There’s something about getting up while it’s still dark out and driving up the mountain into the sunrise that gets me thinking about those first century women. But this year, I began thinking about it last night. About hope.

Those women weren’t looking for hope. They were practical, going to put spices on the body for burial, but what they found was the greatest hope ever.

Now when I say hope, I’m not talking about the “I hope it won’t rain” type of hope. No, this is a hope that’s based in promises kept. A hope founded in faith—the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.

Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.

~Hebrews 11:1 (ESV)

But how does Resurrection Sunday (or Easter) give us the greatest hope bringer?

Let’s back up three days. You see, those women I told you about in the beginning watched as the teacher they’d hoped was the chosen one was crucified—the Roman form of execution of a criminal. All their hopes came crashing to a halt as he died and was placed in a tomb.

Think about it. The best fantasy story ever—the chosen one wandering the country, feeding the multitudes, healing people, and even raising others from the dead. Then, everything comes skidding to a halt. Instead of the chosen one being placed on the throne, he’s treated as a criminal—and his followers are positive that they’re next!

They went into hiding, but the women still thought they’d give him a decent burial, and maybe even bury their dreams with him. Instead, they found the grave empty.

Mary came out of the tomb in tears, running into a man that she assumed was the gardener. Her plea pulls at the heart.

“Sir, if you tell me where you put him, I’ll take him.”

Can you hear the pain in that request? My loved one is dead, but now I don’t even have a grave to mourn at. Everything’s been taken from me. Let me find him, then I can mourn in peace.

The reply is just as poignant. I can hear it in the tone of a parent or a grandparent who kneels down to the level of a child, opening their arms and saying, “Oh, honey.” All Jesus does is call her by name.

Sorrow to Joy

What had been “sorrow upon sorrow” or “grief upon grief” as the Apostle Paul says, turned into a hope that would sustain believers through the centuries. A hope that turned even death backwards.

She would have known that when a willing victim who had committed no treachery was killed in a traitor’s stead, the Table would crack and Death itself would start working backward.

~The LIon, the Witch, and the Wardrobe by C. S. Lewis

You see, the great and loving King of All gave his people a choice to do what he knew was best for them, but his people said, “We know what’s best.” In that moment, there was a great divide between the King and his people. He allowed them to go their own way, to spurn him. The consequences were severe—death, separation. Not just separation for a moment or a year or two, but eternal separation.

The consequences of going our own way

Death. From that moment on, all of creation groaned under that weight. There was no going back. As his people age, they feel the pull in their bones, in every ache and pain. Every funeral is a reminder that death is coming, a reminder that his people no longer can live forever.

And yet, the King didn’t leave them to wander on their own. He made a plan—a plan that was in place from “before the foundation of the earth.” The King sent his Son to take the punishment of his people upon himself.

So, yes, The Chosen One walked among his people and then died in their place. Most fantasy stories end there, but the Greatest Story of All doesn’t. This is how we have the greatest hope bringer of all.

The Chosen One rose again. Physically, corporally. He said, “See my hands. Touch my wounds. It is I.” And by rising again, he did away with the sting of death. No more will death have the final word.

And so, on this Resurrection Sunday, may we proclaim hope. May we seek to know the greatest hope bringer, and may our faith be assured.