a stitcher-together of murder against God, and did not wish to turn from his wickedness, so it was necessary that he die by this death. May he perish, perish with full justice, the evildoer, who fled the greatest gain of repentance. There is a God, there is one mighty, great; there is also Providence and the judgment of God. I have rejected him; no impious man is dear to God. Come now, take him and lead him to a new tomb; proceed, bury the dead man in a blessed grave. For he has such garments as the dead must have, a small consolation for the departed. I think it makes little difference to the dead whether one obtains rich burial offerings; these things are empty boasting on the part of the living. At any rate, cover his face quickly with garments; touch him with your hands, bury the corpse swiftly—the King who died at the hands of the Jews; the newly built tomb must be carried aloft. O Child, all-working of the all-causing God, for what is accomplished among mortals without you? And what of these things is not God-ordained? Alas, alas, alas! King, King, how shall I weep for you? My God, my God, how shall I call upon you? From a loving mind, what then shall I sing? For you lie wrapped in these cloths, you who were once swaddled in swaddling clothes. {NIKODEMOS} Come, old man, let us fit the head of the thrice-blessed one rightly, and let us make the whole body firm and sound as far as is possible. {JOSEPH} O most beloved face, O young cheek, behold, with this veil I cover your head; and your blood-stained and mangled limbs and parts I cover with new garments, your side wholly pierced and covered with blood.

{THEOTOKOS} Yes, by God, gather round; for it is fitting, since night and darkness are already near. Stand upright, stretching out your blessed neck; this is a small service for a beloved Master. Carry him, so that I, having seen with my eyes where the Child is laid, may remain there lamenting, until the third day shines sweetly for me. O what mourning, what mourning has been poured out, my Child; I consider this grief common to all mortals; this grief comes unexpectedly upon all; and may it come to me as a joy shared by all. {JOSEPH} Follow me, let us bear the blessed burden, which after enduring much through countless entreaties I received, finding this gift of the ruler, taking him naked, laid upon three-fold wood. {THEOTOKOS} Alas, alas, by this very man, O people, touch the flesh of the God-stricken one gently with your hands; and lift him as is fitting, and again draw him along with tension. For behold, as it seems, the tomb is near. Alas, women, children of the land of Galilee, he is already laid and covered with a stone. Come, maidens, and having looked upon the dead, address him and send him forth from the earth, as never another savior of the race, alas; you will see, even if these things do not seem so to the Jews. Go on, go on; no longer can I bear to see him placed in the tomb and covered in the rock, he who gushed water from the rock for the fathers and now has rent the rocks as he hung, and by his power opened the tombs of the dead. Let us stand a little, so that I may address the dead. You are gone, beloved Child, to the houses of Hades, and you are hidden with a hiding which you wish to be hidden, having come to the roof of all-dark Hades, and you will strike a most bitter sting into Hades. You are gone to the recess of the dead and the gates of darkness, wishing to shine and illumine the race, and to raise up Adam the father of mortals, for whose sake you took a mortal form and bear it.

You have come to the deep-dark gloom of Hades, slain by your enemies, leaving your wretched mother behind. But the Father's good will shall kill you—the very will that becomes salvation for all others; and your Father's goodness has come to a fateful end for you—a bitter lament. The earth receives you, my Child, as you come to the gates of all-dark Hades, to cast into Hades the sharpest dart. For it is for this very purpose that you alone descend, and you shall take the dead, not be taken by the dead; you shall rescue all, being alone free. For you alone, a man, come boldly to this; you alone rise above the nature of mortals. The contests that awaited you have now reached their end, and for the rest you have the victory over your adversaries, mightily routing Hades, the serpent, and death. Wise, wise are you, and wisely did you endure your fate, that by your death you might cast down the common doom, and establish glory firmly on the earth, rising from the earth and bringing salvation, having exchanged your body for kinship with the Father. For you shall come again in glory, having snatched away a race, O Lord, immortal Lord, remaining God, and to your form you joined the nature of man; and now you descend to the halls of Hades, hastening to shine and illumine the darkness. Well, well indeed may you leave this land of the hostile, to which you first came, the house of Israel, wishing to shepherd the lost sheep and to pass through the covenants made with the fathers, having joined the nature of mortals to the form of God. For the Father begets you without flux, always; and I bore you again, still in purity, when you took a mortal form from God.

But your mother's own kin—who ought least of all to have done so—though you had wrought many wondrous and unspeakable things for them that mortals uninitiated may not know, kept saying that you were not born a savior from God, but prattled that I, having been wedded to some mortal man, bore you, and that I, having falsified my marriage bed, brought the sin upon myself against God. And now they hastened to kill you lawlessly out of envy, by the schemes of the enemy—for whose sake, having slain him and all the other utterly wicked schemes, you will stop him from tormenting the world with his schemes, and having fitted him in iron nets you will set him up as a malefactor for his malefaction, my Child. And them in turn you will cast out of this land, and to others you will give both city and dominion, as you have already spoken to your friends in symbols; among whom you will dance and establish your mysteries, so that you may be manifestly God to mortals, as in heaven to all; and to another land, having set things here in good order, you will raise up dominion. For this city must learn, even if it does not wish to, being now ignorant of your mysteries, and every other sojourning of earth-born men, which fights against God in the things concerning you, and thrusts you away from libations, and nowhere keeps mention of you in prayers; for not yet have the wretched ones known the offspring coming from the Father out of heaven to the earth below. For their sake show them that you are God; and you will surely show it; but if you wish to lead out the race of the Jews from the land utterly with anger and arms, you will drive them before the generals of the Ausonians, whom they foolishly chose to rule over them, as having renounced your lordship, having proclaimed Caesar as lord. For I see the penalty for your life-bringing death—fire near the houses and the ruins of buildings already reduced to ash, the unquenchable flame of fire, against this immortal city for this outrage.

I praise the judgment that makes this ground impassable for all your murderers, my Child—you who, leaving behind the far-famed cities of the Lydians and of the Phrygians, the sun-struck plains of the Persians, the walls of Bactria, and passing by the snow-burdened land of the Medes and the prosperous land of the Arabians, the nations long sunk in darkness, and all Asia, which they say lies by the salt sea, shared alike by Greeks and barbarians, possessing cities full of fair towers—you came first to this land of the Hebrews, which sets you as a corpse in a tomb by slaughter. Alas, the dwellings of God and the beloved city, O fair-towered city of the land of David, O bridal chamber of the prophets of old, how have you now become a cave of God-killers! How shall I lament you? How shall I mourn you for the murder? But you women who have left the region of Galilee, my company, whom this corpse—alas, laid now in the pit—draws from there as my fellow-initiates in the mysteries, leave the local songs over the dead, and now hymn him with delicate laments, and then you shall acclaim the King as living, for there is hope, and most sure hope for me. Go, go; I can no longer bear to look upon the tomb and the stone as I did before him. Let us yield—

So let us yield, dear maidens. Come, come, let us go with quiet step into the house where the race of women waits, where above all Mary, mother of Mark, is, where I think the mystic company gathers; and there we shall await the course of the sweet light; or rather let us go to the young child, whom my only Son has given me as a son. {THEOLOGIAN} Yes, and this is just, and you do not speak otherwise; there, lady, we must now go, so that, being nearer the tomb, we may observe everything, and keep all the morrow quietly for the sake of the commandment, and wait for the darkness, the bright darkness of the third day, so that going secretly you may fulfill your custom. Let us go then, let us go, let us yield to the tomb, before one of the hostile ones passing by overtakes us. And I will show you the place where it is necessary to spend the night. {THEOTOKOS} Behold, my Child, leaving you alone we depart, to where are the stations of the race of women, to the house of the son whom you entrusted to me, my Child, where it is necessary to remain by the glen near your tomb. {JOSEPH} O dearest of men, even though dead, yet to me you will always be counted far among the dearest; rejoice; for the last time I now address you. {THEOLOGIAN} Noble offspring, I will not speak in riddles, this man is both man and God, the offspring of God. For clearly by the things he has accomplished I consider him God, and concerning his death I blame a wise providence and judgment, through which the fate of the race shall be loosed. And he himself, the enemy of the race who drags along the ground, is now crushed, is put to death, is slain;

For Jesus the all-glorious King of the heavens will slay him and in turn ravage his race, and will exact vengeance for his brothers and for the first father, the ancient patriarch, who sowed the race of mortals upon the earth, cast out from the meadow through the deceit of the dappled serpent, and he will establish it in the most blessed city. And this man's fate brings these things to pass, and for their sake he too has appeared as a mortal, and this man has been seen filled with dread wonders into this world, of which you are not ignorant of many. And having appeared as the best of men, he departs in death, and rising again he shall be known as God. But if he had been in the heavens, being noble, he would have lain hidden, hymned by the hosts above alone, and would have had his glory unspoken in the heaven. These are the causes of his birth and of his fate; and I shall tell you the whole: the salvation of mortals. Therefore he has died by those by whom he least ought to have died, and he came into bonds and words of mockery. Such things the people once beloved did to their benefactor, angered by envy; and these things he has suffered not unwillingly. But the evils which the people must suffer in turn I will not hide. The city shall be left, yielding to barbarians, unwilling, a slave, a resident alien. For it is ordained that they flee to every land of barbarians, captive to the spear, having endured many evils. For he proclaims to all the destroyers that the whole race must leave this city, paying the penalty for the unholy pollution to this man whom they killed out of envy, and see their fatherland no more; for it is not pious for murderers to remain at the tombs of the dead.

But when the wretched men come to many cities, dragging the yoke of slavery, captive to the spear, as the oracle of God declares, scattered everywhere, the miserable ones will no longer have a return or a coming back, from the time when this dragon of the Ausonians, leading with countless army and spears, shall sack these things. Not from a mortal father was he begotten who said and spoke these things, but from God, just as this dead man here has spoken all things in power, having learned nothing from the prophets, but rather having taught them all these things himself. But what sufferings he is about to fulfill, I will tell: a shameful traitor from among his servants. He himself, having spoken, as if maddened by grief, put his neck into a hanging noose; and falling, then the wretch will rend himself in two and see a dreadful day; nor will the wretched man cease from evils, nor, having crossed over to descending Hades, will he be at rest, groaning unceasingly and crying out in violent pains, and this stream of fire will receive him. JOSEPH: O friend, how you say that all have come into dreadful evils, and myself and all my kin utterly; and shall I, the wretched one, come to the barbarians? Or where shall I turn, my fatherland being ravaged? O city that once breathed great things against the barbarians, your famous name is perhaps being taken away. Farewell, O dwelling, farewell, ancestral city; I leave you, I leave you, having become wretchedly a slave, captive to the spear; and may I see the plain of the barbarians, unless fate overtakes me while I am an old man—whom may I see while remaining in my fatherland

with the plain; for I understood that the oracle is so. {THEOLOGIAN} Your part is well approved, reverend elder; but the people born of you shall pay the penalty, as it is indeed deserved, yet grievous. Let him himself blame himself for the judgment. For he will have nothing to say in excuse—that perhaps he did not come, did not defend, did not turn back, bestowing benefits both long ago and now in fitting ways. For what heralds did he not send long ago? And with what gifts of strangers did he not fill him, whom he led out even from bitter tyranny and made a mighty king of nations with all power, when around Bashan and the land of the Amorites he fell upon the best of the nations face to face and shattered the shield, and having enslaved their host, gave it to him; of which, having kicked away the great favor, he betrayed him to murderous men for slaughter; who came later, yet in due time; for the divine messengers and the law, laboring for many years, striving with the spear, found no end. But for Christ one light of the sun will suffice, when he has sacked the houses of Hades, to come again to the other earth, cutting short the pains of mortals; for on their account, having taken a beggarly garment, he will enter Hades; and having taken many spoils from there, he will appear as overseer of the dead, and having slain the guards and the attendants of the gates, he will come from there and be known to all as a helper, a benefactor from the root, whom the people born of him killed in envy. But those who are by nature no kin to him, having been acquired by him—some in heaped-up tombs, and others on the mountain and in caves and in the depth of the earth—will await the cold blast and the thirsting fire of God, enduring, not lying on soft couches, nor wrapped in delicate garments, nor sleeping in houses of much gold;

But those who fall by daggers and blades and swords will show a sure faith—not the faith of the seller and slayer of the Benefactor, whom it is just to pay the penalty. But you, rising up, he will easily rescue, whom you have fittingly laid in a new tomb, and he will establish you in the land of the blessed, showing forth at the sound of the trumpet him who wakes the dead. For you must leave the murderous city and dwell in the floor of the meek, O blessed one, having appeared as a god, having exchanged mortal flesh and having put off the corruption which you received from deceit, since you were born mortal. None of these things did I know from the words of the prophets, but I have come to know by leaning on the Teacher's breast; thus I understood that those beloved of God shall be, having fallen on the Master's breast, so that from the abyss I have drawn up many wise things. {JOSEPH} One must learn something wise from a wise man. Have you been persuaded that you will see him again on earth? {THEOLOGIAN} I have been persuaded; the coming light of God will show it; I must wait only one single tomorrow. {JOSEPH} To us, then, he has come as one great from God, and having simply died, he is buried as a mortal, in linen and myrrh, having appeared from a mortal mother; for it was necessary that he who was from her should die. But if as God he shall now have lordship also over death, it shall be henceforth, as the Son of God and only-begotten, revered by all who know God; and let a little mourning be laid aside for the mother's sake, since he was from a mortal mother; for it was necessary that he who was from her should die. To us, then, our friend has thus now been honored; and he who, if he wishes to accomplish anything as God, has the power—the time is present; for the light of the third day is not far off, and the whole shall be revealed. {THEOLOGIAN} I am persuaded that the third-day beam of the sun brings a free day for all. {JOSEPH} May I see, may I see this sweet day!

Oh, would that I, my friend, might see this wonder! But now let us depart, Nicodemus, my benefactor; let us go, friend, and beseech God—for the people, though they be savage, and for our fatherland—to do nothing new, so long as we both remain in this life. And you too, friend and virgin, together with the virgin, assist us your friends in this; yes, do you also assist, even though you mourn, O lady, mother of the twofold nature, as the word of your virgin initiate, your Child, persuades me. {THEOTOKOS} Go and announce the power to mortals, together with Nicodemus, who was formerly a mystic by night, but now with you, a friend all-shining. {THEOLOGIAN} Go rejoicing, in no way frightened. For a life of noble quietness and of pure love and friendship, and to think well and be prudent in life, keeps all things, so that they remain unshaken; for God knows all things and judges wisely. {JOSEPH} You indeed persuade me, and I trust your words, and keeping my rank, I go free from fear. {THEOLOGIAN} Proceed; for he seems to care for all things who cares for friends; and you yourselves will come to know my words. But do you now follow, maidens, with my mother; follow, armed in your hearts with Christ, and fearing nothing, but follow me; for I will show you a house where it is fitting to pass the night. So then, this house here is convenient; lodge here now; for no small part of the night, as I see, has passed by, and already, while it is still present, the darkness flows away. {THEOTOKOS} Woe is me! Woe! With my soul in care, with my heart frozen, how shall sleep fall upon my eyelids? Alas, my Child, for your all-just slaughter! Woe is me, wretched woman, for deeds reversed! For these things are not in accord with what was hoped, even if they accord with what was foretold.

I have endured the greatest misfortunes even before, my Child, from the very beginning of your strange birth; but joy followed swiftly upon those misfortunes, when you were present and loosening my griefs. But now, alas, how shall I bear this most unbearable pain? What then shall I do now, suffering things past remedy? How then shall sleep ever charm the seat of my eye? {SEMICHORUS} We, O lady, laid down upon the ground, our bodies relaxed—young and old, and maidens yet unwed—leaning our heads against one another's backs, some laying their hands beneath their cheeks, and we snatched a brief little taste of sleep. But you did not sleep nor lay down your body, groaning and in pain all night long; for through every watch of the night you keep your eye sleepless and turn it about. Until when will you remain sitting by, sleepless, not closing your eye at all? Behold, dawn has appeared, and the people run up and down the highway; and the sun, leaping up from the earth, sends forth his light-bringing rays, warming the ground. {THEOTOKOS} Since I have seen my Son laid dead in the tomb, must I not mourn and groan and weep, until I see him alive again from the tomb? But how then shall sleep fall upon my eyelids? {OTHER SEMICHORUS} And I too lie here, my heart full of care, ceasing from sleep, treading the ground upon the earth-strewn floor, and I neither ate nor slept, hearing your violent lamentations and groanings, O maiden. {THEOTOKOS} Awake, awake! Why, women, do you delay? Go out, depart a little toward the city, as far as the command permits one to proceed; perhaps you will learn something newer still. For many do not know you, and there is no fear. {CHORUS} And indeed I think I now see one of the attendants, hastening hither in earnest with a gloomy face; and he seems to be the messenger of strange tidings. {ANGEL} Where, where shall I go and find the mother of Jesus?

Tell me, women, if you know, inform me: is he within this house? {THEOTOKOS} Here he is, you see him yourself; he remains inside the house. {ANGEL} Lady, mother of my dear Mystagogue, even now I bring a report worthy of concern to you and to the disciples and to your dear women. {THEOTOKOS} You have come at the right time, though you announce fear. What is it? Is there some newer calamity? {ANGEL} A great armed phalanx comes to the tomb, but for whose sake I cannot clearly conjecture. I have come having heard indistinctly; but some rumor has fallen upon the people that spies have come to the tomb. One speaks though he has not seen; another has seen them coming but cannot tell; another, claiming to know something, is unwilling to explain. But one man said that the scribes were approaching and had persuaded the ruler of this land to send guards and seal the stone, lest perhaps the initiates steal the corpse. For this reason I have come to report these things to you. {THEOTOKOS} O worker of the most grievous evils against me, O tribe of scribes and elders, O doer of murderous daring, O dramatist of the murder of the Master, though you understand what you dare foolishly, you shall receive a sharp arrow through your heart, suffering a most terrible pain. But if you persist to the end in these things in which you now wickedly persist, though faring ill you will seem not to be ill off, out of folly and evil counsel; yet you shall learn thereafter that it is no gain to you. For how shall corpse-thieves be those who have scarcely escaped their own murderous hands? And who will persuade them to approach the tomb, when they have so feared and greatly shuddered? Go, go and guard the tomb; yes, yes, phalanx, go and watch securely; for perhaps you shall be a witness of the resurrection.

Let us, dear women, remain here again. {CHORUS} Yes, yes, let us remain quietly in the house, and let us not go now to the tomb of the Master, but let us wait to go when the darkness of evening comes. {THEOTOKOS} And look, the darkness of evening is advancing. For the rest, let us remain quietly, away from the guards. For how would anyone, coming through the enemy's camp in the darkness, anoint this one and come away unharmed? But someone from among the followers of the Teacher ought to go to the tomb as a watchful scout. Yes, yes, it is fitting that someone go quickly; and if he should not learn of some secret treachery, let us go at dawn to the life-bearing tomb; we shall come to anoint the body of the dead man according to custom; this is my judgment. But if we learn of some plot of the enemy, we shall wait in silence for the ray of the fair-shining day, and there will be no need to anoint him who now lies dead; for no corruption will fall beneath the earth's gloom upon the body of the Word, nor will all-devouring Hades hold his soul; for he willingly endured death, not having a debt, so that by debt he might be shut in to the gloom. For since he is by nature incorruptible from the incorruptible, how will Hades, the steward of those below, destroy him? Him I think even to drag away as spoils from there, as many mortals as he shut in, whom he snatched together and bound in the chains of the all-gloomy dwelling. {CHORUS} Rightly; one must first go to reconnoiter; send someone as quickly as possible; for now you speak safely; and with you you will see me enduring to the end. {THEOTOKOS} Who then of my friends, who are present here, dares to go as a night spy to the tomb? Who would now become my benefactress? For the initiates of the Teacher are not present, fleeing the irrational onslaught of the murderous. For perhaps they do not breathe with anger against all; for they despise even our race, and they persecute the initiates with irrational boldness.

{MAGDALENE} I am willing, casting off this danger at your urging, to go afterward to the tomb of the divine one; and having learned from there exactly how matters stand, I will come to you before the light comes to the earth; and I will come quickly. I undertake this labor for the sake of the many evils from which I have been delivered; and perhaps from there the dead man himself—not dead to me—will grant a more glorious gift. And the darkness seems to bid me both sleep and wait still. Let us sleep, then, let us sleep; the dawn is not far off—which I pray I may see the sooner, O Lord of All. But at daybreak I will go forth swift-running; perhaps I may meet the sisters who have chosen to remain and watch the tomb, running together with me. For all were eager in unison with me to spend the night now at the tomb to anoint the dead body. {CHORUS} Go, go; running ahead, may you learn something, bringing with you a courage that is manly. But we will follow after with her, this maiden, and many other nurslings of Galilee; for I think all will run together with you to the tomb, longing to see the fulfillment of their hopes. But let us sleep a little; the dawn is not far away. {MAGDALENE} I must labor strenuously, and laboring it is fitting to look forward to a worthy reward; for the prize set before every deed gives birth to a double grace, which I have received many times over and may receive again. {THEOTOKOS} Yes, and this is just, and you do not think otherwise; you advise well and you speak fittingly; and you speak of the reward and the grace, how great it is, which you have received before your labors, and may you receive again. Yet what greater honor than these things will you demand? Nevertheless, he will give you gifts that are far the most beautiful among men now, I know it well, and thereafter you will be counted blessed. {MAGDALENE} Behold, looking to what is yours, I will run; and may I be the first to see the resurrection, maiden; for I ask this as the reward for my labors.

{MAGDALENE} You see, you see my eagerness. {THEOTOKOS} Take care that in the darkness you do not meet the guards. {MAGDALENE} I will be on my guard, and I will set my foot quietly. But may I fare well and obtain what you desire; for you surely desire to see your Son quickly; longing for this, I run at the risk of danger. {THEOTOKOS} Go as quickly as possible, and become for me, as swiftly as may be, a messenger of good tidings, so that I may obtain what I desire. {MAGDALENE} I yield, commanded as I am; for since you are my mistress, you would not err in this, but I obey. {THEOTOKOS} I too will follow with you, Mary; for I grieve, I grieve even to remain behind you. Thus caring, how shall I, wretched woman, now endure it? {MAGDALENE} And now let us go, dear maiden; for having you as my companion I rejoice greatly. Let these women not cast sleep from their eyes. Awake, awake; why, women, do you delay? Loose the swift-glancing seat of your eyelids. Do you not see the all-shining gleam of the moon? Dawn is near, dawn; this star is close by, and the sweetest sleep charms the seat of the eye; for the sweetest sleep, entering the eyelids, has come upon hearts grown numb. {CHORUS} I, caring with a numbed heart, turn my sleepless eye throughout all the darkness. {MAGDALENE} Let us go swiftly, dear maiden, with the fierce care of a heart that has been bitten. Let us go then as quickly as possible near the tomb; let these women, having cast sleep from their eyes, come as swiftly as possible with a quiet step. {THEOTOKOS} Yes, yes, let us go swiftly; and may it be well to succeed. I trust that the approaching ray of the sun brings a free day for all. Let us go then, let us go; and let those behind, now having gently received a sound in their ears, run, I think, with swift courses of their feet, no less than the speed of a dove.

For again I send forth my tender voice, a clear command, to run together to the tomb. And look, they are standing upright—a wonder to behold in their good order. Alas, alas! My child, behold the longed-for day, the third, the third-day light already, hope for your friends. May it not pass by—and it is better for me to die. O my child, O dearest, O divine head, when, then, or where shall I, the all-suffering one, see you? O my child, would that you come to me swiftly as light; come, leaving the hiding-place of the dead and the gates of darkness, where Hades is settled apart from light, but now it has seen the greatest light in your descent. Come, come, appear, anticipating the dawn's brightness. As God, the Olympian God, you hold all things. {MAGDALENE} Ah, ah! I see these deserted beds of guards. What then could it be? Has the ambush gone somewhere? {THEOTOKOS} Perhaps they are setting some device against us. For the crowd is bold, and now it is bold because it prevails. {MAGDALENE} What then, sister, shall we do? For we have not found as we hoped, and we have missed our hopes. {THEOTOKOS} Be persuaded; let us go again; and may it be well to find the dead man himself with hearts armed—for whoever wisely commits himself to God saves himself; and now we must walk. But who, then, will roll away the stone for us? {MAGDALENE} Ottotototoi! O Lord, O Lord imperishable, what is this tumult? And how has the stone been rolled away and suddenly seen? And the tomb of the Master is seen empty. Therefore I will go and tell the beloved initiates of the removal of the corpse, and I will return again quickly; and may I find you here with the women again, maiden. {THEOTOKOS} Well done, well done, you have returned most quickly now, dear one; but I, still seeing the stone lifted, am amazed and shudder, how it was thus suddenly seen rolled before the door of the tomb. Ah, ah! Be silent, be silent.

Who then is this one, radiant in fiery form, who now sits above the stone, all-beautiful, graceful in white raiment? For he gleams like fresh, soft snow. And look, the guards too are down like the dead. {ANGEL} But do not be troubled, nor let fear be among you; for the one you seek is no longer in the tomb—Jesus the King, who was crucified this day. He is no longer in the tomb, remaining dead, but having been raised he hastens to Galilee; as he said, he now wishes to appear to his initiates. And going, look upon the place, that it is empty. Go then, go and tell them these things plainly; for I have told you all, and tell them all to all together with Peter, that Hades is gone, Christ has risen from the tomb, and the stone of the tomb has been mightily thrust away; and the guards of Hades, loosed by fear, have let the doorways go, and the dead leap upon the earth toward the light, calling upon God as their savior; for all their bonds were broken of themselves. {THEOTOKOS} O fair-shining radiance of the sun, this light! The end of my cares has come, as was hoped. The enemy has fallen, Christ has risen from the tomb. When dawn is present, what could ever be sweeter? And what could be more gracious to me? Where then, my Child, do you go, having cast down Hades? Where, where shall I see you, and when, my Child? Come, come and appear to your mother quickly. {MAGDALENE} You will see him sooner, I think, than many. But let us go, as the one in white raiment said, to announce the joy to all the beloved initiates. But first I will go to Peter and to the virgin, bringing the good tidings to the friends; for the one who appeared has said to tell Peter also. I go then to tell of the emptying of the tomb and the vision of the one who appeared and his words; yet these ran to see the tomb, and I think they saw all things well. But alas—

Whom do I behold? A master in strange guise? I do not know for certain; yet it is possible to guess, for it is no base figure that has entered here. {CHRIST}

Greetings. {THEOTOKOS} Greetings, noble Son of the Noble One, King, ruler of all, who has overthrown the last enemy, death. Lord, Lord immortal, you are the great God; grant us to touch your feet with fear, for we who now move upon the ground fall down, overwhelmed by joy and fear. {CHRIST} Do not be afraid, nor let fear be among you. Go and announce to my brothers quickly to come to Galilee, and that they may somehow see me there, as I told them. {THEOTOKOS} O brightness inexpressible of the sun's beam, how fair has the dawn now risen; O splendor unutterable of the rays of light, O joy of all the world, O gladness, O delightful delight, O great rejoicing, how could one speak, how could one proclaim in word the exultation of my heart now? But let us go, as the Lord said. {MAGDALENE} Look, lady, near at hand, the other maidens dear to you and all the women of Galilee are running to the tomb to anoint the dead body, not yet knowing his resurrection. Therefore let us go with them again to the tomb; for there is no satiety in beholding wondrous things. For the longing heart, being greedy to know all things among the marvels, is caught, and is greedy to gaze on these things often. But oh—who is this comely young man, who sits in white raiment at the right of the tomb? Amazement holds me as I look at the lightning-flash of his appearance. {YOUNG MAN} Do not be alarmed, nor let fear be among you. Jesus the Nazarene, I know, O maidens, you seek; but he is no longer remaining in the tomb, but has risen, and the place remains empty. Go therefore, tell the initiates and Peter that he will appear to them in Galilee quickly.

{MAGDALENE} Trembling and mastered by fear, I now go to Peter and the rest of the friends, bearing again a message of good tidings; for the one who appeared has said to tell Peter also. {CHORUS} But we, maidens, struck with amazement, and thrown into ecstasy by the strange sight, let us flee as swiftly as we can from the tomb with trembling, bearing in silence every sight and every sound, and let us carry nothing out to anyone; keeping in mind the deceits of the word-monger, and fearing the strangling of the noose, as a tomb befitting the dead in his own fashion, since he played his secret trick into the midst of enemies. Let us flee, let us go out from beneath our thoughts, and let us say nothing to the hostile from what we know, except to friends, the initiated only; for there is no evil to anyone; but there is something common to all in the all-true good of glad tidings. And there is no falsehood; falsehood is not dear to us, who have nobly fled the mind of the dead-minded, and have been thrown into an all-beautiful ecstasy by fear, by which everyone shuns evil with a godly mind. It is not lawful to tell any such thing to anyone for those who are going out from the tombs, as I said, nor for those who still bear in mind a memorial of the dead-befitting manner concerning the living one, held by fear and much trembling as he looks upon the trembling words of his. Thus let us flee from the tomb, maidens, so as to say nothing to anyone in strange fashion. For there is no substance of evil; whence I learn that evil is nothing, and therefore it is not lawful to speak anything secret to this one; for who brings forth a secret to a hostile one? But the hostile seems the opposite to the good, as night to day and darkness again to light, as falsehood is set against the true word. But let us go away more quickly to the mystagogues, declaring the joy of the gospel to the friends. But alas;

Whom do I see coming here in the night? {ANGEL} Lady, mother of the Child, such as no other woman I have ever heard of brought forth. {THEOTOKOS} Who are you, and of what mind? By night the eyes are dim, and I do not know you clearly. {ANGEL} Ever well-disposed to you and to your slain Child, for the sake of the wonders and your good heart. {THEOTOKOS} What new thing do you announce? What? Tell me quickly. {ANGEL} Lady, rejoice—this first I say to you; all-joyful, rejoice—for no mortal knows how to address a better greeting than this. But none the less I bring you words of gain; for what a message I have come bearing to you. {THEOTOKOS} Will you announce that my Son has appeared, new from Hades? {ANGEL} You have understood, and by your word you have lightened me twice as much. He has come and is present, as the report holds, and on earth he walks, having escaped Hades. For such things I have come to announce. {THEOTOKOS} We know this; but from where do you know it? Come, tell me, how do you say it? How do you speak it? And how do you know it? What clear proof of this will you tell? {ANGEL} The guard of soldiers, waiting through all the darkness and watching the tomb with steadfast zeal, now by night in tumult rushing together ran to the priests in great trembling, and seemed to reveal a strange report in their fear; and they were speaking by night as men terrified. Not in vain did the company tremble; and I learned the cause beyond expectation, having come by night within the walls into the city; and having learned this, I came with quiet step, listening to the words of the soldiers behind them. This man spoke thus, with fearful boldness babbling all the wonder of the tomb; he has spoken, then, he has spoken to the elders and chief priests, gathered as contrivers of the murder and considering that which concerns it.

O you who have brought about the dreadful doom, assembly of scribes and elders, I have come to tell you and the city many strange things, how all is new and worthy of wonders, which the dead man has shown, he whom by night I was appointed to guard, and even now I still tremble. So if you had been present, this man whom you sent out that we might guard him as a corpse at the tomb, you would have besought him with prayers, beholding strange things. But I wish to hear whether I shall speak the things from there to you with boldness, or whether we should draw in our speech. For I fear to speak these words face to face before the tyrant, cowering in the swiftness of my mind before his quick temper and his great exaltation." This the guard said to the elders. And they, turning to themselves, spoke such things as these and addressed him wretchedly: "Already this is near, so that the outrage of Jesus is kindled like fire, and now great fear is upon us. But we must not care for this; rather we must court the soldiery." Then again they turned to the guard and said this: "Hear, guard, how I stand in my judgment: whatever you have to say contrary to our judgment, keep it hidden; for you shall be blameless through me in all things, if you say that the followers stole the corpse secretly. And I will give you gifts too, the most beautiful; for it is not fitting that you tell these things to the king, things that tend to the glory of the buried man, but bring shame upon us somewhere, and greatly kindle the anger of the crowd, and bring the indignation of all against us." And the guard of the watch answered her: "I for my part will not speak any of the things I know, since it seems good to you, and you say you will rescue me, before the tyrant; but nevertheless it shall be told to you. This man seems inferior to no god, from what he has done before and now by his wonders.

He who rose up while the stone still lay upon the tomb and the seals remained to this day, while we, unsleeping, sat around it, shone light upon all things, and cast us into trembling like dead men, beside ourselves with amazement; for the earth was shaken with an uncontrollable convulsion, and suddenly the stone was rolled away from the tomb; and this too, as it seems, so that everyone who beholds the tomb might have it to see and understand. And from the ether a voice, as one might guess, God the Father sounded forth in a strange cry; and with it he thundered, and fixed light of reverend fire both to the vault of heaven and to the earth; and the ether fell silent, and the wooded glen kept its leaves in silence, and you would not have heard a sound. So this man, whoever he is, O friends, receive even now; for he seems great in all things. And they say that he, as I hear, gave to mortals the gift that puts an end to evils, and that without him nothing noble either is or ever could come to be; and if the account is true, I would rather sacrifice to him than, being mortal, kick against the goads in anger against a god. {HIGH PRIESTS} You have slept much and you speak dreams. The initiates stole the corpse, as you slept, and tell this to the tyrant and only this; but what is not to our liking, keep silent; and by keeping silent about this, you shall now receive friendly greetings, or at least you did this willingly—the corpse—and if you do not keep silent, the tyrant shall learn this. {GUARDS} You are persuaded to listen to none of my words; but I, though I hear ill of you, do not say that you ought to exalt yourself any further, but to keep quiet; a god will not endure it. And since we did nothing, the seal of the tomb showed clearly, and you have no pretext; for while it was being guarded and the stone lay there—O dread wonder—he rose from the tomb. {HIGH PRIESTS} Let the many things go and accept the gifts.

{COURT GUARD} Since you are not persuaded by my words, I for my part will be persuaded by yours, as you say. But see to it how you will rescue me from the tyrant. {HIGH PRIESTS} Let no concern about this be yours; for I will now persuade him to think in harmony with you, as being akin to you and of the Ausonian land. But let us go away more quickly; have no fear. And you shall say: The initiates, coming by night, escaping my eye, took away the corpse. {COURT GUARD} Woe is me; woe, ah, ah! {PILATE} Who is this who laments and wails and groans outside? {HIGH PRIESTS} The company of guards of the condemned corpse, O king, is present and groans with great fear. {PILATE} They have come at the right time, though they show something; for why do they cry aloud and groan as they lament? And for whose sake do they bear this fear? Tell me. {HIGH PRIESTS} Let them themselves, being present, give their account. {COURT GUARD} For the initiates, O king, coming by night, escaping my eye, took away the corpse. {PILATE} How, O you who have wrought the greatest woes, did the initiates come to the tomb and enter it, escaping you, and snatch away the corpse? And neither when they were entering the tomb did you perceive them, nor when they were going out? Who of these shall pay the penalty except you? For I say that you are the guard of the tomb; and you have made me a laughingstock to mortals, and besides my shame I shall exact the penalty for the murder. Did thieves escape you, mocking me greatly? For what pretext is there for stealing the body of the dead? And how would they have dared, in the midst of so many guards, whom they say even carried the light of burning torches, and apart from these the night runs full-mooned, to come trembling and roll away the stone, which so great an army did not set without toil, and set seals besides the stone, in a troop for you and a chorus of elders?

I do not know the initiates whom you say stole the corpse; you did this—we would accept nothing of it—and you take away my judgment, weaving words. But then you need a long and clever speech, by which you will persuade me not to speak falsely. For the words of truth do not abide; rather, deliberations turn words aside, and words do not remain with deliberations. {COURT GUARD} You have spoken rightly, O king, as the matter stands; for I kept a sleepless eye by night, and I neither slumbered nor slept—no, by your head—and I saw everything and came running to tell it. And I was eager to run by night and to tell you everything and to escape judgment; but the wise men, who also know things divine, persuaded me to wait for the bright light of day; for it was not the shining lamps of the sun that restrained me, but I ran to them at once and told them everything I had seen and heard; and they do not abide by my words rightly. {PILATE} I fear, O company, that you speak falsely in vain. For if the initiates stole him, we do not know clearly; for it is very suspect to my mind; for what clear proof of this will you speak? {HIGH PRIESTS} O king, you hasten before learning what is being done. The thief in the darkness—with all his might. But as quickly as possible it is necessary to give orders to the army, so that one of them, even if he happens to be swift-footed, crossing the company in the dead of night, caught bound in snares, scored with blows, may learn what must be done. For it is shameful for us, and a evil added to shame, if, God granting it, we who have done so great a deed should let it escape notice without pain. {PILATE} I do not know these men of yours whom you call thieves of the dead man; I do not know; it is suspect, yes, suspect to me.

For how could the fugitives have stolen the corpse, which they left behind alive in great fear? Neither then did the guard sleep so deep a sleep and despise the watch of the tomb, nor did these men err with cowardly boldness—men whom, when they heard even a servant girl's voice, they were shaken and denied him out of fear. {HIGH PRIESTS} You who are steadfast in all things, now you are shaken in your heart, and hearing all this you suspect everything in vain. If only you were a man of forethought, so as to act with your hand! But it is not in man's nature that one man be able to do all things; to one is given one honor, to another another: to you to fight, to these again to know hidden things—you who have now been roused to fiery lamps at the report, and do not believe that his followers stole the deceiver. Simple is the word for arming the hand against enemies. {PILATE} You, having stolen the army, are trying to draw me into your conspiracy. You did everything; and the rest you must see to. {HIGH PRIESTS} At any rate, suppose these things, since it seems so to you, you who have great strength both to act and to speak. {MESSENGER} Having learned such daring deeds of the lawless men, who were burying the raising of the dead in deceit, I ran, O lady, to report to you now. Do not disbelieve, then; for you hear all things truly, and I think the whole city carries the report. For certain of the guard are bringing out

where they also proclaim the miracle among the mysteries. Many will come to you, and you will learn the whole matter; for I myself, a messenger of tidings, ran swiftly to come with gladness of heart and to bring you joy and delight. {THEOTOKOS} You have come at the right time, and grace will be laid up for you; you have come at the right time, though you are announcing rather the ruin of those lawless elders, who devise false and vain things. For how could the tomb have restrained, or the seal of stone, or some phalanx of guards, the unassailable Word, the body exchanged to kinship with the Father, which even before was seen walking the wet ground as a plain—the self-rooted, self-formed Master, bearing him who bears all things by his might? He who in no way loosed the bars of virginity came forth and rose with divine strength; for he did not in any way dissolve the bond of maidenhood. I bore him, and I know that I gave him birth. But how could the phalanx of guards have perceived the rising of him who escaped the angels' notice? How does he fashion a body from mortal blood? How did he appear as flesh, being the Word without flesh before? How, while remaining whole with the Father toward heaven, and whole with all, was he also in my womb? At these things the priests raged in vain with envy. But we, friends, let us now run to the tomb, let us go as quickly as possible to the grave again; let us verify everything still securely and make everything clear to our friends, as it is; and they themselves, running together, will see it well. {CHORUS} And indeed Peter with his friend John, running swiftly to the life-bearing tomb and verifying everything, told their friends, as Mary Magdalene said in belief, who ran first, verified everything, and announced the emptying of the tomb.

{THEOTOKOS} Yes, yes, she ran before all others to the tomb, and I ran with her at once, and we saw the emptying before the tomb, and the taking up of the beloved dead, and his removal to another place of the body. But immediately we knew how the matter stood, and Mary ran and told this to the initiates. And Peter rose and ran to the tomb, and the virgin initiate ran with him at once, and they saw what Mary had told them. And we too ran to come afterward. Yet she, the Magdalene, is here nearby, and she herself will tell the whole vision and deed. {MAGDALENE} What do you say, virgin lady, joy of the race? {THEOTOKOS} What you have said to foresee and foretell to the friends, I myself report to the women. {MAGDALENE} So it is, lady, just as you say. For you know, you know that I went early to the tomb, and you heard what I said. I need not say again what, running to the all-blessed tomb first with you, then with two initiates, and there weeping, standing by, I inquired and examined clearly; and I saw two angels in white garments, sitting above and below the tomb, one at the head and the other at the feet; and seeing them flashing with light, I stood divinely struck with joy and fear; then again through my ears I received a voice, not such as one might guess, and I was turned about with trembling; and at once I behold Christ in a new appearance; for I said that it was no mean form that entered, and I fall to the ground and clung to his feet. And he sent me away and sent me to the friends; and hearing from him what I desired to learn, that he is going up to heaven and to the Father;

He has not yet ascended, as he said, but for now remains on earth and goes before his friends to Galilee, as he told them, to wait for them. All these things I told the friends who are initiates. But they considered my words nothing, and they themselves came quickly to the tomb and saw what you heard; and there is no need to tell it again, since you too were present and heard it a little while ago, and you know full well what I recounted. For having heard beforehand with your beloved maidens, struck with amazement, you ran with two other beloved Marys to see what you had heard before, and you saw everything and your Son, as was fitting. But now I hear from two other friends that they are going away toward the field to see him and to learn all that they longed to learn, and they are hurrying to tell the friends, and that we must now go there quickly; perhaps we may see the Master again. For behold, already the darkness of evening is here; let us run, then, let us run to where I think the night's darkness gathers the friends. {CHORUS} Behold, we have reached the house of Mary, where

And I hear that the friends, the initiates, are staying shut inside the gates, all still trembling at the murderers; and the bars of the gates remain secured. But how shall we enter, when the doors are closed? Already she has heard, and dear Mary opens them gently and calls us to come in. But let us enter with a quiet step, so that we do not alarm the frightened friends. Look, we have gathered with the eleven friends and all the others who are with them; and again Mary secures the gates. So let us listen in silence to Cleopas here; for he is present, as I see, and he says much about the Master—how he appeared to them and what he did for them, and how they recognized him in the breaking of the bread. Ah! Silence, silence! Look, the Master stands inside the doors; truly this is worthy of the greatest wonder. How, how is he present when the doors are closed? Perhaps as he rose though the tomb was closed, and before that came forth from the gates of the virgin, keeping the bars of his all-holy mother unbroken. {CHRIST} Peace be to you. Why are you troubled? Look at my hands and feet and my side itself, clearly pierced; seeing them, know that I am he again; for a spirit does not somehow have flesh, nor do bones exist together with a spirit anywhere, such as you now see me having, and having touched me, see that I have all things. And just as the Father has sent me here, so I also send you to the world, and I breathe the Holy Spirit upon you, my friends; having received it, proclaim me to all with the Father and the all-holy Spirit. Go then, go, my friends and heralds, sing the victory song throughout all the earth, and running around the royal halls, tell them, that all the city of David may see the Savior rising most swiftly from the tomb. You shall be my witnesses in all the earth.

He will save himself, who, having received the word, will welcome baptism as a ransom from defilement; but whoever rejects your words will fall into condemnation as an unbeliever. For such a one I give the grace of the divine Spirit; and whomever you release from the bond of sins, he shall then be found loosed from bonds; and whomever you hold bound in the bond of sins, he shall remain held in unbreakable bonds. From such unbreakable bonds, O Lord of All, do you yourself, the Looser of bonds, O Savior, loose me—bonds with which, alas, my carelessness bound me fast; and the deceiving enemy weighed me down with envy, seeing me loosed from my former unbreakable bonds by faith in you, a gift of your love for goodness. Hail, good Son of the Good, King, Lord of All, who have trampled the serpent, the author of evil, and cast down the last enemy, death; do not let me be mastered by them again. King, King imperishable, you are the great God, and the all-righteous Judge, coming to judge me; how then shall I look upon you, O Word, on that day? And with what eyes shall I gaze upon your throne, I who have shown myself unworthy, wretched that I am, of heaven and earth and of your creation? The enemy seized me, dragged me down into the pit, into Tartarus, into great chaos; the deceiver pursued me fiercely and overtook me, and swallowed me whole into the darkness of Hades. Have mercy, O God, distribute your grace, carry me, and do not let me become a joy to the murderer of mortals. I am your creature; discipline me, O Word, and strike me yourself here in your love for goodness, and do not leave me to be sent off to Gehenna. O Redeemer, we beseech you, we have done wrong in body and soul and mind, wretchedly; we have sinned against you and committed many acts of lawlessness. Late we learned, when we did not know what we ought, and never thereafter did we do the things that are dear to you. We acknowledge our faults; but do you overlook them; and we know that you do not liken your anger to that of mortals.

Have pity on me, O Savior, and do not leave me to perish in my transgressions. For I am your child, and the child of your handmaid; and for my sake you underwent death, O Word. Do not leave me as a joy to the enemy, but discipline me with your rod, yet in a loving way. Receive your mother as an intercessor, O Word, and her along with those to whom you have given the grace of loosing bonds for your sake. O Lady, Lady, all-blessed Virgin, you dwell in the floor of the blessed, the heaven, having exchanged all mortal grossness and being clothed in the garment of incorruption, and ever known as ageless and as God; be gracious to my words from on high. Yes, yes, all-glorious Maiden, receive my words; for this alone is the privilege of mortals for you, as mother of the Word, even if it is beyond word. Therefore, trusting in you, I address you in words and, having woven a crown for you from an undefiled meadow, O mistress, I bring it, in return for the many graces you have deemed me worthy of, and may you ever rescue me from manifold calamities, from enemies visible and, more, from invisible ones. And may I end my life as I began it, always rich in you as protector of my whole life and as an intercessor acceptable to your Son, together with those who are well-pleasing to him in purity. Do not, then, allow me to be given over to torments and to become a joy to the soul-destroying enemy. Stand before me and rescue me from fire and darkness, justifying me by faith and by your grace; for in you grace from God has been seen for us, and to you I now weave a hymn of thanksgiving. Hail, all-gracious Maiden, virgin mother, most beautiful of all virgins, highest, greater than the heavenly orders, mistress, all-queen, joy of the race; ever do you think well toward the race, and you are my greatest salvation everywhere.