When Hope Walks Back Through The Door
But Mary stood outside the tomb, crying. As she was crying, she stooped to look into the tomb. She saw two angels in white sitting where Jesus’s body had been lying, one at the head and the other at the feet. They said to her, “Woman, why are you crying?” “Because they’ve taken away my Lord,” she told them, “and I don’t know where they’ve put him.” – John 20:11-13
The story of the resurrection begins in grief. Mary Magdalene stood outside the tomb crying. Not quietly. Not politely. The Greek word used here is klaió, which literally means loud wailing. This was not a tear rolling down her cheek. This was full-body sorrow. Mary had followed Jesus faithfully, and now she believed everything she loved had been taken from her.
The pain was compounded by the missing body. In first-century Jewish culture, proper burial was sacred. To lose the body was to lose dignity. It felt like one final act of cruelty layered on top of unbearable loss.
But what Mary did not realize in her grief was that hope was already standing nearby.
As she wept, Jesus stood behind her. She could not see Him. She could not recognize Him. But He was there. This moment reveals something deeply comforting. Jesus is often closest when we feel most alone. Sometimes our tears blur our vision. Sometimes sorrow makes it hard to recognize God’s presence. But absence of recognition does not equal absence of proximity.
Mary’s grief did not repel Jesus. It drew Him near.
The world believed Jesus was dead and gone. Hope appeared buried. But on the third day, there was a knock on the door of death, and Jesus walked out alive. Like Walter Dixon returning home after being presumed dead, resurrection changed everything.
Grief is often the soil where resurrection truth takes root. The tomb may look empty, but it is never hopeless when Jesus is involved.
The story of the resurrection begins in grief. Mary Magdalene stood outside the tomb crying. Not quietly. Not politely. The Greek word used here is klaió, which literally means loud wailing. This was not a tear rolling down her cheek. This was full-body sorrow. Mary had followed Jesus faithfully, and now she believed everything she loved had been taken from her.
The pain was compounded by the missing body. In first-century Jewish culture, proper burial was sacred. To lose the body was to lose dignity. It felt like one final act of cruelty layered on top of unbearable loss.
But what Mary did not realize in her grief was that hope was already standing nearby.
As she wept, Jesus stood behind her. She could not see Him. She could not recognize Him. But He was there. This moment reveals something deeply comforting. Jesus is often closest when we feel most alone. Sometimes our tears blur our vision. Sometimes sorrow makes it hard to recognize God’s presence. But absence of recognition does not equal absence of proximity.
Mary’s grief did not repel Jesus. It drew Him near.
The world believed Jesus was dead and gone. Hope appeared buried. But on the third day, there was a knock on the door of death, and Jesus walked out alive. Like Walter Dixon returning home after being presumed dead, resurrection changed everything.
Grief is often the soil where resurrection truth takes root. The tomb may look empty, but it is never hopeless when Jesus is involved.
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