But on the first day of the week, at early dawn, they went to the tomb, taking the spices they had prepared. Luke 24:1
Women on the way with spices, angels on the way with news. They meet at an empty tomb. Both are 
amazed, for different reasons.
The angels: they’ve longed to look into these things,* and now they’ve seen them. The plan has unfolded, from the old Adam’s first appearance on earth to the new Adam’s last, with a wooden cross piercing the center. Now they understand, and it seems to perfect to them, so reasonable and right and symmetrical and beautiful they don’t get why anyone can’t see it. Even the humans who are facedown on the ground before them. These heavenly beings have taken the form of men, but their presence is so thundering-bright the humans can do nothing else but react as though they were gods. Even Caesar, if angels had been sent to him, would have done the same. They’re not human, these beings, but do you sense a human-like impatience about them?
Why do you seek the living among the dead?
The women: up with the dawn, busy about the house, on the road as soon as it was lawful to travel. It’s a man’s world, but women rule the gateways: always the officiates at birth and death. They are here for the last office. On Friday they screamed, all Sabbath they wept, now they are empty as though scrubbed with sand and set out in the sun to dry, their one concern being to persuade the guards to let someone roll the stone away so they can get to the body and properly prepare it for its final rest.
As it turns out, the guards are nowhere to be seen and the stone has already been rolled away. We can totally understand their shock, even if the angels don’t.
Why do you seek the living among the dead?
The “men” are too bright to look at; with faces to the ground the women hear: Don’t you remember what he told you?
Do we remember?
We are told lots of things, every day. Every day, we hear from people who can’t help telling us their version of the story: why we’re here, what we are, what it all means. Day by day we hear. In church it’s one thing, in school it’s another—in the office, at home, in the news, at the movies, at the airport, in the hospital, at the cemetery, back in church—so many things. We hear constantly, but rarely listen. We see, but rarely look.
Why seek the living among dead kingdoms, stone idols, iron gardens, petrified religions? The old stories end here, and new stories aren’t really new—why do we keep peering into tombs? Why don’t we just remember what he told us?
Trembling, in great excitement, the women hurry back to the disciples—the remaining eleven—who haven’t begun to drift apart yet, even though they have no reason to stay together. The news spills out on eager voices: Mary and Mary and Joanna and Salome all trying to speak at once so it comes out in pieces, back end first. Two men—Angels! The guards—gone! Rolled away– the stone! Empty–the tomb! And they said—and they told us—and don’t you remember what he said?
It’s true! All true!
Hysterical talk, they think. Excitable women.
Even given a dismissive attitude toward females, you’d think these men’s memories would be stirred a little. But there’s a wind blowing—feel it? Mere men never know where it comes from or where it goes** and the Spirit is waiting in the wings (so to speak) to make His appearance. The impetuous Peter is curious enough to run to the garden where he finds the grave just as the women described it. Curious! But he still doesn’t know what to make of it.
Do we?
*I Peter 1:12
**John 3:8
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For the original post in this series, go here.
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