I went before the sun rose. I couldn’t stay away. Sleep hadn’t come, not for me, not really.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw it again. The cross.The sky darkening. The moment everything seemed to end.
So I went early. While the world was still quiet. While the grief still felt fresh.
I carried the spices in my hands, but they felt heavier than they should have. Everything felt heavier than it should have. Because how do you prepare a body… when your heart is still breaking?
I remember the air was cold. Still. The kind of stillness that doesn’t comfort… but aches.
Every step toward the tomb felt unreal. Like I was moving through something I didn’t want to accept. Because this wasn’t how it was supposed to be. He wasn’t supposed to die.
Not like that.
As I started getting closer to where he was buried, I saw it. The stone to the entrance of his tomb… it was moved.
My heart dropped.
No.
No, no, no.
I dropped my spices and I ran. I ran back to John, to Peter and the others. Fear took over before reason could catch up.
“They’ve taken Him!” I cried. “They’ve taken Him, and I don’t know where they’ve put Him!”
Even saying it out loud made it worse. Because now it felt real.
We ran back to the tomb. They listened to me. They came. They looked. They were just as surprised. And they left, not knowing what to do.
But I stayed. I couldn’t leave. Not yet. Not when it still felt like something was missing. Not when He was missing.
I stood there, just outside the tomb, and the tears came again. Quiet at first. Then heavier.
Because grief doesn’t leave just because you’ve already cried. It lingers. It settles deep. And I felt it all over again.
The loss.
The confusion.
The ache.
I leaned forward, looking into the tomb again, through blurred eyes. And I saw them. Two figures.
Angels.
But even that didn’t fully register. “Woman, why are you weeping?” they asked me.
Because He’s gone. Because I don’t understand. Because everything feels empty.
“Because they’ve taken my Lord,” I said, “and I don’t know where they’ve laid Him.”
I tore my eyes away from the angles and I turned away. Too distraught. Too shocked.
And that’s when I saw Him. Standing there. But I didn’t recognize Him. Grief does that. It clouds everything.
“Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you seeking?” I was asked, again. But… His voice.
His voice was gentle. Familiar… but not enough. I thought He was the gardener.
“Sir, if you’ve carried Him away, tell me where You’ve laid Him, and I will take Him.” I didn’t even think about how impossible that sounded. I’m just a woman, how can I carry a dead man? But I just needed to find Him. To hold onto something that felt like Him.
But then something happened. The gardener… With that soft, gentle, familiar voice… He said my name.
“Mary.”
Just one word. That’s all it took. My name was all it took. Everything changed.
It was Him! It was Jesus! It had always been Him. I just couldn’t see it through my tears. Through my grief. Through the weight of what I thought was the end.
But it wasn’t the end! It was Him. Alive. Standing in front of me. Calling me by name.
“Rabboni, Teacher!” The word broke out of me before I could stop it.
Because how do you respond to something like that? How do you stand in front of the One you thought you lost… and realize He was never truly gone?
In that moment everything shifted. The grief. The confusion. The darkness of Friday. It didn’t disappear… but it was no longer the end of the story.
Because He was alive.
Let’s take a step out of that moment now… let’s focus back to now, in this moment as you read.
Did you realize something as you read?
Sometimes, we stand in places that feel like endings. Places that feel empty. Broken. Silent.
Places where it feels like God is gone. Like hope has been taken. Like everything we believed in has been buried.
And we weep.
We search.
We question.
We ache.
Not realizing…
He’s closer than we think. Standing right in front of us.
Sometimes, we just don’t recognize Him right away. Because grief is loud. Because pain clouds our vision. Because we’re looking for what was… instead of seeing what is.
But He hasn’t left. He hasn’t abandoned us. And at just the right moment… He calls our name.
And everything changes. Not because our circumstances instantly fix themselves…
but because we realize:
He’s alive.
He’s present.
And what we thought was the end… was never the end at all.
Because resurrection doesn’t just mean He rose then. It means hope still rises now.
In broken places.
In grieving hearts.
In the quiet moments where we think we’re alone.
He still speaks. He still calls. And He still meets us personally.
By name.
~~*~~
Jesus,
Thank You that the story didn’t end at the cross. Thank You that You are alive. That You are present. That You still meet us in our grief, our confusion, and our searching.
Thank You that You see us personally. That You don’t just call out to crowds, but to hearts. That You call us by name.
When we feel lost… remind us You are near. When we feel like it’s over… remind us You are still working. When we don’t recognize You… open our eyes. And help us to live in the truth of the resurrection. That hope is never truly gone, because You are alive.
I’m Jesus name I pray,
Amen.
Scriptural Musings with Booferchick 