The First Sunday Morning

I don’t know much about Mary Magdalene … but I know something of how she felt as she walked to the grave on that first Sunday morning. To say that she felt sad doesn’t begin to reveal the anguish of her heart. She was broken-hearted … devastated … forever marked by her grief. She had lost the one man … the only man, who would ever love her the way He loved her … the only man, who could have ever rescued her from hell on earth. How does she let go of Him? How can she go on without Him?

There is no easy answer … but there is a very simple truth. The grave is empty … except for a used shroud and an alarming promise: “He is not here. He has risen!”

She will not have to “let go” of Him for long. She will not have to go on without Him.

Jesus is alive …
Jesus lives in her …
Jesus lives for her …
Jesus lives and waits to bring her home.

I don’t know much more about Peter … but I know something of how he felt as he ran to the grave that first Sunday morning. To say that he felt guilty doesn’t begin to reveal the anguish of his heart. He was broken-hearted … humiliated … forever scarred by his shame. He had lost the one man … the only man, who would ever love him the way He loved him … the only man, who could have ever rescued him from swamping storms in or out of the boat. How does he ever get over this shame? How does he ever make things right again?

There is no easy answer … but there is a very simple truth. The grave is empty … except for a used shroud and an echoing reality: “He is not here. He has risen!”

He will not have to “get over” it. He will not have to “make things right”.

Jesus is alive …
Jesus forgives and forgets …
Jesus invites him to go for a walk on the beach …
Jesus calls him to follow … “in His steps”.

I don’t know you … but I know something of my own grief and shame. And I am grateful today … this Sunday morning … for this simple truth:
Jesus is alive!