The Unexpected Dawn: Reflections on the First Easter Morning

The Unexpected Dawn: Reflections on the First Easter Morning

As the sun peeks over the horizon, painting the sky in hues of pink and gold, we're transported back in time to a pivotal moment in history. Picture Jerusalem, around 33 AD. Three women rise early on a Sunday morning, their hearts heavy with grief, yet determined to honor their friend one last time.

These women, still mourning the loss of their beloved teacher, gather the necessary supplies - ointments, spices, and wrappings. Their mission is simple: to anoint the body of their recently executed friend, following Jewish custom. It's a final act of devotion, a way to bring closure to an extraordinary life that had touched them so deeply.

As they approach the tomb, something is amiss. The heavy stone sealing the entrance has been rolled away. Confusion and concern cloud their minds. Who could have done this? Grave robbers? No, their friend was a convicted criminal with nothing of value buried alongside him. The Jewish leaders? Unlikely, as they were the ones who had called for his death. His male disciples? Also improbable, as they had all fled before his death, their courage failing them in his final hours.

Bravely, the women enter the tomb, only to find it empty save for a young man dressed in dazzling white. Before they can find their voices, he speaks, delivering a message that will forever change the course of history: "You are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has been raised; he is not here."

This moment, this revelation, is the crux of our faith. It's not just about an empty tomb or a missing body. It's about the dawn of a new reality, the fulfillment of ancient prophecies, and the beginning of a hope that would spread across the world.

But here's where the story takes an unexpected turn. Instead of joy and celebration, we see fear and silence. The women, overwhelmed by what they've witnessed, flee the scene, too afraid to speak of what they've seen. It's a surprisingly human reaction to an otherworldly event.

This account, found in the Gospel of Mark, ends on this note of fear and apparent failure. It's an ending that has puzzled believers for centuries, prompting later additions to "fix" what seems like an unsatisfactory conclusion. But perhaps there's wisdom in Mark's original ending, a reflection of the truly earth-shattering nature of what had occurred.

To understand this reaction, we need to grasp what resurrection truly meant in the context of first-century Jewish belief. This wasn't a mere resuscitation, a return to life as it was before. Resurrection, as prophesied in the book of Daniel, was supposed to herald the Day of Judgment, the pivotal moment when the world as they knew it would come to an end.

For these women, the angel's words at the tomb weren't just surprising - they were terrifying. In their minds, Jesus' resurrection meant that the end times had arrived. The heavenly realm was no longer a distant hope but an immediate reality. No wonder they ran away in fear!

This unexpected reaction challenges us to consider our own response to the resurrection. Have we become so familiar with the story that we've lost sight of its revolutionary nature? Do we truly grasp the implications of Christ's victory over death?

The Apostle Paul, writing to the Corinthians, helps us understand the profound implications of this event:

"For the trumpet will sound, and the dead will be raised imperishable, and we will be changed. For this perishable body must put on imperishability, and this mortal body must put on immortality. When this perishable body puts on imperishability and this mortal body puts on immortality, then the saying that is written will be fulfilled: Death has been swallowed up in victory. Where, O death is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?"

Paul reminds us that Christ's resurrection is just the beginning. It's the firstfruits of a greater harvest to come, a promise of our own future transformation. Since that first Easter Sunday, all of humanity has been living in a new reality, whether we recognize it or not.

As followers of Christ, we're called to face this new reality not with fear and trembling, as the women at the tomb initially did, but with grace and hope. We're invited to allow God's story to unfold in ways we might not expect or even fully understand.

Our faith, born in a graveyard and first proclaimed by frightened women, defies human logic. There's no earthly reason why this story of resurrection should have gained any traction. Yet here we are, two thousand years later, still proclaiming this good news.

We gather not because it's popular or easy, but because we've experienced a transformation through Christ. We're learning to love our enemies, forgive those who wrong us, and choose mercy when retaliation seems more natural. We're striving to put the last first and to see the face of Christ in "the least of these."

Our eternal life has already begun, even as we eagerly await the day of our own resurrection. We live in the tension of the "already but not yet," knowing that Christ's victory is secure even as we continue to wrestle with the realities of a fallen world.

As we reflect on that first Easter morning, may we recapture some of the awe and wonder that those women must have felt. May we be challenged by their initial fear, remembering that encountering the living God is no small thing. And may we be inspired by the countless believers who have gone before us, proclaiming this good news even in the face of doubt, persecution, and death.

The tomb is empty. Christ is risen. And nothing will ever be the same again. This is the heart of our faith, the source of our hope, and the wellspring of our joy. As we go about our daily lives, may we live as resurrection people, bearing witness to the transformative power of the gospel in a world that desperately needs hope.