The right place to begin again

Luke 24:1-12

1 On the first day of the week, very early in the morning, the women took the spices they had prepared and went to the tomb. 2 They found the stone rolled away from the tomb, 3 but when they entered, they did not find the body of the Lord Jesus. 4 While they were wondering about this, suddenly two men in clothes that gleamed like lightning stood beside them. 5 In their fright the women bowed down with their faces to the ground, but the men said to them, “Why do you look for the living among the dead? 6 He is not here; he has risen! Remember how he told you, while he was still with you in Galilee: 7 ‘The Son of Man must be delivered over to the hands of sinners, be crucified and on the third day be raised again.’ ” 8 Then they remembered his words. 9 When they came back from the tomb, they told all these things to the Eleven and to all the others. 10 It was Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James, and the others with them who told this to the apostles. 11 But they did not believe the women, because their words seemed to them like nonsense. 12 Peter, however, got up and ran to the tomb. Bending over, he saw the strips of linen lying by themselves, and he went away, wondering to himself what had happened.

​Have you ever arrived somewhere and paused, asking quietly in your heart, “Am I in the right place?” There’s a subtle ache in that question. It’s the voice of disorientation, of not recognizing your surroundings, of fearing you’ve gone too far, or not far enough.

I remember one night in Tegucigalpa, Honduras, after a beautiful small group meeting. My family and I were driving home, following an address that I trusted. But as we turned street after street, the light dimmed, the roads narrowed, and the surroundings grew unsettling. The city, once familiar, became strange. We entered a neighborhood where metal shutters covered windows, graffiti marked the walls, and shadows lingered too long at the corners. I knew: this wasn’t the right place. I felt a quiet panic rise as my children sat quietly in the back seat. I whispered a prayer, “Lord, help us find the way.” And just like that, a familiar street emerged like a lighthouse in fog. One turn, then another, and we were safe again. What seemed like a detour had become a moment of clarity. The fear didn't disappear immediately, but I knew we’d been held.

In Scripture, we find another moment like this, when a group of women approaches a place they think they know: the tomb of Jesus. In Luke 23:50–56, Jesus had died, His body laid in haste in a borrowed tomb as the Sabbath drew near. The women return early Sunday morning, carrying spices, ready to complete the ritual of grief. They come to honor death, not expecting life.  But something is wrong, or so it seems.

The stone, heavy and final, has been rolled away. The grave clothes lie folded and empty. The body is gone. In confusion, their first thought is not resurrection, but robbery. They ask, not in faith but in dismay, “Where is He?” And perhaps, “Are we in the right place?”

Isn’t that our question, too, when life unfolds in unexpected ways? When the job is lost. When the test result says "positive." When the silence after our prayers grows longer. When the dreams we nurtured so carefully unravel in the quiet. We wonder, “This must be the wrong place.”  But the story of Easter says otherwise. The empty tomb is the right place, precisely because it holds no body. The messengers declare what Jesus had already said: “He is not here; He has risen.”

This isn’t the wrong place. This is the place where hope breaks through stone. This is the space where silence becomes proclamation. This is the doorway to everything being made new. The resurrection reminds us that:

• Sorrow does not have the final word.
• Death has been undone.
• God writes resurrection into places we believed were abandoned.

And here is where it becomes deeply personal. Like the women at the tomb, we come carrying burdens and expectations. We come assuming what we will find. But God often meets us where we least expect Him, in what looks like a dead end. And that place becomes holy.

Maybe the question isn’t “Am I in the right place?” But rather, “What might God be doing here?” Maybe this place of uncertainty is where grace will find you again. Maybe the loss is where you will hear a new calling. Maybe the grave clothes on the floor are not signs of despair but proof that Jesus walks free, and calls you to follow.

So today, come to the tomb not just to mourn, but to wake up. To see again. To believe that what looked like the end is only the beginning.

As a sign of that, take a cloth, like those left behind in the tomb. Let it remind you that Christ’s body is no longer there, because He walks with you now. Wave it not in grief, but in resurrection joy.