Mary Magdalene woke that Saturday morning confused.  Jesus was gone. How could the one who saved her from her demons not be able to save himself? How could the religious rulers who had been no help to her have felt so threatened by him that they manipulated Pilate into having him killed? It was the Sabbath so she couldn’t even go and tend to his body properly, which had been hastily thrown into a borrowed tomb.  Anointing it would have to be tomorrow’s job.  Today stretched before her like endless torment.