Still Rising

For the full context of this post, read LUKE 24:1-12 (NRSV)

It was early. I imagine the only people on the street were Roman guards making their rounds. A cloud of grief and heaviness loomed over the city. They killed Jesus just before the sabbath, so everything—grief, burial, closure—had to wait. But that’s the thing about grief.

It doesn’t wait.

It sits in the silence and stirs under the surface.

Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James and the other women had 24 hours of holding sorrow with nowhere to put it. They couldn't tend to the body. There was no space to weep and mourn. There was only the stillness of the Sabbath.

But now, it was finally time.

So they went to the grave, carrying jars, spices, and the weight of what could have been.

Here’s the thing about their walk to the tomb that first Easter morning. They don’t go there filled with hope, expecting to see the impossible.

They went expecting to find Jesus' body—still dead, but they go anyway because love shows up, even when it’s too late. Even when it hurts.

They go to do something when they don’t know what else to do.
They go to say goodbye. But when they arrive, the entry to the tomb is open. Open like a question—like a flood of questions all at once. The tomb is open and empty. Jesus is gone! And now they’re not just grieving. They’re confused and angry. They came to do one thing and now they can’t.

No one talks about this much—but Easter begins in grief. Not trumpets. Not lilies. Not loud alleluias. Just silence. And confusion. And a rolled-away stone. The Easter story begins with the women walking in to find… nothing. There wasn’t a body. No Jesus. No answers. Just a void. A space where he was. An absence, not a miracle.

But they didn’t walk away.
Instead, they stood there in the mystery of it all.

We’re used to hearing this story. We know what happens and we’re eager to celebrate, but the resurrection story doesn’t begin with celebration—it begins with bewilderment.

“While they were perplexed…”

Of course they were.

Because resurrection doesn’t feel like resurrection when it’s still unfolding. It feels like confusion and loss on top of loss. That first Easter morning wasn’t immediately bright and joyful. It was terrifying. Disorienting.

Sometimes, holy ground feels like shaky ground.

Then suddenly—light. Two men in dazzling clothes say.:

“Why do you look for the living among the dead?”

They aren’t scolding them. No, their question is the reframing of the story they thought they knew. It’s the beginning of a new story.

The angels say,

“He is not here. He has risen.”

I can only imagine what it might have been like to hear those words.

No matter how many times I try to proclaim or explain it, I still can’t make sense of the resurrection. It’s the best news ever—Love defeated death. I believe it and have committed my life to proclaiming it. I’ve had a lifetime to absorb it, but I still can’t explain it. So, I can’t fathom being the first to hear this news.

They came to prepare the body. Now they’re holding spices they don’t need—and grief with nowhere to go. It’s amazing, wonderful, disorienting, incredible, terrifying, awesome, and a million other adjectives.

The resurrection happened.
The grave couldn’t hold Jesus.
Death didn’t win, but it’s going to take time for it to sink in.

It’s going to take time for their bodies and spirits to catch up with what God has already done.

Maybe that’s true for us too.
Because Jesus is still rising.

Not just from the tomb 2000 years ago—NOW!

Jesus is risen, and still rising in:

• The places we’re convinced are beyond reach..

• The places we’ve already given up on.

• The parts of ourselves we’ve buried or silenced.

Jesus is risen, and still rising in:

• addiction recovery meetings,

• hospital rooms and hospice beds,

• school cafeterias where kids sit alone,

• relationships that are learning how to start again.

Jesus is risen, and still rising when:

• we hold space for one another’s pain.

• we choose gentleness instead of cynicism.

• we speak truth even when it costs us something.

• Jesus is risen, and still rising when:

• when you’re hanging on by a thread.

• when you come with questions, not answers.

• when you say, “I forgive you,” or, “Let’s try again.

Resurrection happened.
Resurrection is still HAPPENING!

And, maybe the invitation today is to (like the women) stay. Stay in the mystery long enough to be changed.

But the angels didn’t stop there. They said,

“Remember how he told you, while he was still in Galilee, that the Son of Man must be handed over to sinners, and be crucified, and on the third day rise again.”

AND THEY DO! They remember Jesus’ words and it starts to sink in. It’s happened! IT’S HAPPENING! And they run to tell the others.

They preach the first Easter sermon:

Jesus is alive.
The tomb is empty.
Love has risen.

And everyone jumps up and dances around the room shouting, “He is risen!” Right?!

Nope.

“They thought it was an idle tale.”

The men didn’t believe them.
Not because the women weren’t trustworthy.
Not because the story wasn’t powerful.

They didn’t believe them because resurrection doesn’t make sense.

Dead people stay dead. That’s how the world works. Except now,—it doesn’t! And that was too much. So they called it nonsense.

Jesus' closest friends and followers rejected the very first resurrection story.

They left the first Easter proclamation more dazed and confused than revived and renewed.

That matters.

It matters because it makes space for anyone who has heard this story and wondered if it could possibly be true.

It makes space for anyone still waiting for resurrection in your own life and it hasn’t shown up yet.

It makes space for anyone who wants to believe but isn't there yet.

That’s the beautiful gift of this resurrection story. It reminds us that even in resurrection God doesn’t demand certainty. God invites wonder.

Look at Peter.
He runs to the tomb.
He sees the linen cloths.
Jesus isn’t there.

And Peter walks away, unconvinced.

He isn’t joyful, he’s just amazed. In the original text the word here is τηαυμαζο thou-mad'-zo, which means “TO WONDER.” Peter walked away amazed—wondering what happened. Could this “idle tale” be true?

And that’s how faith often begins—not with clarity, but with curiosity.

Not with certainty, but with a crack in the wall we’ve built, revealing a glimpse of something new.

Could it be true?

So if you’re not ready to shout alleluia—or if you are all in.
If you’re holding the tension between belief and disbelief.
If your heart is only beginning to stir—or if it is beating through your chest with excitement.

The resurrection creates and holds space for you.

In disbelief.
In wonder.
In hope.
In faith.

Jesus is risen.

Jesus rose for the ones who believe.

Jesus rose for the ones who don’t yet believe.

Jesus has risen, and is still rising—because God’s love refuses to stay buried.

God of resurrection mystery,
We don’t always understand.
Sometimes we doubt.
Sometimes we grieve.
Sometimes we’re just trying to keep going.

But still—

You rise.
You rise in silence and sorrow.
You rise in beauty and surprise.
You rise in us.

Open our hearts to wonder.
Give us courage to stay.
And help us believe—
even just a little—that your love still refuses to stay buried.

Amen.