Sometimes we rush right to the “He is risen!” without remembering that not everyone is there yet. Luke 24:1–12 tells us the story of resurrection morning, but even in the face of an empty tomb, not everyone immediately believes. The women come ready with spices, not songs of celebration. They came expecting death. They loved Jesus, but they didn’t yet grasp that He had conquered the grave. And when they do see the empty tomb and hear the angels, they run to tell the others—and still, the response is disbelief. It’s all “nonsense” to them. That hesitation, that in-between space? It matters. Some of us are still there. Somewhere between Friday’s grief and Sunday’s joy, stuck in the quiet ache of Saturday, where God feels silent and hope feels foolish.
We preach resurrection because it is the good news. But we also make room for those who haven’t seen the light break over the horizon just yet. We remember that grief doesn’t evaporate just because the sun has come up. Sometimes, it takes a while for the soul to catch up with what’s true. Maybe someone’s still carrying their spices to a tomb, not knowing resurrection has already started. Maybe someone is walking away from the cross, assuming the story is over. And that’s okay. God doesn't shame those in Saturday-space. Instead, God gently unfolds the next chapter. We need to be people who can hold space and speak hope in the same breath. We can whisper, “You’re not alone,” while still saying, “But resurrection is real. And it's coming for you, too.”
Luke’s account reminds us that even Peter—the bold one, the rock—ran to the tomb in wonder, but left amazed, still trying to piece it all together. That tells me it’s okay to be stunned by grace. It’s okay to be unsure, to need time, to question, to wrestle. Resurrection is a promise, not a deadline. God isn’t done writing your story just because you can’t see the ending yet. So whether you’re weeping at the tomb, walking in confusion, or clinging to the edges of belief, know this: God is still at work. Easter didn’t erase the pain of the cross—it transformed it. And the same Spirit that raised Jesus is still breathing life into dead places, even if it takes time to feel it.
Luke
24:1–12 doesn’t just launch the resurrection narrative—it gathers the threads
woven through the entire Gospel and ties them into one breathtaking, hopeful
arc. From the beginning of Luke’s Gospel, there’s been a steady rhythm of
divine reversals and unexpected revelations: the poor are blessed, the sinners
are forgiven, the lost are found. Jesus consistently upends expectations, from
the announcement of His birth to Mary (Luke 1:26–38), to dining with tax
collectors (Luke 5:27–32), to telling parables where the last become first. So
it’s no surprise that when the women arrive at the tomb with spices—expecting
to anoint a dead body—they are once again met with the unexpected: “Why do you
look for the living among the dead?” (Luke 24:5). Resurrection isn’t just an
event; it’s the culmination of everything Jesus has been doing all along
(Green).
Throughout Luke, Jesus foretells His suffering,
death, and resurrection—not once, but three times (Luke 9:22, 9:44, 18:33).
Yet, even those closest to Him struggle to understand. That tension—between
what Jesus has promised and what people can grasp—builds through the narrative.
It’s seen in Peter’s confusion, the disciples' fear during the storm, their
inability to cast out demons, and their arguing about greatness on the way to
Jerusalem. Luke 24:1–12 is the natural continuation of that very human struggle
to trust what we haven’t yet seen. The women believe enough to show up, but not
yet enough to expect a risen Lord. And the disciples? Their disbelief at the
women’s report is heartbreakingly relatable (Marshall). Still, that’s precisely
the point: resurrection doesn’t demand flawless faith—it meets us where we are
and leads us forward.
Luke’s Gospel ends where it began: with divine
messengers announcing impossible good news to those who least expect it. In
Luke 2, angels declare Jesus’ birth to lowly shepherds; in Luke 24, angels
declare His resurrection to faithful women. It’s a full-circle moment that
echoes Luke’s insistence that God shows up in humility and honors the
overlooked. The tomb is empty, and the story is still unfolding. The
resurrection reaffirms what Luke has been telling us from the start: God is
faithful, God keeps promises, and God writes hope into the most hopeless places
(Bock). Luke 24:1–12 isn’t a new message—it’s the glorious continuation of the
Gospel’s heartbeat.
From
a Wesleyan/Methodist theological perspective, Luke 24:1–12 serves as a powerful
testimony to God’s prevenient, justifying, and sanctifying grace—grace that
meets people in their confusion, transforms disbelief into faith, and calls
believers into a life shaped by the resurrection. The story doesn’t begin with
confident declarations of victory but with faithful, grieving women performing
acts of love in the face of apparent defeat. Their presence at the tomb
reflects a kind of prevenient grace at work—the grace that goes before,
stirring up faithfulness and devotion even when understanding lags behind
(Maddox). The women do not come expecting resurrection, yet they are the first
to receive its revelation. This affirms the Wesleyan conviction that God initiates
grace, even when we are unaware or unsure of what God is doing.
The initial disbelief of the apostles when the
women share their experience resonates with the Methodist understanding that
faith often involves a journey from resistance to acceptance. Peter’s response,
running to the tomb and leaving in wonder, illustrates the movement of
justifying grace—a turning point moment where the heart is awakened to the
truth of the gospel, even if it doesn’t yet understand it fully (Heitzenrater).
Wesley often taught that grace awakens before it assures; it invites before it
explains. The resurrection account in Luke isn’t about triumphant
certainty—it’s about the slow, Spirit-led unfolding of a life-altering truth.
The disciples must wrestle with it, question it, and experience it before it
transforms them.
Moreover, this passage points toward sanctifying
grace—the ongoing work of the Spirit that forms believers into the likeness of
Christ. The women become the first evangelists of the resurrection, bearing
witness to new life in a world still shadowed by death. In Wesleyan theology,
salvation isn’t static; it’s dynamic and relational, always pulling us further
into love of God and neighbor (Collins). The resurrection is not just a past
event to be believed but a present reality to be lived. Luke 24:1–12 invites
the church to move from confusion to proclamation, from passive observation to
active witness, empowered by the same Spirit that raised Jesus from the dead.
