The waiting on Easter Eve, on Saturday, after the horror of the crucifixion and Jesus’ death, must have been endless for Mary Magdalene and the disciples, all Jesus’ friends, his mother Mary and family, everyone who had journeyed with Jesus, now waiting anxiously in the aftermath of all the violence, noise and in fear of further retribution, remaining still, impatient, grieving and questioning, frightened and hopeless, despairing and wondering.  The endless waiting, minute by minute, second by second, watching the sun travel across the sky, unable to eat, to share the sabbath, the Passover.  The story of this extraordinary, different, beautiful, loving and challenging man, such as it was, was now apparently done, over, finished and with such a terrible ending.  All that was left was to finish the burial properly, to be done by the women, who would anoint the body, make sure all was completed, nothing left undone; and then to grieve, to wonder and regret and remember.