Passage 📖: Matthew 28:1-10

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👋 Introduction to Today’s Lesson

There are moments in life when you feel the shift before you see the change. A quiet stirring. A sense that something is happening behind the scenes — even though nothing around you has moved. That’s what the morning of Matthew 28 feels like. The world is still dark. The air is still heavy. Hope still feels buried. But heaven is already awake. Angels are already moving. Resurrection is already unfolding — quietly, invisibly, unstoppably. And two women — carrying grief, loyalty, and questions — walk toward a tomb believing they are going to honor a dead King. They have no idea they are stepping into the dawn of new creation. Today’s lesson is about what God does in the silence, what faith looks like in the in-between, and why resurrection rarely begins where we expect… but always begins with the ones who stay. Let’s step into the story.

Last week, we stepped into the quietest moment of the Gospel — the space between crucifixion and resurrection. A wealthy but previously silent disciple, Joseph of Arimathea, found unexpected courage and publicly claimed Jesus’ body, fulfilling Isaiah’s prophecy that the Messiah would be buried with the rich. The women stayed near the tomb, their faithfulness carrying the story forward when the disciples had scattered. Meanwhile, the religious leaders secured the grave with a Roman seal and armed guards — unknowingly strengthening the very evidence that would later prove the resurrection. It was a reminder that: God does deep work in the silence,

obedience still matters even when hope feels lost, and

nothing — not fear, not failure, not opposition — can stop what God intends to raise.

The in-between is not God’s absence. It’s His preparation.

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Now after the Sabbath, toward the dawn of the first day of the week, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to see the tomb. And behold, there was a great earthquake, for an angel of the Lord descended from heaven and came and rolled back the stone and sat on it. His appearance was like lightning, and his clothing white as snow. And for fear of him the guards trembled and became like dead men. But the angel said to the women, “Do not be afraid, for I know that you seek Jesus who was crucified. He is not here, for he has risen, as he said. Come, see the place where he[a] lay. Then go quickly and tell his disciples that he has risen from the dead, and behold, he is going before you to Galilee; there you will see him. See, I have told you.” So they departed quickly from the tomb with fear and great joy, and ran to tell his disciples. And behold, Jesus met them and said, “Greetings!” And they came up and took hold of his feet and worshiped him. Then Jesus said to them, “Do not be afraid; go and tell my brothers to go to Galilee, and there they will see me.”

It is now the third day after Jesus’ crucifixion.

The Sabbath has ended.

Jerusalem is waking up.

The city believes the story is finished — the tomb sealed, the movement crushed, the King defeated.

But at the very edges of that silent morning, something is already shifting.

Two women — Mary Magdalene and the other Mary — walk toward the tomb “at dawn.”

They had stayed at the cross.

They had stayed at the burial.

Now they come to honor the One they loved, still thinking death has the final word.

They are walking toward a grave…

but heaven is already on the move.

1️⃣ A Great Earthquake

Matthew describes this moment with cosmic detail:

“There was a violent earthquake” (v. 2).

This echoes the quake at Jesus’ death (27:51),

signaling once again: God is intervening. Something new is breaking into the world.

“An angel of the Lord descended from heaven, rolled back the stone, and sat on it.”

Key details:

Everything about this scene reverses the burial narrative:

The stone is not rolled away so Jesus can get out —

but so the women can see in.

The angel speaks the most history-altering words ever said:

“He is not here — for He has risen, just as He said.”

This fulfills Jesus’ repeated predictions throughout Matthew (16:21; 17:23; 20:19).

Now heaven confirms it: Death is defeated.

The Messiah lives. The angel gives the women two commands:

Do not be afraid.

Go and tell His disciples He is risen.

The first command addresses their hearts. The second command gives them a mission.

In Matthew’s Gospel, women become the first preachers of the resurrection.

As the women hurry to obey, Jesus Himself meets them.

They fall at His feet — a gesture of worship Matthew only uses for Jesus (not even angels receive worship).

Jesus repeats the angel’s command: “Do not be afraid.”

“Go and tell my brothers…”

“Brothers.” The ones who abandoned Him.

The ones who hid. The ones who doubted.

The resurrection begins not with condemnation… but with restoration.

Matthew is not offering symbolism or spiritual metaphor — he is documenting an event with the kinds of historical markers ancient writers used to signal factual reporting. He gives us: An empty tomb

Eyewitness testimony

Named individuals (Mary Magdalene, “the other Mary,” the guards, Joseph of Arimathea)

A known, specific burial site

Roman soldiers stationed as security

Physical encounters with the risen Jesus

In the world of ancient history, this level of specificity is remarkable.

Most events from antiquity — including major battles, royal successions, or the founding of cities — often come to us through anonymous reports, decades-later summaries, or single-source traditions.

But here, Matthew presents a resurrection account anchored in:

In other words, this text is intentionally written as historical reporting, not poetic allegory.

And that matters, because in some modern spiritual traditions, the resurrection is described primarily as a symbol — a metaphor for renewal or inner transformation. While Scripture certainly affirms resurrection’s spiritual implications, Matthew is unmistakably clear:

He is describing an actual event that occurred in time and space.

A real tomb.

Real guards.

Real women who saw it.

A real Jesus who stood before them alive.

Matthew’s aim is not to inspire abstraction, but to record history.

The resurrection is not presented as a feeling, a metaphor, or a state of consciousness.

It is presented as a moment when death was physically overturned, witnessed by real people whose names and lives were known in the early Christian community.

In Jesus’ day, people believed closeness to God belonged to those with the right lineage, training, status, wealth, or reputation. Spiritual access was a hierarchy — and women were at the bottom of it.

But Matthew tells a different story.

Jesus keeps revealing Himself to the overlooked:

Gentile magi (Matt 2),

a Roman centurion (Matt 8),

a bleeding woman (Matt 9),

children (Matt 19),

a Canaanite mother (Matt 15),

and the poor and grieving whom He calls blessed (Matt 5).

And now — at the empty tomb — it is two women with no rank, no privilege, no platform… who become the first witnesses of the resurrection.

Not Peter.

Not John.

Not the priests or scholars.

The resurrection is entrusted to the faithful, not the influential.

Because closeness to God has never been measured by achievement, education, wealth, or reputation — but by faithfulness.

These women stayed when the crowds left and the disciples fled. They stayed through death, silence, and sorrow. And the Kingdom came to them first.

This is God’s pattern:

He reveals Himself not to the impressive, but to the faithful.

So if you feel unseen, unqualified, or come from a broken story — you are not disqualified. You may be perfectly positioned.

Those who cling to status often miss what God is doing… but those who cling to Him see resurrection first.

He’s not looking for the talented, the polished, or the accomplished.

He’s looking for the ones who stay.

The resurrection came to the faithful then.

It still does now.

Before the women ever reached the tomb, the miracle had already happened.

Jesus didn’t need an exit.

Death didn’t need permission to collapse.

The stone wasn’t rolled away to let Him out —

but to let them see in.

Because this is who God has always been:

the God who doesn’t perform miracles for His sake,

but for ours.

He calmed the storm so the disciples would know who commands the wind (Matt 8).

He multiplied bread so the crowds would know God sees their need (Matt 14–15).

He healed the bleeding woman so she would know she was seen (Matt 9).

He called Peter onto the water so Peter would learn faith can hold him (Matt 14).

He forgave sins so they would know His authority (Matt 9).

He rode into Jerusalem so we would know He is the promised King (Matt 21).

This has always been His way:

He does the miracle before we arrive,

and then invites us into what He’s already done.

So at the resurrection, Jesus is already alive.

Already victorious.

Already risen.

The stone wasn’t for Him —

it was for them.

The women walked toward a problem they couldn’t fix:

a stone too heavy,

a seal too strong,

a guard too armed.

And yet they walked —

moving toward God in faith before they saw how God would move for them.

Because in Scripture, the pattern is clear:

God doesn’t clear the path before you walk it.

He clears it as you walk.

The stone didn’t move first.

Faith did.

So hear this:

The closed door, the impossible situation, the weight you cannot lift —

isn’t there to stop you.

It’s there so that when you move toward God,

He can move it right in front of your eyes

and you’ll know it was Him.

Stones don’t move to free God.

They move so you can see His power.

So you can witness resurrection with your own eyes.

So you remember:

He was working long before you arrived.

So keep walking.

Keep showing up.

Keep moving in faith,

even when you don’t know how the obstacle will move.

Because the stone won’t stop Him.

It’s only waiting for the moment your faith meets His power —

so you can look in,

see the miracle,

and know…

God was already there.

In every earthly kingdom, power is used to impress or intimidate.

Kings rise to prove themselves.

Empires rise to avenge their enemies.

But when the King of Kings rises from the dead,

He does none of that.

No storming the Temple.

No confronting Pilate.

No judgment on the priests.

No “I told you so” to the crowds.

Instead, His first words are:

“Go tell my brothers.” (Matt. 28:10)

Brothers —

not traitors,

not deserters,

not cowards,

not doubters hiding behind locked doors.

Brothers.

Before they repent…

before they apologize…

before they show any faith at all…

He restores them.

Because the resurrection isn’t God showing off His power —

it’s God revealing His heart.

The world uses strength to dominate.

Jesus uses strength to heal.

The world flexes to be admired.

Jesus resurrects to reconcile.

Matthew wants us to see it clearly:

Jesus doesn’t wait for you to come back clean —

He comes back for you where you broke.

He is not a God pacing heaven waiting for your perfection.

He is a God walking out of a tomb to find you.

A God who calls failures family.

A God whose first act after conquering death

is restoring the very ones who abandoned Him.

So if you’ve failed Him…

doubted Him…

drifted from Him…

given up on prayer…

or disappointed yourself so deeply you don’t know where to begin—

hear this:

He is already moving toward you.

Not to punish — but to restore.

Not to shame — but to embrace.

Not with anger — but with “brother,” “sister,” “beloved.”

The resurrection is not only proof that Jesus lives —

it is proof that He still wants you.

So don’t hide.

Don’t run.

Don’t wait to fix yourself.

The Savior who walked out of the grave

is the same Savior walking toward you now —

with mercy in His voice

and reconciliation in His hands.

And He still speaks the same words today:

“Go tell my brothers.”

Go tell my sisters.

Go tell the ones who think they’ve gone too far…

I’m coming for them.”

On that first Easter morning, no one expected a miracle.

Not the guards.

Not the priests.

Not the disciples hiding in fear.

Not even the women walking toward the tomb.

But heaven was already moving.

They came expecting death…

and found the world reborn.

They came carrying sorrow…

and heard, “Do not be afraid.”

They came to honor a body…

and met the risen King.

The resurrection isn’t a story about our faithfulness —

it’s a story about God’s faithfulness when ours collapses.

The women show us:

you don’t need status to see God — only faithfulness.

The rolled-away stone shows us:

God does His greatest work before we ever arrive

and then invites us to witness it.

And Jesus’ first words — “Go tell my brothers” — show us:

He doesn’t return with vengeance,

but with mercy.

Not to accuse,

but to restore.

So if you’ve doubted, drifted, failed, or felt buried under things you cannot move,

the resurrection speaks a better word:

He has already gone ahead of you.

He is already alive in places you fear are dead.

He is already working in chapters you thought were finished.

The stone that intimidates you

is already empty on the other side.

And the Savior who conquered death

is already on the road you’re walking —

ready to meet you, restore you, and call you forward with hope.

He is risen.

He is moving.

And He is coming for you —

with a love that will not let you go.

Blessings,

Michael

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