- According to Faith:
“[…] In the clear sky, where to the east there is now a completely rosy zone, which is spreading out more and more widely, but where, however, there are no sunbeams as yet, a very bright meteor appears, coming from unknown depths, and it descends like a sphere of fire of unsustainable splendor, followed by a glowing trail, which perhaps is nothing but the persistence of its brightness in our retinae. It descends at a very high speed towards the Earth, shedding such an intense phantasmagoric light, frightful in its beauty, that the rosy light of dawn vanishes, outshone by such white incandescence.
The guards, astonished, raise their heads, also because with the light comes a mighty, harmonious, solemn rumble that fills the whole of Creation with its roar. It comes from heavenly depths. It is the alleluia, the angelical glory that follows the Spirit of the Christ, which is returning to His glorious Flesh. The meteor clashes on the useless closure of the Sepulcher, tears it off, throws it on the ground, and it strikes with terror and noise the guards placed as jailors of the Master of the Universe, producing with its return to the Earth a new earthquake, as it had caused one when this Spirit of the Lord fled from the Earth. It enters the dark Sepulcher that becomes all bright with its indescribable light, and while it remains suspended in the still air, the Spirit is infused again into the Body motionless under the funereal bandages. All this takes place not in a minute, but in the fraction of a minute, so fast have been the appearance, descent, penetration and the disappearance of the Light of God…
The «I want» of the divine Spirit to its cold Body is noiseless. It is uttered by the Essence to the immobile Matter. But no word is perceived by the human ear. The Flesh receives the order and obeys it with a deep sigh… nothing else for some minutes. Under the Sudarium and the Shroud, the glorious Body is recomposed in eternal beauty, it awakes from the sleep of death, and it comes back from the «nothing» in which it was, it lives after being dead. The heart certainly awakes and gives its first throb; it propels the remaining frozen blood through the veins and at once creates the full measure of it in the empty arteries, in the immobile lungs, in the dark brain, and brings back warmth, health, strength, thought.
Another moment, and there is a sudden movement under the heavy Shroud. It is so sudden that, from the moment He certainly moves His folded arms to the moment He appears standing, imposing, splendid in His garment of immaterial matter, supernaturally handsome and majestic, with a gravity that changes and elevates Him, and yet leaves Him exactly Himself, the eye has hardly time to follow the development. And now it admires Him: so different from what the mind remembers, tidied up, without wounds or blood, only blazing with the light that gushes from the five wounds and issues from every pore of His skin.
When He takes His first step – and in the movement the rays emanating from His Hands and Feet halo Him with beams of light: from His Head haloed with a garland, made with the countless little wounds of the crown, but they no longer bleed but only shine, to the hem of His tunic, when, opening His arms, that were folded across His chest, He uncovers the zone of very bright luminosity that filters through His tunic inflaming it like a sun at the height of His Heart – then it is really the «Light» that has taken a body. Not the poor light of the Earth, not the poor light of the stars, not the poor light of the sun. But the Light of God: all the heavenly brightness that gathers in one Being and grants Him its inconceivable azure as eyes, its golden fire as hair, its angelic whiteness as garment and complexion and all that exists, but cannot be described by human words, the super eminent ardor of the Most Holy Trinity, that outshines with its ardent power every fire in Paradise, absorbing Him in Itself to generate Him again at each moment of the eternal Time, Heart of Heaven that attracts and spreads His blood, the countless drops of His incorporeal blood: the blessed souls, the angels, everything there is the Paradise: the love of God, the love for God, all this is the Light that is, that forms the Risen Christ.
When He moves, coming towards the exit, and the eye can see beyond His brightness, two most beautiful brilliances, but similar to stars compared with the sun, appear to me, one on this side, the other on the other side of the threshold, prostrated in the adoration of their God, Who passes by enveloped in His light, beatifying with His smile, and He goes out, leaving the funereal grotto and going back to walk on the earth, that awakes out of joy and shines in its dews, in the hues of herbs and roseries, in the countless corollas of apple-trees, that open, by a wonder, to the early sun that kisses them, and to the eternal Sun Who proceeds under them.
The guards are there, shocked… The corrupt powers of man do not see God, whereas the pure powers of the universe – the flowers, herbs, birds – admire and venerate the Mighty One, Who passes by in a halo of His own Light and in an aureola of sunlight. His smile, His eyes that rest on flowers, on dead branches that look up at the clear sky everything becomes more beautiful. And more soft and shaded than a silky rosery are the millions of petals forming flowery foam on the head of the Conqueror. And brighter are the diamonds of the dew. And of a deeper blue is the sky reflecting His refulgent eyes, and more joyful is the sun that with gladness paints a little cloud blown by a light wind, that comes to kiss its King with scents stolen from gardens and with caresses of silky petals.
Jesus raises His Hand and blesses and then, while the birds sing more loudly and the wind carries its scents, He disappears from my sight, leaving me in a joy that cancels even the slightest remembrance of sadness and sufferings and hesitancy for tomorrow…” […]
“The Magdalene, is just on the border of the path that takes one to the kitchen garden of Joseph of Arimathea, when she is caught in the powerful and also harmonious roar of this heavenly sign, while, in the faint rosy light of dawn, that is advancing in the sky, where to the west a persistent star still resists, and that makes fair the so far greenish light, a very bright light appears and descends like and incandescent wonderful globe, cutting the calm air in a zigzag course. Mary of Magdala is almost grazed and thrown on the ground by it. She bends for a moment whispering: «My Lord!» and then she straightens up like a stalk after the wind has passed by, and she runs towards the kitchen garden even faster. She enters it quickly, and goes towards the Sepulcher in the rock as fast as a bird that is chased and is looking for its nest. But, no matter how fast she runs, she cannot be there when the heavenly meteor acts as a lever and as a flame on the seal of lime, placed as a reinforcement for the heavy stone, or when with the final crash the stone door collapses, causing such a shake that joins the one of the earthquake, which, although of a short duration, is so violent that it knocks the guards down as if they were dead.
When Mary arrives, she sees the useless jailors of the Triumpher thrown on the ground like a sheaf of mown corn. Mary Magdalene does not associate the earthquake with Resurrection. But looking at the spectacle, she thinks it is a punishment of God for the desecrators of Jesus’ Sepulcher, and she falls on her knees saying: «Alas! They have stolen Him!» She is really disconsolate and weeps like a girl who has come, being sure that she would find her father whom she was looking for, and instead finds the house empty.
She then stands up and runs away to go to Peter and John. And as she thinks of nothing but of informing the two, she forgets to go and meet her companions and remain on the road, but as fast as a gazelle she goes back the road she came, she passes through the Judicial Gate, and flies through the streets, which are a little more crowded, and she rushes against the door of the hospitable house and knocks at it furiously. The mistress opens the door to her.
«Where are John and Peter?» asks Mary Magdalene panting.
«There» says the woman pointing at the Supper-room.
Mary of Magdala enters and as soon as she is in, standing before the two astonished men, and in her voice, kept low out of pity for the Mother, there is more anguish than if she had shouted, she says: «They have taken the Lord away from the Sepulcher! I wonder where they have put Him!» and for the first time she staggers and is unsteady, and in order not to fall, she holds on whatever she can.
«What? What are you saying?» ask the two.
And panting she replies: «I went ahead… to buy the guards… so that they would let us go. They are there like dead bodies… The Sepulcher is open, the stone is on the ground… Who? Who did it? Oh! come! Let us run…»
Peter and John set out at once. Mary follows them for a few steps. Then she goes back. She seizes the mistress of the house, she shakes her, violent in her far-sighted love, and she shouts in her face: «Mind you do not let anybody go to Her (and she points at the door of Mary’s room). Remember that I am your mistress. Obey and be silent.» Then she leaves her aghast and joins the apostles, who are striding towards the Sepulcher…
[…] John, who runs faster, is the first to arrive at the Sepulcher. The guards are no longer there. Neither is the angel there anymore. John, timid and sorrowful, kneels down at the open entrance to venerate and get some indication from the things he sees. But he only sees, heaped on the floor, the linen cloths placed on the Shroud.
«There is really nothing, Simon! Mary has seen accurately. Come, come in, look.»
Peter, who is breathless after so much running, goes into the Sepulcher. On the way he had said: «I will never dare to approach that place.» But now he thinks only of finding out where the Master may be. And he calls Him also, as if He might be concealed in some dark corner. At this early hour in the morning it is still very dark in the deep Sepulcher, which receives light only from the opening of the entrance, where John and the Magdalene now cast a shadow… And Peter finds it hard to see, and has to help himself with his hands to ascertain what the situation is… He touches, trembling, the table of the anointment, and feels that it is empty…
«He is not here, John! He is not here! Oh! Come here! I have wept so much that I can hardly see in this poor light.»
John stands up and goes in. And while he does so, Peter discovers the sudarium in a corner, folded diligently and within it the Shroud rolled up carefully.
«They have really abducted Him. The guards were not here for us, but to do that… And we have let them do it. By going away, we have allowed that…»
«Oh! where will they have put Him?»
«Peter, Peter! This… is really the end!»
The two disciples come out looking annihilated. «Let us go, woman. You will tell the Mother…»
«I am not going away. I am staying here… Somebody will come… Oh! I am not coming… There is still something of Him here. The Mother was right… To breathe the air where He was is the only relief left to us.»
«The only relief… Now you also can see that it was nonsense to hope…» says Peter.
Mary does not even reply to him. She crouches on the ground, close to the entrance, and weeps, while the others go away slowly. She then raises her head and looks inside, and through her tears she sees two angels, sitting at the head and at the foot of the anointment stone. Poor Mary is so stupefied in her fiercest struggle between hope that is dying and faith that does not want to die, that she looks at them like one whose mind is completely blank, without even being surprised. The strong woman, who has resisted everything like a heroine, has nothing left but tears.
«Why are you weeping, woman?» asks one of the two shining young boys, because they look like very beautiful adolescents.
«Because they have taken away my Lord and I do not know where they have put Him.» Mary is not afraid to speak to them. She does not ask: «Who are you?» nothing. Nothing amazes her any more. She has already suffered everything that can astonish a human being. Now she is only a broken thing that weeps without strength or reserve.
The angelical youth looks at his companion and smiles. And so does the other. And in a flash of angelical joy they both look outside, towards the garden all in bloom with millions of corollas that have opened at the first sunshine on the closely planted apple trees of the orchard.
Mary turns round to see who they are looking at. And she sees a Man, most handsome, and I do not know how she does not recognize Him at once. A Man Who looks at her pitifully and asks her:
«Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?»
It is true that Jesus is dimmed out of pity for the woman, whom emotions have exhausted and who might die from sudden joy, but I really wonder why she does not recognize Him. And Mary sobbing says:
«They have taken my Lord Jesus! I had come to embalm Him while awaiting His resurrection… I gathered all my courage, my hope and my faith around my love… and now I cannot find Him any more… Or rather, I put my love around faith, hope and courage to defend them from men… but all in vain! Men have abducted my Love and with it they have deprived me of everything… O my lord, if you have taken Him away, tell me where you have put Him. And I will get Him… I will not tell anybody… It will be a secret between you and me. Look: I am the daughter of Theophilus, Lazarus’ sister, but I am on my knees before you to implore you, like a slave. Do you want me to pay you for His Body? I will do so. How much do you want?
I am rich. I can give you as much gold and as many gems as it weighs. But give it back to me. I will not denounce you. Do you want to strike me? Do so. Until I bleed, if you wish so. If you bear Him a grudge, let me expiate it. But give Him back to me. Oh! don’t make me wretched with this misery, my lord! Have mercy on a poor woman!… Do you not want to do it on my behalf? Then, do it for His Mother. Tell me! Tell me where my Lord Jesus is. I am strong. I will take Him in my arms and I will carry Him like a child to safety. Lord… lord… you can see it… for three days we have been struck by the wrath of God for what was done to the Son of God… Do not add Desecration to Crime…»
«Mary!» Jesus shines in calling her. He reveals Himself in His triumphant brightness.
«Rabboni!» Mary’s cry is really the «great cry» that closes the cycle of death. With the first one, the darkness of hatred enveloped the Victim with funereal bandages; with the second, the lights of love increased His brightness.
And Mary stands up as her cry fills the garden, she rushes to Jesus’ feet and would like to kiss them. Jesus moves her away, hardly touching her forehead with the tips of His fingers: «Do not touch Me! I have not yet ascended to My Father in this appearance. Go to My brothers and friends, and tell them that I am ascending to My Father and yours, to My God and yours. And then I will come to them.» And Jesus disappears, absorbed by an unsustainable light.
Mary kisses the ground where Jesus was and she runs towards the house. She goes in like a rocket, because the main door is half open, to let the master pass, who is going to the fountain; she opens the door of Mary’s room and drops on Her breast shouting: «He has risen! He has risen!» and she weeps happily.”
Source: Maria Valtorta
2. According to Science:
It is estimated that 34 trillion Watts would be needed to recreate the image on the Shroud in laboratory. Today’s technology can only generate up to a few billion Watts.
Click here for the video.
Click here for the newspaper article.
Click here for the research paper.