It was a job that required a good eye, a strong back, and a firm grip. He was a stonecutter, one of about a hundred in and around Jerusalem. He learned the trade from his father, who learned the trade from his father before him. 

Being a stonecutter in Jerusalem meant steady work. There was a constant demand for tombs carved out of the hillsides. Being a devout Jew, the Stonecutter understood why Jews from all over the Roman Empire wanted to be buried in Jerusalem: it was their spiritual home. It was the promised place where the Messiah would return. If a Jew did not live to see the promise fulfilled, at least they could be close in death. 

The tombs were all pretty much alike. First, the Stonecutter would chisel a large opening, gradually opening it up into a small room. He would fashion a stone shelf a little longer than a man is tall. The shelf was for the recently deceased. The body would lay there until only the bones and the cloth were left. Beyond this small room, the Stonecutter would chisel another opening and clear out another room. This room would hold the ossuaries, the small boxes that held the bones of those who had decomposed. Their names would be inscribed on the boxes, a reminder of those who lived and died. 

The Stonecutter’s last work was to chisel out a channel for the doorway stone. Then he would bring in a large limestone slab, a tougher stone than the chalk of the hills, but still not too difficult to work with. He formed a flat stone, then with the help of his assistants, he placed it in the channel, made sure it fit snug, and rolled back and forth. Finished, he then demanded his final payment. 

He was almost finished with a tomb he was working on for Joseph, a wealthy Jew from out of town. It was Friday, just before the Passover Sabbath. He was hurrying to get done so he could get paid, pay his assistants, and get home before the Sabbath began. It had been a strange day. In the morning, between the blows of his hammer, he could hear a commotion in the city. About noon, the sky darkened, like a thousand thunderstorms were about to attack. He had just put the entrance stone in place when there was an earthquake. “A riot, darkness, and an earthquake all in one day,” he thought. “What’s going on?” 

He was sweeping out some of the pebbles when Joseph came up, almost out of breath. The Stonecutter smiled and said, “Hold on there, Joseph! You will be using this tomb too soon, running like that.”  Joseph didn’t smile, which was unusual. Instead, he said, “Is it ready?”  The Stonecutter shrugged, wondering at Joseph’s urgency. “It’s close,” he replied. “Good,” said Joseph, “I need it this afternoon. I’m going to bury Jesus, the rabbi, in it. They crucified him this afternoon.” 

The Stonecutter was shocked. He had heard of Jesus, of course, but he had never heard him. He had never even seen him. He knew Jesus had caused a commotion at the Temple Sunday past, but he didn’t pay much attention to such things. Some people said Jesus was the Messiah, but the Stonecutter dismissed that idea. Everyone knew the Messiah would come with an army, and the Stonecutter had seen no army. 

What surprised the Stonecutter most was Joseph using his new tomb for a crucified man. Usually, those crucified were peeled off their crosses and hauled to the dump. Their bodies were burned and left. Some rabbis taught if a crucified man lay in a tomb, it was unclean and thus unable to be used by anyone else. If that were true, Joseph would never use his brand-new tomb. 

He quickly snapped back to reality when Joseph pulled out his money bag. “Get it ready in an hour. I’ll pay you extra,” Joseph said. Joseph counted the agreed amount, then added enough extra to make it worth the Stonecutter to push himself and his assistants. 

The Stonecutter, finished with time to spare, paid off his crew. Then, his curiosity getting the best of him, he waited. Before long, Joseph and a member of the Jewish elite, Nicodemus, came with some other men carrying the body of Jesus. They gingerly brought his wrapped body through the outer opening and laid it on the shelf the Stonecutter had so recently carved. They came back out, looking bewildered and exhausted, like men who had completed an urgent task but weren’t quite sure what they had done. They beckoned to the Stonecutter, and together they rolled the stone across the entrance. Then each man went his way, making sure they were home by sundown. 

The next day, the Sabbath, was quiet. Then Sunday came, the first day of the week. The Stonecutter picked up his tools and headed back to the hillside to carve another tomb. A couple of men ran past him as he walked in the early dawn. He made his way through the gardens, and he thought he heard a woman crying. Probably someone who recently lost someone. He was halfway past Joseph’s tomb when he realized the stone was rolled back. “That’s strange,” he thought. Normally the tombs stayed closed for a few weeks before they were opened again. Something, he thought, must have come up.   

Not something. Someone. The Stonecutter’s work was where history changed, forever.