**The Dawn of Victory**

The first light of Sunday morning crept over the horizon, pale and hesitant, as if the earth itself trembled with anticipation. The night had been long, filled with the echoes of grief and despair. The disciples were scattered, hiding in fear, their hearts shattered by the crucifixion of their beloved Teacher. The women who had followed Jesus from Galilee—Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and others—had spent the Sabbath in mourning, their hands still fragrant with the spices they had prepared to anoint His body.

Before the sun had fully risen, the women set out for the tomb, their footsteps muffled in the dim morning hush. The streets of Jerusalem were empty, the city still wrapped in slumber. Their hearts were heavy, their thoughts fixed on the stone—massive and immovable—that sealed the entrance to the grave. “Who will roll away the stone for us?” they whispered among themselves, their voices trembling with sorrow and uncertainty.

But as they neared the place, the earth beneath them shuddered violently. A brilliant light, brighter than the noonday sun, split the sky, and an angel of the Lord descended from heaven. His countenance was like lightning, his raiment white as snow. The guards stationed at the tomb—hardened soldiers—collapsed in terror, their bodies like dead men. With a single touch, the angel rolled back the stone and sat upon it, his presence radiating divine authority.

The women stood frozen, their faces pale with fear, their hands clutching their spices uselessly now. But the angel’s voice, though mighty, was tender. “Do not be afraid,” he said. “I know you seek Jesus, who was crucified. He is not here, for He has risen, just as He said. Come, see the place where the Lord lay.”

Trembling, they stepped forward and peered into the tomb. The burial cloths lay there, neatly folded, the head wrapping separate from the rest. The tomb was empty—not as though the body had been stolen, but as if death itself had been undone.

“Go quickly,” the angel commanded, “and tell His disciples that He has risen from the dead! Behold, He is going before you into Galilee. There you will see Him. Remember, I have told you.”

With hearts pounding, the women turned and fled from the tomb, their sorrow now mingled with an overwhelming joy. Fear and wonder surged within them, and yet, beneath it all, a dawning hope—could it truly be? Had He conquered death?

Then suddenly, Jesus Himself met them on the path. His face was radiant, His voice familiar and warm. “Greetings,” He said. They fell at His feet, clasping them in worship, their tears now flowing freely—not of grief, but of awe. “Do not be afraid,” He reassured them. “Go and tell My brothers to go to Galilee, and there they will see Me.”

As the women ran to deliver the glorious news, the guards who had witnessed the angel’s descent staggered into the city, their faces ashen. They reported to the chief priests all that had happened. The elders, their hearts hardened, gathered in secret, devising a lie. They bribed the soldiers with a large sum of money. “Say that His disciples came by night and stole Him away while you slept,” they instructed. “And if this reaches the governor’s ears, we will persuade him and keep you out of trouble.” The guards took the money and did as they were told, spreading the deception among the people.

Meanwhile, the eleven disciples, hidden away in their sorrow, heard the women’s report—but their words seemed like madness. Peter, however, rose and ran to the tomb, stooping to look inside. He saw the linen cloths lying alone, and he departed, marveling at what had happened.

Then, in Galilee, on the mountain where Jesus had appointed them, He appeared to them once more. Some worshiped Him immediately, while others hesitated, their hearts still wrestling with doubt. But Jesus drew near, His authority undiminished, His love unwavering.

“All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to Me,” He declared, His voice resounding with divine power. “Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you. And behold, I am with you always, to the end of the age.”

As He spoke these words, His presence enveloped them—not as a memory, not as a ghost, but as the living Lord, triumphant over death. The wind carried His promise across the hills, through the ages, to every heart that would believe.

The stone was rolled away. The tomb was empty. The Savior lived.

And the world would never be the same.