Luke 24:6

Early on the first day of the week, a group of women — followers of Jesus — came to the tomb where his body had been placed after his crucifixion. They found the stone rolled away and the tomb empty. Two angels appeared and spoke these words. "He is not here; he has risen!" is one of the most pivotal statements in all of Christian history. Galilee was the region in northern Israel where Jesus had spent much of his ministry, teaching his followers and telling them what was coming. The angels aren't announcing something new — they're pointing the women back to what Jesus himself had already told them. The resurrection was not a surprise to him, even if it was to everyone else.

God, I confess that I often arrive at life's hardest moments prepared for death rather than life. Loosen my grip on what I expect and open my eyes to what you're actually doing. When everything feels like an ending, remind me — he is not here. Amen.

Imagine coming to a grave to do the quiet, heartbroken work of honoring someone you loved — and finding it empty. The women didn't arrive at that tomb expecting a miracle. They came with burial spices, prepared for the heavy, sacred task of tending to loss. No one comes to a tomb hoping to find nothing there. "He is not here." Four words that rewrote everything. Not just for those women on that particular morning, but for every person who has ever stood at the edge of despair wondering if death gets the final word. The resurrection isn't just a theological claim to defend in a debate — it's a direct confrontation with every hollow, this-is-how-it-ends feeling you've ever had. He is not here, in the tomb, contained by what killed him. That changes what you do with your own grief, your own fear, your own sense that something good and true has died. The stone was rolled away not so Jesus could get out — but so you could look in and see that he was already gone.