Mary Magdalene came before sunrise.
Not to witness a miracle—but to grieve, to honour, to hold on. She carried
spices, a symbol of what we all bring to our losses—our best efforts to tend to
what feels broken, to make peace with what we cannot change. But the world had
already shifted. The stone was gone. The tomb was open. Her careful plan to
manage sorrow no longer fit the moment she stepped into. At first, it felt like
another loss. Even in death, she could not hold Him.
Isn’t that often our story too? We
come prepared for disappointment, ready to live with absence, to protect
ourselves from pain. We carry rituals of love, of loyalty, of grief—not
realizing the tombs we expect to tend have already been opened by grace. Easter
meets us there. Not with explanations, but with a quiet invitation: Can you let
go of what you came expecting—to receive what you never imagined? Can you allow
love to show you that the stone has been moved, not just in history, but in
your own soul?
What strikes me profoundly is that, in that moment of astonishment, God did not choose the powerful or the learned, the men or the leaders of the Church, but chose Mary, the one who had known deep suffering and forgiveness, was the first to see and to proclaim: "He is risen." God’s choice of Mary reminds us that in our brokenness, we are not excluded from grace. In fact, it is through our vulnerability and openness to love that God’s glory shines the brightest
- Lilly Pushpam PBVM
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