Resurrection Sunday 2025

Alright, let’s pause for a moment and pin down exactly when this all happens by zeroing in on Matthew 28:1. The old King James puts it, “In the end of the Sabbath, at the dawning toward the first day of the week.” Feels a bit clunky, so here’s the skinny:

That odd little phrase “in the end of the Sabbath” in Greek (apsae Sabbaton) literally means “after the Sabbath”—and not just right after, but “long after the Sabbath” has wrapped up. Remember, the Sabbath ended at sundown on Saturday. So picture it: hours tick by—maybe ten hours or so—and we’re creeping toward dawn on what we’d call Sunday.

Then Matthew says it’s “at the dawning toward the first day of the week.” The Jews didn’t have names like “Sunday” or “Monday”; they counted days off the Sabbath: day one after the Sabbath, day two, and so on. So “dawning on day one after the Sabbath” is just another way of saying early Sunday morning.

That means it’s the third day Jesus has been in the tomb—part of Friday, all of Sabbath, and now the Sabbath’s over and we’re coming into Sunday sunrise. Mark puts it “very early on the first day of the week at the rising of the sun,” Luke says “at early dawn,” and John even notes it started while it was still dark. Bottom line: just as light starts to break, the stage is set for something huge—because Jesus had promised time and again He’d rise on the third day (Matthew 12:40; 16:21; 17:23; 20:19; 27:64; Mark 9:31; 10:34; Luke 9:22; 18:33; plus Luke 24:7, 21, 26). So this timing? It’s not random—it’s the precise fulfillment of His word.

But there’s more than just chronology. Think about it: that Sabbath was the peak of God’s rest from creation, and for centuries it was the holy day of pause. Yet this particular Sabbath wasn’t just the last in a series—it was the last Sabbath ever in the old covenant. Its end wasn’t only a calendar tick; it marked the close of the old covenant itself. And when dawn breaks on day one after the Sabbath, it’s not just the start of a new day—it’s the dawn of a new covenant, a fresh celebration. That’s why we gather on Sunday, not Saturday—because redemption’s rest outshines creation’s rest, and it begins at the start, not the finish.

With that time stamp locked in, we jump into the scene with the women at the tomb. Today we’re tuning into their feelings first—their sympathy. These women adored Jesus like nobody else could. They’d traveled with Him through Galilee, made sure He and the disciples had food, hospitality, even financial support. They stood at the cross, watched Him be buried (Matthew 27:56), and then sat opposite His tomb (verse 61). And here they are again on that Sunday morning, hearts full of loyalty, devotion, and genuine sympathy—because they still expect to see Him lying lifeless in a tomb, and instead they’re about to discover He’s alive.

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Alright, let’s set the scene by looking at verse 1: “Mary Magdalene and the other Mary came…” That “other Mary” is the mother of James and Joses—Mary, wife of Cleophas (or Alphaeus). Matthew just zeroes in on those two, but if you flip to Mark 16:1 you’ll see Salome (mother of James and John, wife of Zebedee) tagging along, too. Luke 24:10 even throws Joanna into the mix—she was married to Chuza, Herod’s steward. And John focuses on Mary Magdalene, but he uses “we,” so we know he’s talking about the whole crew. Compare all four accounts and you get the full squad of women.

Here’s the deal: this group slips out under cover of darkness and arrives at the tomb right around dawn. They weren’t there to witness any grand miracle—honestly, after all Jesus had said about rising again, their hearts couldn’t quite wrap around it. Nope, their mission was simple: sympathy and love. Verse 1 says they came “to see the grave,” not to see a living Savior.

Why see a grave? Mark 16 tells us that once the Sabbath ended at sundown, Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome bought sweet spices. At first light on day one they headed to anoint His body. You might wonder, “But hadn’t He already been anointed?” He had—Joseph of Arimathea, Nicodemus, and these very women poured on over 70 pounds of perfumed oils and wrapped Him in linens. Yet bodies left unpreserved begin to break down quickly. Jewish tradition held that by the fourth day the spirit had permanently departed because the corpse was too decayed to recognize. Remember when Lazarus’s sister said, “He’s been dead four days—nothing we do now will help”? These women knew that if they waited another day, it would be too late. So on day three, before decay set in, they made one last act of devotion—hoping to honor and preserve His body, if only for a few hours more.

This wasn’t faith in the resurrection; it was pure compassion. They loved Him, they missed Him, and they wanted to show it. Mark 16 even has them chatting on the way about how to roll away that massive stone—totally oblivious to Roman guards or the sealed tomb. They admitted, “That stone’s huge—we’ll need help!” Their hearts overflowed with sympathy, and their courage to show up boldly with spices and all spoke volumes about their devotion.

And props to these women—whatever their motive, at least they showed up when most of us might have hit the snooze button. But as they neared the entrance, everything shifted. Sympathy gave way to sheer terror—and that’s the next emotion I want us to explore.

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Verse 2 kicks off with “And behold,” basically a cosmic shout that says, “Pay attention—something huge just went down.” And sure enough, “there was a great earthquake.” Remember, this is quake #2 in three days—the first one ripped rocks apart when Jesus died (tombs opened, saints popped up alive). Now God’s doing it again in a very physical way.

If you’ve scanned the Bible, you know God often speaks through shaking ground: He thundered on Sinai (Exodus 19:18), surprised Elijah with an earthquake (1 Kings 19:11), and the prophets say the earth will tremble when He returns (Joel 2:10; see also Revelation 6, 8, 11). Even Jesus flagged coming world‑shaking in His Olivet Discourse (Matthew 24:7). Bottom line: when God moves, the planet quakes.

So these women are walking toward the tomb—still in pre‑dawn darkness—when BAM! The earth literally rumbles under their feet. The epicenter? Right at the tomb. They feel it, but they have no clue why.

Most folks assume, “Oh, that earthquake was Jesus rising.” Nope. Matthew tells us an angel dropped from heaven, slammed into the garden, and that impact sent shock waves through the soil. The Greek word seismos (think “seismograph”) is used because the landing was that powerful. The angel didn’t yank Jesus out—He opened the tomb so the ladies could see for themselves that Jesus was already gone.

Ever seen those cheesy paintings of an angel tugging the stone while Jesus tip‑toes out? Not how it happened. Jesus didn’t wait around for a roll‑back; He wasn’t powerless. His resurrection was invisible—no one saw Him pop up. Instead, they experienced the effects: an earthquake, the stone rolled away, an empty tomb, and linen cloths neatly lying where they’d been wrapped.

Think of it like this: the angel moved the stone not to free Jesus, but to invite us in to witness that He’d already broken free. Later, when Peter and John arrive, they find the linens intact and the napkin folded separately—no frantic unpacking or chaos—just a silent, spotless grave cloth left behind. Then the angel, like a heavenly usher, sits on the stone, saying, “Yep—He’s not here.”

Meanwhile, back in Jerusalem, the religious leaders are patting themselves on the back, sure they’ve nailed Jesus down for good—little do they know their schemes only amplify His victory.

Now, to fold in John’s angle: John 20:1–4 zooms in on Mary Magdalene. She’s part of the early‑morning crew (they all went in the dark), but when she steps in, all she notices is the stone is gone—no angel in sight to her. That’s enough to send her sprinting to Peter and “the other disciple” (probably John himself), breathlessly reporting, “They’ve taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we don’t know where they’ve put Him!” Peter and John dash off (John wins the sprint) to check it out.

By the time the other women stick around, Mary’s already on messenger duty, and they get the full angel‑encounter. So as Matthew has it, when our brave group arrives, some see an empty tomb, some see an angel, and later the guys see the linen wrappings, too. All of it pointing to one stunning truth: He’s not here—He’s risen.

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Verse 3 drops this bombshell: “His face shone like lightning.” Think of a sudden, blinding flash—pure Shekinah glory lighting up a human form, just like when Moses came down Sinai with his face radiating God’s presence (Exodus 34:29–35). That dazzling brightness isn’t just for show; it broadcasts the deity behind this messenger.

Then Matthew adds, “his clothes were white as snow.” Snow‑white robes scream purity, holiness, moral perfection. This isn’t some random guy in a trench coat or a sneaky demon in disguise—it’s God’s hand‑picked envoy, a created being carrying the stamp of the uncreated Creator.

Picture him perched on the rolled‑away stone: a living, glowing witness that Jesus isn’t in the tomb. That brilliant face and pristine garment combine to say, “Yep, this is God’s own witness—He’s alive!”

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Verse 4 drops a wild detail: “The guards trembled for fear of him.” Matthew even uses that same Greek word for “earthquake”—so it’s like these soldiers caught their own personal quake. First the ground shook; now they’re literally shaking in terror. And it gets more intense: they didn’t just tremble, they went out cold—as if fear itself knocked them into a coma. Imagine standing watch to keep things under control, then being completely floored by something you can’t even wrap your mind around.

What about the women? Yep, they were scared too, but here’s the beautiful contrast: the angel didn’t leave them in their fear. He ministered to them, offering comfort and direction—something the unconscious guards sorely needed but never got. The guards felt divine power and collapsed; the women felt divine care and stood firm.

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Verse 5 kicks off with, “And the angel answered and said…” —even though nobody asked anything. A clearer way to hear that is, “the angel explained and said,” because sometimes you need an explanation before you even think to ask. These women certainly did.

Picture it: Mary Magdalene has already dashed off to find Peter and John, and these remaining ladies are still quaking in their sandals. The angel spots them and basically says, “Hey, stop freaking out—seriously, calm down.” Why? Because the guards had every reason to be terrified when Jesus rose, but the ones who loved Him? No need for fear.

Then he hits them with the kindest line: “I know you’re looking for Jesus, the One they crucified.” Isn’t that sweet? He sees them, knows their hearts, and honors their devotion. They came expecting a dead body (with spices in hand), not a risen Savior. It’d be easy to scold them—“You of little faith!”—but instead God meets them in grace. Their faith might’ve wobbled, but their love was real, and He responds with kindness.

Then comes the big news in Greek: “He is not here—He has been raised.” That word “raised” is the aorist passive, pointing to a completed resurrection act. Scripture makes clear it was the Father’s power (Romans 6:4; Galatians 1:1; 1 Peter 1:3), the Son’s power (John 10:18), and the Spirit’s power (Romans 8:11)—the whole Trinity at work. The angel emphasizes, “He’s alive!”

And to top it off, he reminds them, “Just like He said He would.” Suddenly their memories flood back to everything Jesus promised about rising on the third day—and Luke 24:8 confirms, “They remembered His words.” Everything lines up exactly as He foretold.

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Verse 6 says, “Come, see the place where He lay.” Basically the angel’s inviting them in—“Go on, look for yourself.” Luke 24:3–4 tells us they did exactly that: they stepped inside the tomb, and surprise—the angel shows up again right there. You might wonder, “Why repeat the same thing twice?” Well, when someone tells you Jesus is gone from the grave, you need a double dose. So Mark 16:5–6 records that same line inside the tomb: “Don’t be alarmed… He’s not here, He’s risen.”

Then Luke 24:4 adds a cool detail: the first angel’s tag team partner appears—one angel at the head, one at the feet of where Jesus had been laid. That setup totally mirrors the Mercy Seat on the Ark of the Covenant, with cherubim flanking the atonement cover. Here you’ve got Jesus in the middle and heavenly attendants on both sides—our ultimate Mercy Seat, where He satisfies sin for the whole world.

John 20:12 picks up on those two angels, too. And Luke 24:5–7 shows that, together, these angels deliver the message a third time:

“Why do you look for the living among the dead? He’s not here—He’s been raised! Remember how He told you in Galilee that the Son of Man must be handed over to sinful men, be crucified, and rise on the third day?”

That triple reminder finally clicks—Luke says, “Then they remembered His words.” Three shocks, three confirmations, and suddenly everything falls into place: Jesus isn’t in the tomb—He’s alive, just as He promised.

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Verse 7 wraps it up with a punchy command: “And go quickly.” No dawdling at the tomb—fascination has to turn into proclamation. The angel’s basically saying, “Don’t just stand here gawking; sprint off and tell the disciples, ‘He’s alive!’”

I’ve got to admit, I’d be tempted to tease the disciples a little—“Can you believe you missed this? Enjoy a week of wondering what happened!”—but that’s not God’s style. Despite their flip‑flops, despite Peter’s denials and everyone else scattering, Jesus wants them to know right away: “I don’t want you to have one second of grief—go and celebrate!” That’s pure grace right there.

You’ve probably read tons of theories about why women got the VIP first‑look at the angel and the risen Lord—“God picks the weak to shame the strong,” or “They’d served faithfully, so they got the reward,” or “Death entered through a woman, so life does too,” plus poetic ideas like “deepest sorrow deserves greatest joy” or “supreme love earns supreme privilege.” All cute, but honestly? They saw it first simply because they were there. If you’re not at the scene, you miss out. No need for fancy symbolism—just the simple truth: their devotion brought them to the tomb, and devotion let them witness the miracle.

There’s a real lesson here for us: stay close to Jesus and you’ll catch what He’s doing. I’d much rather be in the front row of God’s work than hear about it secondhand, wouldn’t you? Hats off to the folks who show up—whether it’s gathering for worship, digging into the Word, praying on their knees, or stepping out in ministry—they’re the ones who feel the power shift. If you lack perfect faith, let your loyalty and love carry you in. God honors that and turns your weakness into strength.

The angel had more to say, but we’ll dive into that next week—there’s too much good stuff to squeeze into one morning. Let’s pray.