A Heart for the Empty: Luke 24:1-12
Easter begins in the quiet.
Not with celebration, but with sorrow.
Not with answers, but with questions.
This Easter Sunrise, Pastor Dave led us into the real weight of resurrection—not skipping the grief, the confusion, the emptiness that marked the very first Easter morning. Because when the women went to the tomb, they weren’t expecting a miracle. They were carrying spices to honor a dead body. They came burdened by love, not driven by hope.
But that's where Easter meets us. In the exhaustion of real life. In the places where it feels like we are running on empty.
Luke 24 tells us the women found the stone rolled away—but instead of rejoicing, they were bewildered. In their world, an empty tomb usually meant desecration, not deliverance. They stood inside the empty place, overwhelmed and uncertain. And Pastor Dave reminded us: so often, that’s where we find ourselves too. Holding on to faith with tired hands. Unsure how God could possibly meet us in the middle of our fear, our doubt, our confusion.
But it is there—in the wondering—that God speaks. The angels' words cut through the grief: "Why do you look for the living among the dead?" The empty tomb was not the absence of something. It was the presence of Someone. Jesus had conquered death. Resurrection had already begun.
Pastor Dave helped us see that the power of Easter isn’t just in what happened—it’s in what it means.
It means God does His best work when the story feels over.
It means the places that feel empty and broken might be the places where new life is already stirring.
It means the promises Jesus spoke are more true than the pain we carry.
The women remembered Jesus’ words—and suddenly hope began to break through. They ran to tell the others, even though it seemed impossible. Peter ran to see for himself. He didn’t find full understanding yet—but he found enough to wonder. Enough to take a step toward hope.
That is where Easter meets all of us. Not once we have everything figured out. Not once the questions are gone. But while we are still in the middle of them. While we are still searching. While we are still wondering if grace could really reach even here.
The empty tomb doesn’t erase the struggles of life.
It transforms them.
It declares that sin and death are not the end of the story.
The heart of Easter, and the heart of our King, beats loudest in the empty spaces we least expect: in early mornings, in grief that turns into joy, in empty places that become doorways into life.
This Easter, we are invited not just to celebrate from a distance—but to step into the story ourselves.
To ask honestly:
Where am I still looking for the living among the dead?
Where am I mistaking emptiness for defeat, when it might be the start of resurrection?
Because Christ is risen.
And because the tomb is empty—our story isn’t.
