After a heartbreaking Friday and a sorrowful Saturday, a small group of women awoke early on Sunday. The first rays of the morning sun were just beginning to light the sky when they set out toward the tomb—the tomb where they had left Jesus’ body just two days prior. Each of the gospels tells the story for a slightly different purpose and from a slightly different perspective, but as we align the accounts we see that Mary Magdalene was there, probably as the leader of the little group. So was Mary the mother of James and two other women named Joanna and Salome. These were some of Jesus’ most committed followers—women who had cared for him and traveled with him from place to place. For the duration of his ministry they had loved him and served him. And now this morning they set out to love him and to serve him one last time.

As Luke transitions begins describing Sunday’s events, he says this: “On the first day of the week, at early dawn, they went to the tomb.” He also describes what they were carrying in their hands, and there is something strangely fascinating in this little detail—something worth considering.
Jesus had spent three-and-a-half years teaching the people who he was and what he had come to accomplish. One thing he had taught them was that, though he would die on Friday, he would rise on Sunday. He had told them that he would be delivered over to the people who hated him and that they would put him to death, but also that three days later he would rise. These women had heard all of this. They knew it. But somehow it didn’t sink it. Somehow they didn’t believe it.
How do we know? Because of what was in their hands. As they went to the tomb, they carried jars filled with spices and ointments—the kind used to anoint and prepare a body for its final burial. They were going to the tomb fully expecting to find a dead, decaying body.
Of course from our vantage point in history we know that they would not find a dead, decaying body. In fact, they did not find a body at all! They found a rolled-away stone, angel guardians, and an empty tomb. They found their minds shocked, overwhelmed, and bewildered—shocked, overwhelmed, and bewildered even though Jesus had told them exactly what they should expect. Jesus had said, “On the third day I will rise.” The women said, “On the third day let’s go and complete his burial.” Jesus had said “On Sunday I will be alive.” The women said, “On Sunday let’s care for his corpse.” They didn’t believe it. They didn’t believe his promise.
And just as these women failed to take God at his word, so can we. In our deepest sorrows we can neglect his promises, in our darkest valleys we can ignore his assurances. He promises he will never leave us nor forsake us, yet somehow we can be shocked when he does not desert us but instead stays close beside us. He promises he will work all things for good, yet somehow we can be surprised when we see him bringing blessings through our sorrows. He promises he does not break a bruised reed or snuff a smoldering wick, yet somehow we can still be baffled when he carefully tends to our wounds and lovingly dries our tears. Somehow we are surprised when God does precisely what he has promised he will do.
In that vein it is worth asking: What should these women have brought with them on Sunday morning? Not spices! Not ointments! Not the stuff of mourning and death and burial! They should have brought food and streamers and instruments and all the stuff of celebration! They should have approached that tomb with faith, with confidence, with expectation. They should have approached it with belief that it would be empty, with faith that Jesus was going to do exactly what Jesus had said he would do.
And what was true in their lives is true in ours. What was true in their sorrow is true in ours. What was true in their bewilderment is true in ours. We live best when we live with the assurance that God will do nothing more, and nothing less, than what he has said he will do—just as he did on Easter.

Good morning! I am about to make my way across the Pacific for my second Worship Round the World journey. I’ve got many miles to go today…

There is a massive list of Kindle deals to go through today and it includes a lot of great commentaries.
This month you can listen to Mitch Chase’s book on the resurrection for free at ONE Audiobooks.
(Yesterday on the blog: Banksy and Beauty from Ashes)
Pastors Are Paid to Stare Out the Window
Every week I look forward to Jared Wilson’s column. I’m never disappointed by it!
Apple Wants to Solve One of Music’s Biggest Problems
This is a really interesting look at why Apple’s new classical music app is such a big deal (and just on time for Easter, too). “The world’s richest company released a sleek new product this week that was years in the making and had to meet its exacting standards before it was ready to be used by millions of people. But it wasn’t a phone, a gadget or an AI chatbot. The latest innovation from Apple was a better way of listening to classical music.”
How Did the King of Kings Die?
“In the ancient world there was a man declared to be ‘the King of kings’. His reign was very short but he was widely influential, had thousands of admiring followers, and his presence brought peace and hope to many. Yet his life was cut short through a premature death.” (This may not be the person you’re thinking of.)
Did Palm Trees Grow in Jerusalem at the Time of Jesus?
A number of scholars have insisted that palm trees did not grow in Jerusalem. Were they right?
On Ending Well: An Open Letter To A Pastor
This is such a sweet tribute to pastors.
Do elder’s children have to be believers? (Titus 1:6)
Bill Mounce looks at a disputed passage and offers a very plausible interpretation.
Flashback: Don’t Waste the Days When You Feel Little Need for God
Ideally, trials are not the time to construct a relationship but the time to lean upon an existing one. Ideally, trauma is not the time to begin trying to understand how God is present in our pain, but the time to lean into what we already know to be true.

The cross stands as the focal point of the Christian faith. Without the cross the Bible is an enigma, and the Gospel of salvation is an empty hope. —James Montgomery Boice

We are all prone to idolatry. We may consider ourselves far too advanced to bow before an idol of wood or stone, to bend the knee to the image of an animal or man. But none of us is immune from bowing before the idols of our dreams and desires, before the idols of our wandering hearts. None of us can forever resist the allure of our illicit longings, of finding hope in mere riches, of finding meaning in mere accolades. In one way or another we are all prone to idolatry. And idolatry is futility.

In the prophecies of Isaiah we hear the voice of God as he rebukes the nation of Israel for its commitment to idols. He challenges the people to consider the cost of turning away from the God who called them, the God who saved them, the God who loves them. “When you cry out,” he says, “let your collection of idols deliver you!”
He knows the day will come when his people will face a great calamity. He knows the day will come when his people will understand that they cannot save themselves. And in that time, he tells them, they ought to be consistent and cry out to their idols for help, for deliverance, for satisfaction. Cry out to those pieces of wood, cry out to those blocks of stone, and let them come to your rescue!
And what will happen? “The wind will carry them all off, a breath will take them away.” In that day when they, in desperation, cry out for deliverance, they will see the futility of their idolatry, for their gods will be unable to stand before the smallest breeze, the merest breath, the tiniest puff of wind.
We may roll our eyes at the Israelites for being so easily swayed by Baal and Asherah and Molech. We may regard them with mockery for thinking these imaginary gods could ever have interceded on their behalf, could ever have come to their rescue, could ever have been worthy of their worship. But with a moment’s honesty we need to admit that we are just as easily swayed. With a moment’s introspection we need to consider the cost of our own idolatry.
“When you cry out, let your collection of idols deliver you!” he said to Israel. And perhaps to us he says:
When you encounter times of deep grief and sore loss and long to be comforted, let the women of your pornography rush to your side. Let them minister to your sorrows.
When you are old and infirm and need someone to care for you or simply care about you, let your career come to your side and nurse you. Let it bring you comfort as you prepare to face eternity.
When you have sinned and transgressed and long for someone to love you and walk with you through repentance and restoration, let the characters in the books or movies or games that so consumed your time be with you. Let them be the friend who sticks closer than a brother.
When you have been treated unjustly, forsaken by those who ought to love you and care for you, let your money hasten to your side. Since you have prioritized wealth ahead of relationships, let your bank account and cars and holiday homes rush your cause and come to your rescue.
But God does not leave his people without hope. There is hope even for the idolater if only he is willing to repent, if only he is willing to turn to the God who saves. “But he who takes refuge in me,” says God, “shall possess the land and shall inherit my holy mountain.” It is never too late to turn to God, never too late to cry out to him for help and deliverance, never too late to flee to the one who is—and will always be—our refuge.