“But He was wounded for our transgressions; He was crushed for our iniquities; upon Him was the chastisement that brought us peace, and by His stripes… WE ARE HEALED.” 

“Please, allow me this.” The man from Arimathea spoke slowly and deliberately. Standing before Pilate, Joseph’s voice broke as he exchanged silent fear for bold intent. Pilate turned to the guard standing nearby. “Is He dead yet?” The centurion nodded. “Take Him then. Take Him away,” he thundered, in a voice that still betrayed the washing of hands. 

Joseph hurried from the praetorium, his body trembling from what just transpired. Waiting outside, Nicodemus catches his eye. Joseph nods. Nicodemus exhales. Two prominent Jewish men, expected to hold the party line when it came to this deceiver, Jesus. Two men whose hearts had been changed by the words and actions of this Teacher. Two men who had remained silent for far too long. “Please let this count, Lord. It is all we can do now.” 

A tomb. Jesus’ body wrapped in fresh linen. A heavy stone rolled in place.

More requests from louder men. “The tomb must be sealed! Guarded. No chance of foul play.” Pilate. “Will I never be rid of this whole debacle? Seal it then! Seal it as tightly as you can. Take a guard. Take two guards!” 

The following day. Stone silence. Eleven men. Broken, disillusioned, huddle behind locked doors, drowning in ambiguous waves of crashing expectations with no one to calm the turbulent sea that rages within them.

“Now what?” 

Eleven men recounting each moment, frantically searching for clues in every word He ever spoke. Eleven men questioning their own intellect, yet unable to let go of the past three years. Night falls on troubled hearts that plead, “Don’t let this be the end. This is not what we expected.”

Morning dawns. The first day of the week. Earnest women with baskets filled with spices are drawn to an outcome they know cannot be changed. “Please let this count, Lord. It is all we can do now.”

An earthquake. Useless guards fall like dead men. An open tomb. Unearthly light. An angel, legs swinging, sits upon the stone. 

“Don’t be afraid. I know who you’re looking for. He is not here. He has risen, just as He said! Come. See for yourself.”

Dumb struck women shake in disbelief. The tomb is empty save for the linen wrappings that lay folded on the stone slab. “Where is He? What is happening?” 

Someone behind her. Mary Magdalene turns. “Where have you taken my Lord,” she begs. “Mary.” That voice. His face. “He knows my name! Jesus? Is it You?” Her basket falls.

Joyful chaos. Feet race for reinforcements, trampling spices that will never be used. “Can we believe what we have seen?” Mary, in staccato breaths, repeats His words as she runs. ‘Tell them, I ascend to My Father and your Father, and My God and your God.’ “What does He mean?”

Evening. Lively chatter behind doors still closed. An entrance. Such an entrance. Jesus, no longer the “Teacher,” but the resurrected Christ, stands in their midst. 

“Peace be with you,” He says. Once again, the sea is calm. 

Astonishment. Disbelief. Jesus stretches out His hands to reveal not gaping wounds, but the scars that have healed His creation. Belief. Eleven men, and all with them, erupt in unparalleled rejoicing. 

This is not what they expected.

How can we, with humble pen, and the small details we might imagine, begin to tell the Resurrection Story in the way it should be told? 

We can’t. 

But be assured, each of us has a part in this story. 

It begins at the cross, where Jesus paid the price for the redemption of our sin-soaked souls. Life was breathed into our story at the tomb when Jesus left it empty, defeating death—once for all.

“My Father and your Father. My God and your God.”

Read His words again. Our Father. Our God. No more separation. No more turbulent sea without any hope of peace.

Because of the cross, because of the empty tomb, the very moment we surrender our lives to Christ, we are healed.

Healed from death to life. Healed from the burden of our sin that has so long entangled us. Healed from the crushing weight of guilt. Healed from the torment of regret. Healed from a helpless existence that has too long depended on our own strength and wisdom. Healed from hopelessness to the promise of a new beginning.

But we are healed to so much more.

We are healed to right-standing with the Father. We are healed to experience the everyday joy of true fellowship with God. We are healed to worship. We are healed to serve. We are healed to eternal life.

With this simple prayer, prayed with a repentant heart and sincere faith, healing is ours…

“Jesus, I need you. Thank you for loving me and dying for my sins. I sincerely repent of my sins and open the door of my heart and receive You as my Savior. Now, as Your child, I surrender my entire life into Your hands. Amen”

Dearest friend, I end the story with this…

 A life surrendered into the almighty hands of our risen Savior, is a life that defies expectations.

“Now to Him who is able to do far more abundantly beyond all that we ask or think, according to the power that works within us, to Him be the glory in the church and in Christ Jesus to all generations forever and ever. Amen.”   Ephesians 3:20-21