April 5, 2026 - Easter Sunday

Becky:

I woke before the sun that morning, my grief was heavy. But I packed up the spices we had prepared, and headed out to do the traditional rituals for the deceased, in what I always considered a last act of love in our community. This was work I understood. When death came, this is what we did.

While we didn’t talk much on the way, we did wonder who might be around to help roll that big stone so we could complete our tasks. We mostly were quiet, tearful, and motivated to do what he deserved in death.

We arrived, and what do you know? The stone was already rolled away but it didn’t offer the relief I wish it might have.

I remember stopping, my breath catching. This wasn’t what we expected.

We glanced at each other and took a breath, and stepped in the tomb, hearts pounding. We looked all around and he was not there. The body of the Lord Jesus - my teacher, my friend, gone - just plain gone.

Confusion and perplexity pulsed through my body. Death is final, bodies are to be still and remain in one place. We stood there, wondering, our grief suddenly without a place to go. No chore to push away the feelings.

Krista:

While we were still trying to make sense of it, still wondering, still trembling, trying to figure out what to do, suddenly they were there.

Two men, their clothes gleaming like lightning. Radiant. Scary, Bright.

We bent down, fearful and not prepared for any of this.

And then they spoke:

“Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here. He has risen.” Risen.

My heart could not hold it all at once—fear, confusion, hope, disbelief.

And then they said, “Remember how he told you, while he was still in Galilee...”

Remember. And suddenly, I did. Oh my goodness, I did.

Not perfectly, but like something that your mom told you long ago and only now makes sense. I remembered his words: that he would be handed over, crucified, and on the third day rise again. It made no sense at the time, but now, this is exactly what had happened.

In that moment, everything came together—our grief, our memory, the empty tomb. We were not foolish. We were not mistaken. We were remembering our teacher, Jesus.

We looked at each other, and ran.

We had experienced the truth of what Jesus had taught us, we remembered. We were living in the unexpected mystery of who Jesus was.

We got to the men - and the experience just poured out of us all at the same time, like an excited child it came out not always in a logical order, but the meaningful parts all got shared.

We told all of it. Every part. The stone, the emptiness, the dazzling men, the words, the remembering.

Becky and Krista:

We became the first to proclaim it:

Christ is risen.

Krista:

We said it not knowing what it all meant and reporting the truth

even if no one believed us.

Dan:

All the women burst in —Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary, and the others. Like they didn’t care who saw us hiding in that room.

They were talking over each other, breathless, urgent.

“The stone was rolled away—he’s not there—there were men in dazzling clothes—they said he’s risen—remember what he told us—”

I tried to follow the conversation. I really did. What it sounded like was that they think Jesus is alive? Were they serious? How could it be?

It was too wild and too impossible. This was an idle tale.

The women kept talking! And I kept thinking that this is just what we wanted, not something that could actually happen. I had seen him die. I knew what crucifixion did. Death is not something you imagine.

And yet... they were so certain. Not calm. Not composed. But certain in a way that unsettled me. As if they had touched something real even if it was unexpected.

I stayed where I was, holding on to what I knew to be true.

What if...? No. I pushed the thought away.

I may want this to be true, but I just can’t do it.

Matt:

I didn’t argue with them. I didn’t defend them either.

I just ran.

Something in me needed to see it for myself. Not because I believed them, but because I couldn’t ignore them either.

I ran to the tomb, my heart pounding with more than just exertion. Fear.Hope. Guilt.

Especially guilt. I had denied Jesus, I wasn’t going to deny myself the chance to check this out.

When I got there, I bent down and looked inside. The linen cloths were there in the tomb.

Jesus was not.

I needed this to make sense. If someone had taken the body, why leave the clothes? Why leave it like this?

So unexpected. What is happening?

The radiant men told the women that Jesus, our teacher, was alive, I only saw what wasn’t there.

I left, not ready to proclaim or celebrate but only wondering.

That’s the only word for it. Wondering what happened?

I wasn’t ready to celebrate, but something had started.

Could I believe that Jesus might be alive?