**The Empty Tomb and the Risen Lord**
The first light of dawn crept softly over Jerusalem, casting a pale glow upon the city’s quiet streets. The air was cool, still heavy with the sorrow of the past days. Mary Magdalene, her heart aching with grief, made her way through the dim morning toward the garden tomb where Jesus had been laid. The Sabbath had passed, but the weight of loss had not lifted.
She carried spices with her, tenderly prepared to anoint the body of her beloved Teacher once more. As she approached the tomb, her eyes strained in the faint light, and suddenly she froze—the great stone that had sealed the entrance was rolled away. A gasp escaped her lips. Fear and confusion gripped her heart. Without looking inside, she turned and ran, her sandals pounding against the earth as she fled to find Simon Peter and the disciple whom Jesus loved.
Breathless, she reached them. “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb,” she cried, her voice trembling, “and we do not know where they have laid Him!”
Peter and the other disciple wasted no time. They sprinted toward the tomb, their robes flapping behind them. The younger disciple, swift as the wind, arrived first. He bent down, peering into the dim opening, and saw the linen burial cloths lying there—but he did not go in.
Peter, ever impulsive, arrived moments later and rushed straight into the tomb. He saw the linen wrappings carefully folded, set apart from the cloth that had covered Jesus’ face, which was rolled up and placed neatly by itself. The sight was puzzling. If robbers had taken the body, why would they leave the grave clothes in such order?
Then the other disciple stepped inside. He saw—and he believed. For the first time, the words Jesus had spoken about rising again pierced his heart with truth. Yet, even in this moment of dawning faith, neither of them fully grasped the Scripture that foretold His resurrection.
The two men returned to their homes, their minds whirling with wonder. But Mary remained outside the tomb, weeping. Her tears blurred her vision as she stooped to look inside once more.
Then, through her sorrow, she saw two angels in white, seated where Jesus’ body had lain—one at the head and the other at the feet. “Woman, why are you weeping?” they asked.
She barely registered their heavenly presence in her grief. “They have taken away my Lord,” she sobbed, “and I do not know where they have laid Him.”
Turning away, she sensed someone else nearby. Through her tears, she saw a man standing there, but she did not recognize Him.
“Woman, why are you weeping?” He asked gently. “Whom are you seeking?”
Thinking He was the gardener, she pleaded, “Sir, if you have carried Him away, tell me where you have laid Him, and I will take Him.”
Then, in a voice that shattered her sorrow like light breaking through darkness, He spoke her name.
“Mary.”
Her breath caught. That voice—she knew it. It was the voice that had cast out her demons, the voice that had spoken peace to her soul. She turned fully toward Him, her eyes wide with recognition.
“Rabboni!” she cried, falling to her knees, reaching out to cling to Him.
But Jesus, with tender firmness, said, “Do not cling to Me, for I have not yet ascended to the Father. But go to My brothers and say to them, ‘I am ascending to My Father and your Father, to My God and your God.’”
Mary’s tears of grief turned to tears of joy. She ran once more, this time not in fear, but with a heart overflowing with the greatest news the world would ever hear. Bursting in where the disciples were gathered, she cried, “I have seen the Lord!”
And with those words, the dawn of resurrection hope broke upon the world.
