Matthew 28:1

After Jesus was crucified and buried, his body was placed in a sealed tomb guarded by soldiers. Jewish law required rest on the Sabbath (Saturday), so his followers could not visit. Early Sunday morning — "the first day of the week" — two women named Mary (Mary Magdalene and another Mary, likely the mother of James) made their way to the tomb in the pre-dawn dark. They were going simply to grieve and perhaps anoint the body with spices, a common burial custom. They had no expectation of anything other than a sealed stone and their own sorrow. This quiet, grief-driven walk marks the opening scene of what Christians call the Resurrection — the most pivotal moment in the entire Christian story.

Lord, give me the faithfulness of these two women — the kind that keeps walking toward the dark places even when hope is gone. Remind me that you are already at work in the sealed tombs of my life, doing what only you can do. Thank you that the story was not over. Amen.

Before anyone knew what was coming, two women walked through the dark toward a sealed tomb. They weren't going because they had hope. They were going because love shows up even after hope has run out. There's something profound in that — two grief-hollowed people making their way toward a corpse, not a miracle. That's actually where the resurrection story begins: not with triumphant faith, but with ordinary faithfulness. With showing up when everything feels finished. You've probably had your own version of that walk — when you dragged yourself out of bed at 3 AM to sit with someone who was dying, or made yourself return to the church that had hurt you, or kept praying even when the words felt like they were hitting the ceiling. What these women couldn't have known is that the thing they thought was the end was already the beginning. The stone was rolled away before they arrived. Sometimes God is doing his most extraordinary work precisely in the moments when you're just trying to survive until morning — and your job is simply to keep walking.