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came early on Sunday morning to the tomb—“very early in the morning” “as it began to dawn”—starting on her melancholy mission “when it was yet dark.” She came to weep there. She came to assist in anointing and embalming His body, if ever that stone could be rolled away.
Just where this grave and garden were no one knows. Here the archæologists confuse us. And they are themselves confused. There are swarms of fancies, but no one knows. And it is well. Christianity pure and simple does not care for “things” and “places” and “times” and “seasons.” As Dr. Rudolph Stier says: “Any superstitious value for these is a mere infirmity of faith.” All we care to know is that as we stand on Olivet and look northward and westward, somewhere within our field of vision “the Lord lay.” And from this Olivet, a little to the east of us, He ascended to the heavens. “He is not here, He is risen.” He is “at the right hand of God in the glory of the