Before dawn broke on the first day of the week, the women made their way toward a tomb carrying spices meant for a body they were certain was still lying there. They loved Jesus deeply, but they came expecting death, not life. They came to tend to what they believed was over, to honor a memory rather than encounter a Messiah. Their grief was sincere, but their expectation was tragically small.
Heaven met them with a question sharp enough to cut through the fog of sorrow: “Why do you seek the living among the dead?” (Luke 24:5–6). It was not a rebuke. It was a revelation. A divine interruption meant to expose the painful mismatch between what they expected and what God had already done. The stone was rolled away. The grave clothes were folded. Resurrection had already taken place. Yet they were still carrying spices for a funeral God had already canceled.
Mary, overwhelmed and disoriented, asked the only question she could form: “Sir, if You have carried Him away, tell me where You have laid Him…” (John 20:15). She was searching for a body, but the One she sought was standing behind her, alive and speaking her name.
We Still Walk Toward Tombs
Holy Week comes, and we rehearse the story, but we rarely recognize ourselves in it. We rise “after the Sabbath” and head toward the places where we assume God still resides. We walk toward the church house on the corner, toward the Easter service, toward the familiar pew and the predictable ritual. We carry our own modern spices—not in jars, but in habits and expectations. We bring the tithe we have prepared, the song we know by heart, the hour we have set aside out of duty, the routine we repeat without reflection.
We come to anoint a memory rather than encounter a living Lord. We come expecting a service, not a resurrection. We come to honor what was, not to meet the One who is.
And unlike Mary, we do not even ask, “Where have You taken Him?” because we do not realize the tomb is empty. We do not realize He has moved. We do not realize He refuses to be confined to the places where we left Him.
Jesus Does Not Dwell in Dead Places
He is not waiting behind stained glass for us to visit Him once a week. He is not sitting on a stage waiting for the lights to come up. He is not hiding in the liturgy we recite without listening. He is not lingering in the rituals we perform without expectation.
Stephen declared that “The Most High does not dwell in temples made with hands.” (Acts 7:48), and Paul reminded the Corinthians that “You are the temple of God, and the Spirit of God dwells in you.” (1 Corinthians 3:16).
The empty tomb was the first sign. The torn veil was the second. The risen Christ was the third. God was finished with dead spaces, finished with sacred locations, finished with the idea that His presence could be visited rather than lived.
The Real Holy Week Question
This week is not an invitation to reenact the death of Jesus. It is an invitation to refuse the mistake of the women who came to honor a dead Christ when a living Christ was trying to meet them. It is an invitation to stop seeking Him in dead rituals, dead traditions, dead religion, dead expectations, dead systems, and dead buildings.
It is an invitation to seek Him where He actually is: in the heart that listens, in the home that welcomes Him, in the secret place where His voice is clear, in the surrendered life that follows Him, and in the quiet moments where His presence rests.
He is not in the tombs we keep revisiting. He is not in the rituals we keep repeating. He is not in the systems we keep propping up. He is risen, and He is raising us.
A Living Temple
“We keep bringing spices to an empty tomb, but the Risen One wants to anoint us to become His living temple.”
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