Chapter 16: The Two on the Road to Emmaus

Chapter 17: Thomas, The Twin

Conclusion

Chapter 16: The Two on the Road to Emmaus

Hearts Burning as a Stranger Opened the Scriptures

1. Opening Story: The Walk You Take When Your Hope Has Died

There are walks you take to clear your head. You loop the neighborhood while listening to a podcast or wander the aisles of a store just to reset. And then there are walks you take because your world just ended and you don’t know what else to do. The walk after the funeral. The walk after the job loss. The walk after the relationship shatters. On those walks, you talk it out with whoever is beside you—replaying details, asking what you missed, trying to make sense of something that feels senseless.

That’s the kind of walk happening on the road to Emmaus. Two disciples are going home with their hopes dragging behind them. They had believed Jesus was the One. They had watched Him die. Now there are strange reports of an empty tomb and angelic messages—news that sounds too wild to trust when your heart is still in pieces. So, they walk. They talk. They grieve. They try to stitch together a story that no longer seems to hold.

In the middle of that sorrowful conversation, a Stranger slips in beside them. He matches their pace. He asks what they’re talking about. He lets them tell their version of events—every “we hoped” and “we don’t understand”—before He offers His own. Then, without yet revealing who He is, He begins to open the Scriptures, tracing a line through Moses and the prophets and showing how suffering and glory were always woven together in God’s plan.

They still don’t recognize Him until later, at a table in a simple home, when He takes bread, blesses it, breaks it, and gives it to them. In that familiar motion, their eyes are opened. By the end of the story, these two hidden heroes have done something every disciple must learn: they let Jesus rewrite their story before they recognize His face.

2. Scripture Window: “We Hoped…”

“Behold, two of them were going that very day
to a village named Emmaus,
which was sixty stadia from Jerusalem.
They talked with each other about all of these things which had happened.

While they talked and questioned together,
Jesus himself came near,
and went with them.
But their eyes were kept from recognizing him.

He said to them, ‘What are you talking about as you walk, and are sad?’

One of them, named Cleopas, answered him,
‘Are you the only stranger in Jerusalem
who doesn’t know the things which have happened there in these days?’

He said to them, ‘What things?’

They said to him, ‘The things concerning Jesus, the Nazarene,
who was a prophet mighty in deed and word before God and all the people;
and how the chief priests and our rulers delivered him up
to be condemned to death, and crucified him.

But we hoped that it was he who would redeem Israel…’”
(Luke 24:13–21 WEB, portions)

Later:

“Beginning from Moses and from all the prophets,
he explained to them in all the Scriptures
the things concerning himself.”
(Luke 24:27)

“They said to one another,
‘Weren’t our hearts burning within us,
while he spoke to us along the way,
and while he opened the Scriptures to us?’”
(Luke 24:32)

3. The Scene: Leaving Jerusalem with Heavy Hearts

It is still the day of resurrection.

• The women have found the empty tomb.

• Angels have spoken.

• Peter has run to the tomb and seen the linen cloths.

There are whispers everywhere, but no settled understanding.

Two disciples—one named Cleopas, the other unnamed—decide to leave Jerusalem.

Emmaus is about seven miles away.

As they walk: “They talked with each other about all of these things which had happened.”

The Greek suggests:

• They’re discussing

• Debating

• Turning things over and over

like people trying to untangle a knot.

They are not enemies of Jesus.
They are disciples who are devastated.

• We followed Him.

• We watched Him die.

• We heard strange reports this morning.

• We don’t know what to believe.

Into this swirl of confusion and sorrow, Jesus Himself walks.

4. The Hidden Heroes’ Moment: Honest Sadness and a Long Bible Study

Luke tells us:

“Jesus himself came near, and went with them. But their eyes were kept from recognizing him.”

This is mysterious.

• God does not let them see who He is—yet.

• Jesus wants to do something in their understanding
  before He reveals Himself to their eyes.

He asks the most disarming question: “What are you talking about as you walk, and are sad?”

They stop—literally stand still—“looking sad.”

Cleopas answers with a mix of sarcasm and pain:

“Are you the only stranger in Jerusalem who doesn’t know the things…?”

Irony: He is, in fact, the One Person who understands exactly what has happened.

But He lets them explain.

He asks: “What things?”

He invites them to tell the story in their own words.

They do:

• “Jesus… a prophet mighty in deed and word…”

• “Our chief priests and rulers handed Him over and crucified Him…”

• “We hoped He was the One to redeem Israel…”

• “It’s been three days…”

• “Some women amazed us with talk of a vision of angels…”

• “Some of us went to the tomb and found it empty, but Him they did not see…”

Their summary is honest and incomplete.

They have the facts: cross, tomb, reports, confusion.

But, they lack the interpretation.

Jesus responds in a way that sounds sharp to modern ears:

“Foolish men, and slow of heart to believe in all that the prophets have spoken!

Didn’t the Christ have to suffer these things and to enter into his glory?” (v.25–26)

He is not belittling their sorrow.
He is naming their blind spot: They have believed parts of Scripture (the glory part), but been slow to believe the suffering part.

Then He does something extraordinary:

“Beginning from Moses and from all the prophets, he explained to them in all the Scriptures the things concerning himself.”

A Bible study on the road.

He walks through:

• The Law,

• The Prophets,

• (likely the Psalms and writings as well),

showing how:

• The Messiah must suffer and enter glory,

• The whole story has been pointing to Him all along,

• The cross is not the failure of the plan, but the fulfillment of it.

Their hearts respond before their eyes do:

“Weren’t our hearts burning within us, while he spoke to us along the way, and while he opened the Scriptures to us?”

Something is happening inside:

• Grief is still present,

• But hope is being rekindled,

• The story is being rebuilt around a suffering and glorious Messiah.

They still don’t know it’s Jesus.
But they know this Stranger is reintroducing them to a God-saturated Bible.

5. Recognition at the Table: From Burning Hearts to Open Eyes

As they reach the village:

“He acted like he would go further.”

This is so like Jesus:

• He does not force Himself.

• He creates space for invitation.

They urge Him strongly: “Stay with us, for it is almost evening, and the day is almost over.” (v.29)

He accepts.

Inside the house, at the table:

“He took the bread and blessed it. Breaking it, he gave it to them.

Their eyes were opened, and they recognized him, and he vanished out of their sight.” (v.30–31)

Notice the verbs:

• Took,

• Blessed,

• Broke,

• Gave.

They have seen these hands do this before:

• Feeding the crowds,

• At the Last Supper (if they were there or had heard the story).

In that simple act of shared bread, their eyes and their memories line up.

It’s Him.

The One who has just reinterpreted the Scriptures now re-enacts the meal.

And as soon as they recognize Him, He disappears.

Why?

Because the point is:

• Not to anchor their faith in His continuous physical presence,

• But to anchor them in:

  • The Word He has opened to them,

  • The meal that will remind them of Him,

  • The mission He is about to send them on.

They say to each other: “Weren’t our hearts burning… while he opened the Scriptures to us?”

Then, tiredness forgotten, they do something crazy.

6. Turning Back: From Disappointment to Testimony

It is evening.
The seven-mile journey has taken time.
But they cannot stay in Emmaus.

“They rose up that very hour, returned to Jerusalem, and found the eleven gathered together, and those who were with them, saying, ‘The Lord is risen indeed, and has appeared to Simon!’

They related the things that happened along the way, and how he was recognized by them in the breaking of the bread.” (v.33–35)

The road that had been a road of escape now becomes a road of return.

They had been walking away from:

• Jerusalem,

• The community of disciples,

• The place of disappointment.

Now they hurry back to:

• Share their story,

• Confirm what others are hearing,

• Become part of the early chorus:

“The Lord is risen indeed.”

They are no longer:

• Confused spectators,

• Sorrowful ex-disciples.

They are:

• Interpreters of Scripture,

• Witnesses of Jesus,

• Participants in the new resurrection community.

7. Theology on the Road: How Jesus Meets Disappointed Disciples

This story has become a classic picture of Christian discipleship:

• Walking with Jesus,

• Hearing the Word opened,

• Recognizing Him in bread,

• Returning to community in mission.

But it is especially rich for those who feel let down by God.

a. Jesus Comes Near to People Walking the Wrong Way

These two are walking away from the place where the action is.

They are not headed toward the empty tomb, but away from it.

Jesus:

• Seeks them out,

• Walks their pace,

• Enters their conversation.

He does not wait for them to “come back.”
He meets them in their leaving.

If you’ve ever drifted away—physically or emotionally—this is good news: The risen Jesus is very capable of joining you on roads you thought you were walking alone.

b. He Lets Us Tell Our Version Before He Tells Us His

Jesus, who knows everything,
asks:

• “What are you talking about?”

• “What things?”

He gives them space to:

• Vent,

• Interpret,

• Express disappointment:

“We hoped that it was he…”

They are basically saying:

“We believed in Him, and it didn’t work out the way we thought.”

Jesus does not immediately say, “Wrong!”

He lets their story spill out, then folds it into a larger Story.

That is His way with us as well:

• He invites our version,

• Then reshapes it with His.

c. The Cross Wasn’t a Detour—It Was the Plan

His key question:

“Didn’t the Christ have to suffer these things and enter into his glory?”

For them, suffering was failure.
For Him, suffering was a path.

They had:

• A Messiah script without a cross,

• A redemption story without suffering.

We often do too:

• Following Jesus should mean victory, not loss.

• Calling should mean fruit, not frustration.

Jesus insists:

No cross, no real glory.

He doesn’t just tell them; He shows them from all the Scriptures.

Christian hope is not:

• “God will keep bad things from happening,” but

• “God has woven suffering and glory together in the pattern of His Son.”

d. The Word and the Table Go Together

On the road:

• He opens the Scriptures. At the table:

• He breaks the bread.

They recognize Him in both:

• Their hearts burn with the Word.

• Their eyes open at the meal.

Healthy discipleship usually holds:

• Bible and table,

• Teaching and sacrament,

• Explanation and experience.

The two on the road get a preview of the rhythm the church will live by for centuries.

8. What the Two on the Road Teach Us

These two hidden heroes give courage to weary disciples.

a. Be Honest About Your “We Hoped…”

Their core confession is:

“We hoped that it was he who would redeem Israel.”

Underneath that:

• We hoped He’d fix everything now.

• We hoped our understanding of God’s plan was right.

• We hoped we wouldn’t have to watch Him die.

You have your own “we hoped” sentences:

• “We hoped the marriage would recover.”

• “We hoped the treatment would work.”

• “We hoped the church wouldn’t split.”

• “We hoped our child would come back.”

Naming those hopes in Jesus’ presence is part of the healing.

He does not heal what we hide.

b. Expect Jesus to Challenge and Comfort You with Scripture

Jesus doesn’t just hug them. He teaches them.

He takes their beloved Scriptures and turns them like a gem in the light until they see Christ at the center.

We sometimes want:

• Comfort without correction,

• Encouragement without challenge.

But on the road to Emmaus, comfort and correction are inseparable: “You’re slow to believe, but let Me show you why you still can believe.”

Let your heart burn again under a Christ-centered reading of Scripture.

c. Hospitality Can Turn a Stranger into a Revelation

Jesus “acts as if” He will go further. They urge Him strongly:

“Stay with us…”

If they had let Him walk on, they would have missed the breaking of bread.

Their simple act of hospitality—inviting a stranger to stay the night—becomes the doorway to revelation.

Welcoming others to your table, especially in your sadness, can become a place where Jesus makes Himself known.

d. When Your Heart Burns, Don’t Ignore It

After Jesus vanishes, they say: “Weren’t our hearts burning within us…”

They realize: Long before their eyes saw Him, their hearts were responding.

We often experience something similar:

• A sermon,

• A conversation,

• A Scripture reading

stirs something deep:

• Conviction,

• Hope,

• Clarity.

Pay attention to that inner burning.
It may be the risen Christ walking with you, opening the Word.

e. When Jesus Rewrites Your Story, Go Back to Community

They could have stayed in Emmaus with their private encounter.

Instead, they:

• Get up,

• Go back,

• Find the others,

• Tell their story.

Isolated revelation is vulnerable.
Shared testimony strengthens everyone.

If Jesus has met you on your road, someone in “Jerusalem” needs to hear.

9. Bringing It Home: Your Emmaus Road

This Emmaus story has become a classic picture of Christian discipleship—walking with Jesus, hearing the Word opened, recognizing Him in the breaking of bread, and returning to community with a story to tell. But it is especially precious for anyone who has ever felt let down by God. It begins not with strong faith and clear vision, but with disappointment, confusion, and the quiet decision to walk away from the place of pain.

You may know what it’s like to be on your own Emmaus road. Maybe you haven’t left the faith, but you’ve stepped back in your heart. You still talk about Jesus, but mostly in the past tense. You’re walking away from the place where everything hurt too much—away from church, away from ministry, away from a calling that didn’t turn out the way you expected. The good news of this story is that the risen Jesus is very capable of joining you on roads you thought you were walking alone. He seeks you out, matches your pace, and enters your conversation instead of waiting for you to “come back” first.

Notice how He works with these two. He doesn’t shut them down when they say, “We hoped that it was he who would redeem Israel.” He lets their disappointment spill out. He listens to their version before He tells His. That is still His way with us. He invites your “we hoped…” sentences—the ones you’re almost afraid to say out loud: “We hoped the diagnosis would be different… We hoped the marriage would heal… We hoped this ministry would bear more fruit…” Then, gently but firmly, He folds your smaller story into the larger one He has been writing all along.

Jesus also refuses to separate comfort from correction. He names their slowness to believe, but He doesn’t leave them in shame. He opens the Scriptures and shows them that the cross was not a detour from God’s plan but its very center—that in God’s pattern, suffering and glory are woven together in the life of His Son. Christian hope is not “God will keep bad things from happening,” but “God has bound Himself to us so deeply in Christ that even suffering becomes part of the path to real glory.”

Along the way, He uses very ordinary means: the Word and the table. Their hearts burn as He explains the Scriptures; their eyes are opened as He breaks the bread. Your own “burning heart” moments—those times when Scripture suddenly comes alive, when a sermon or a conversation makes something inside you awaken—may be the first sign that your eyes are about to open to Jesus in a new way. Don’t ignore that. Ask, “Lord, what are You showing me about Yourself right now?”

And don’t miss the small act that opens the door to revelation: “Stay with us.” If they had let Him walk on, they would have missed the moment when He made Himself known in the breaking of bread. Sometimes welcoming a “stranger” into your confusion—a friend, a mentor, a spiritual director, a small group—becomes the place where Jesus speaks and is recognized in ways you could not manage alone.

Finally, notice where the story ends. The same road that had been a path of escape becomes a path of return. Tired as they are, they get up that very hour and hurry back to Jerusalem, back to the community of disciples, back to the place of disappointment that has now become the place of resurrection. It may be that part of your own Emmaus healing will involve turning back—returning to worship, reconnecting with other believers, sharing how Jesus has met you on your road. Your Emmaus story, told honestly, may be exactly what strengthens someone else’s fragile faith.

10. Questions for Reflection and Conversation

• Read Luke 24:13–35 slowly. Which part grips you most: the sad walk, the long Bible study, the breaking of bread, or the hurried return? Why?

• What is one “we hoped…” sentence you need to bring honestly before Jesus today?

• When has your heart “burned within you” as Scripture was explained or read? What was happening around that time?

• Are you walking toward Emmaus (away from pain) or back toward Jerusalem (toward community and mission) in this season? What might a small step in the right direction look like?

• Who in your life might be on their own Emmaus road right now? How could you walk beside them and give Jesus space to join the conversation?

11. Closing Prayer

Jesus,

You joined two disappointed disciples on a road going the wrong way.

Thank You for walking at their pace, listening to their shattered hopes, and then opening the Scriptures until their hearts burned again.

Join me on my own Emmaus roads. Listen to my “we hoped…” and then rewrite my story with Your cross and resurrection at the center.

Open the Scriptures to me so that my heart burns with living truth.
Break bread with me in the ordinary moments of my life until I recognize Your presence.

And when my eyes are opened, send me back to others with a simple, honest message:
“The Lord is risen indeed. He has walked with me. He has opened my eyes.”

– Amen

Part IV – Hidden Heroes of the Empty Tomb

Chapter 17: Thomas the Twin

Honest Doubt, Wounded Hands, and “My Lord and My God”

1. Opening Story: When You’re the One Who Missed It

There’s a particular kind of ache that comes from being the one who wasn’t there. You’re the family member who didn’t make it to the hospital in time for the last goodbye. The friend who couldn’t get off work for the big reunion. The person who missed the night the miracle happened. Everyone else talks in excited, overlapping sentences: “You should’ve seen it!” “I can’t even describe it!” “It was unbelievable!” And you smile and nod, trying to be glad for them, while something inside you quietly whispers, Why did I have to miss it?

You may genuinely love the people telling the story. You may trust that something beautiful really did happen. But there’s still a gap between their experience and yours. You weren’t there. You didn’t see it. You can’t feel what they feel just by borrowing their memories. Deep down you might think, That’s great for you. But I didn’t see it.

That’s Thomas on the first Easter. Ten of his fellow disciples have seen the risen Jesus. They are buzzing with joy behind locked doors, voices full of wonder: “We have seen the Lord!” Thomas wasn’t in the room. He comes back into a celebration he can’t honestly join. He hears their testimony. He can see the joy in their faces. But he can’t bring himself to say, “I believe,” just because they do.

So he says the sentence that will follow him through church history: “Unless I see… I will not believe.” We’ve labeled him “Doubting Thomas,” as if doubt were the only thing that defined him. But if we look more closely, we might call him something else: Honest Thomas. Brave Thomas. A hidden hero for everyone who feels torn between what they long to believe and what they just can’t yet say out loud.

2. Scripture Window: “Unless I See…”

“But Thomas, one of the twelve, called Didymus,
wasn’t with them when Jesus came.
The other disciples therefore said to him,
‘We have seen the Lord!’

But he said to them,
‘Unless I see in his hands the print of the nails,
and put my hand into his side,
I will not believe.’

After eight days again his disciples were inside, and Thomas was with them.
Jesus came, the doors being locked, and stood in the middle, and said,
‘Peace be to you.’

Then he said to Thomas,
‘Reach here your finger, and see my hands.
Reach here your hand, and put it into my side.
Don’t be unbelieving, but believing.’

Thomas answered him,
‘My Lord and my God!’

Jesus said to him,
‘Because you have seen me, you have believed.
Blessed are those who have not seen, and have believed.’”
(John 20:24–29 WEB)

Thomas appears a few other times in John’s Gospel:

• When Jesus decides to go to Bethany near Jerusalem, Thomas says,

“Let’s go also, that we may die with him.” (John 11:16)

• In the upper room, when Jesus speaks of going to prepare a place, Thomas says,

“Lord, we don’t know where you are going. How can we know the way?” (John 14:5)

He is not a perpetual skeptic.
He is a blunt, loyal, courageous disciple
who struggles to accept second-hand resurrection reports.

3. The Scene: A Missing Disciple, a Locked Room, and a Second Chance

On the evening of the first Easter:

• The disciples are behind locked doors for fear of the Jews.

• Jesus appears, says, “Peace be to you,” and shows them His hands and side.

• He breathes on them and says, “Receive the Holy Spirit.”

Thomas is not there.

We are not told where he was.

• Hiding somewhere else?

• Out buying food?

• Sitting alone in his grief?

We only know this: He misses the first encounter.

When he returns, the room is buzzing:

“We have seen the Lord!”

They are not vague.

• They have seen His wounds.

• They have heard His voice.

• They are changed.

Thomas listens.

Maybe he wants desperately to believe.
Maybe he feels something like anger rising:
Why would He show up when I was gone?

Instead of nodding politely,
he spills his condition:

“Unless I see…
unless I put my hand…
I will not believe.”

It is raw.
It is specific.
It is a line in the sand.

We might wish he had phrased it more humbly: “I’m struggling. Please pray for me.”

But many of us have thought some version of: “If God wants me, He’ll have to make it obvious.”

The stunning thing is: Jesus does not write him off for saying it.

He just takes His time.

4. The Hidden Hero’s Moment: Wounds, Invitation, and a Confession

John tells us:

“After eight days again his disciples were inside, and Thomas was with them.”

Eight days.

• Eight days of being the odd one out in a roomful of believers.

• Eight days of hearing “He’s alive!” while something inside you still says, “But…”

• Eight days of tension between loyalty and doubt.

Thomas does not leave the community.

That in itself is a quiet heroism.

He doesn’t say:

“Well, if I can’t believe like you, I don’t belong here.”

He stays.

He brings his unbelief to church.

This time, when Jesus comes, Thomas is there.

The doors are still locked.
Fear is still in the air.

Jesus appears again with the same greeting:

“Peace be to you.”

Then—without anyone prompting Him—
He turns straight to Thomas.

“Reach here your finger, and see my hands.
Reach here your hand, and put it into my side.
Don’t be unbelieving, but believing.”

Notice:

• Jesus repeats Thomas’s own conditions back to him.

  • Thomas wanted to see and touch the wounds.

  • Jesus invites him to do exactly that.

• Jesus is not offended by Thomas’s need for concrete contact.

  • He meets him where he is,
    but doesn’t plan to leave him there.

John does not say whether Thomas actually touches.

We are left only with his response: “My Lord and my God!”

This is the highest confession of Jesus’ identity
any disciple has made in the Gospels.

• “My Lord” – personal allegiance.

• “My God” – divine recognition.

The doubter becomes the clearest worshiper.

Jesus receives this confession
and then speaks a blessing that reaches all the way to us:

“Because you have seen me, you have believed.
Blessed are those who have not seen, and have believed.”

He is not scolding Thomas
as much as He is extending the story:

• Thomas represents faith with sight.

• The rest of us are invited into faith without sight—
  faith just as real, and specially blessed.

5. Theology in the Upper Room: Doubt, Wounds, and Blessed Believers

This short exchange carries deep meaning.

a. Doubt Inside the Room, Not Outside the Faith

Thomas’s doubt is not the doubt of someone who has walked away from Jesus.

It is the doubt of someone who:

• Once said, “Let’s go die with Him.”

• Once asked, “How can we know the way?”

• Is still showing up, even in confusion.

The Bible makes room for:

• Honest struggle inside the community,

• Questions voiced inside the circle of disciples.

Faith is not:

• Never having doubts,

• But bringing your doubts
  to the place where Jesus tends to show up.

b. The Risen Jesus Keeps His Wounds

Thomas wants to see nail marks and spear scars.

We might expect Jesus’ resurrection body to be flawless—like a divine “reset.”

Instead, He keeps His wounds.

The marks of human cruelty become the credentials of divine love.

He doesn’t hide them.
He shows them.

He invites Thomas to touch them.

This means:

• Jesus is not ashamed of what He suffered for us.

• Our wounds, united with His,
  may become places of meeting, not disqualification.

The very things that made Thomas say,

“I can’t believe unless I touch those…”
become the things that lead him to say,
“My Lord and my God.”

c. Jesus Knows Our Conditions Before We Say Them Again

When Jesus repeats Thomas’s exact words,
it shows:

• He heard Thomas
  even though He wasn’t physically in the room when Thomas said them.

• He takes our specific objections seriously.

You may have your own versions:

• “Unless I see You answer this prayer…”

• “Unless You meet me in my depression…”

• “Unless You show up in this mess…”

Jesus is not obligated to meet every condition we set, but He is intimately aware of them.

Sometimes He graciously meets us more literally than we deserve.

Sometimes He reshapes our conditions into deeper trust.

d. A Blessing Reaching Forward in Time

“Blessed are those who have not seen, and have believed.”

This is Jesus’ gentle look over Thomas’s shoulder toward the billions who will follow:

• People who will never touch His hands,

• Never place a hand in His side,

• Never stand in a locked room and watch Him appear.

He names us:

• Not second-class,

• Not “less blessed” because we didn’t get a visual,

but specially blessed.

Faith on the far side of the empty tomb,
built on the apostolic witness and the Spirit’s work,
is honored by Jesus Himself.

6. What Thomas Teaches Us

Thomas is a gift to every honest struggler.

a. You Can Be Courageous and Still Have Doubts

Earlier, in John 11, when Jesus decides to go to Judea—a place of real danger—Thomas says:

“Let’s go also, that we may die with him.”

That’s not the voice of a coward.
That’s fierce loyalty.

Doubt is not the opposite of courage.
You can be brave and still unsure.
You can be devoted and still confused.

Thomas shows us:

Questioning does not cancel love.

b. Stay in the Room with People Who Believe

Thomas could have left.

He didn’t.

For eight long days, he stays:

• With people whose experience outpaces his,

• In a space where their joy highlights his tension.

That’s hard.

It might have felt:

• Irritating…

• Embarrassing…

• Lonely…

But he stays.

And because he stays, he is there when Jesus comes again.

If you are in a season where:

• Everyone else seems to “have it,”

• You feel like the only one who doesn’t,

• You’re tempted to withdraw,

Thomas whispers:

“Stay in the room.
Bring your unbelief to the place of belief.
Jesus knows how to find you there.”

c. Speak Honestly, Then Be Ready to Be Surprised

Thomas doesn’t fake it.

He doesn’t say, “Sure, sure, I believe,” just to fit in.

He risks:

• Saying out loud what others might only think,

• Being known as “the one who doesn’t believe…yet.”

Honest doubt can be the doorway to deeper faith.

The same lips that say,

“Unless I see…” may one day say, “My Lord and my God.”

d. Look for Jesus in the Wounds—His and Yours

Thomas doesn’t ask to see Jesus’ face.
He asks to see His wounds.

Our instinct is often to avoid:

• Our pain,

• Our scars,

• Our tender places.

Yet, again and again, people meet Jesus most powerfully:

• In grief,

• In recovery,

• In trauma that He slowly heals.

The risen Christ does not float above suffering.
He meets us in it.

You may not get to touch His physical hands, but you can encounter His wounded love touching your wounds.

5. Move from “Prove It” to “You Are…”

Jesus doesn’t tell Thomas:

“Stay here, keep testing Me forever.”

He says:

“Don’t be unbelieving, but believing.”

When Thomas receives what he needs, he doesn’t stay stuck in conditions.
He moves into worship:

“My Lord and my God.”

There is a time to say, “Unless…” But faith matures when we start saying:

“You are… and You are mine.”

7. Bringing It Home: For Everyone Who Isn’t Quite There Yet

Where does Thomas’s story brush up against your own? You may be in an “unless I see” season yourself. You want to believe, but you feel like you need more than other people seem to need. You watch others worship freely, speak confidently, sing with tears in their eyes—and inside, your heart feels stiff or numb. You’re not trying to be difficult. You just know that repeating other people’s certainty won’t make it real for you.

Thomas’s story is good news for that honest place. It tells you that Jesus is not allergic to your conditions. He doesn’t roll His eyes at your “unless…” statements or banish you from the room for having them. Instead, He walks right into the space where your doubt lives. He knows your exact words before you ever pray them. He may not always meet every demand in the way you script it, but He takes your struggle seriously and meets you more personally than you expect.

Maybe you also feel like the odd one out in a room of believers—everyone else seems “ahead” of you spiritually. Notice that the other disciples didn’t kick Thomas out of the locked room. They kept a place for him even when he couldn’t share their joy. That is how Christian community is supposed to work. Your seat in the circle is not a mistake just because your heart is slower to respond. Jesus came back to that very room, in part, for the sake of the one who wasn’t quite there yet.

It can be helpful to remember: most of us have had at least one “My Lord and my God” moment—a time when Jesus became unmistakably real, a season when faith burned bright, a story we can’t explain away. If you’ve had a moment like that, go back to it in your memory. Let it steady you in the middle of new questions. You don’t have to pretend your doubts have vanished, but you also don’t have to act as if you’ve never known Him.

At some point, though, Thomas shows us a gentle shift. He moves from “Unless I see…” to “My Lord and my God.” Doubt isn’t scolded; it’s invited closer. Questions aren’t all answered; they’re met with wounded, outstretched hands. You may never get every intellectual puzzle solved. But like Thomas, you can take the faith you have—not the faith you wish you had—and move it toward Jesus. You can bring your “unless I see” heart into His presence and ask Him to lead you, step by step, toward a deeper, quieter, “I trust You.”

8. Questions for Reflection and Conversation

• Read John 20:19–29, noticing the difference between Jesus’ first appearance (without Thomas) and the second (with Thomas). What emotions do you imagine Thomas felt during those eight days?

• What is one honest “unless I see…” statement in your own heart right now? How might you bring that to Jesus in prayer instead of hiding it?

• Have you ever experienced Jesus meeting you specifically in a place of pain or “woundedness”? What happened, and how did it affect your faith?

• If you’ve had a “My Lord and my God” moment in the past, what would it look like to revisit that memory with gratitude and let it steady you today?

• Who in your life seems to be a “Thomas”—loyal but struggling to believe? How could you be a safe space for their questions, like the disciples who kept room for him in the locked room?

9. Closing Prayer

Jesus,

You did not give up on Thomas when he couldn’t keep up with everyone else’s joy.

Thank You for coming back for him, for knowing his words, for showing him Your wounds, for calling him from unbelief into worship.

I bring You my own “unless I see” places—my questions, my disappointments, my hesitations. I don’t want to hide them from You.

Meet me, as You met Thomas. Show me Your wounded love. Give me the courage to stay in the room with those who believe while I’m still unsure.

And when You speak peace into my locked places, help me to answer with all my heart,

“My Lord and my God.”

Bless all of us who have not seen and yet have believed.
Strengthen that belief until it becomes love, trust, and joyful obedience. – Amen

Conclusion

When you closed the last chapter, you didn’t close the story.

The donkey’s owner went back to his animals.
The woman with the alabaster jar wiped perfume from her hands and lived in a world that still whispered about her.
Malchus carried an ear that worked better than his theology.
Pilate’s wife lay awake at night with a dream she couldn’t shake.
Simon of Cyrene went home to his sons, who would grow up hearing about the day their father carried a stranger’s cross.
The daughters of Jerusalem faced the siege Jesus had warned them about.
The penitent thief stepped across a line he never thought he’d reach—into a paradise he hadn’t earned.
The centurion wrote up his report and tried to explain to himself what he’d seen.
The Galilean women cooked, waited, wept, and whispered to each other: We saw where they laid Him.
Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus walked through their city knowing their colleagues had seen them carrying a dead Messiah.
Mary Magdalene, the Emmaus pair, Thomas—all of them had to learn how to live in a world where Jesus was both gone and more present than ever.

Their names and faces slip from the pages of Scripture. Most of them never appear again. And yet, in giving us these small scenes, the Holy Spirit has done something remarkable: He has told us the story of the cross and resurrection through people who look a great deal like us.

We started this journey with a simple premise: there are no extras in the kingdom of God. Seeing that on the pages of the Gospels is one thing. Believing it about your own life is another.

My hope is that, somewhere along the way, one of these hidden heroes has followed you home.

Seeing Jesus Again, from the Edges

At the center of this book is not a cast of minor characters. At the center is Jesus.

We have simply walked around Him, slowly, letting each hidden life become a different angle of light on who He is.

Through the woman with the alabaster jar, we saw a Jesus who defends “wasteful” love and receives it as beautiful.
Through Malchus, we saw a Jesus who heals the people caught in the crossfire of religious zeal.
Through Pilate’s wife, we saw a Jesus whose innocence stirs uneasy dreams in the conscience of the powerful.
Through Simon of Cyrene, we saw a Jesus who allows others to share the weight of His cross.
Through the daughters of Jerusalem, we saw a Jesus who, even in agony, grieves for those who will suffer after Him.
Through the thief and the centurion, we saw a Jesus who saves latecomers and disarms hardened hearts at the very moment of His own death.
Through the women at a distance, we saw a Jesus who draws faithful presence from those the world barely notices.
Through Joseph and Nicodemus, we saw a Jesus who quietly wins the allegiance of insiders and calls them into costly, public courage.
Through Mary and the Emmaus travelers and Thomas, we saw a risen Jesus who still calls names, walks roads, and meets honest doubt with wounded hands.

If these chapters have done anything, I pray they have helped you love Him more—not just as a doctrine to confess, but as a Person who moves toward servants and soldiers, the hesitant and the heartbroken, the too-late and the not-enough.

The hidden heroes are not the point.
They are signposts, all pointing in one direction: “Behold the Lamb of God.”

Seeing Yourself in the Story

But the signposts matter, because they invite you to ask a different set of questions about your own life.

Not:

• Am I important enough?

• Have I done something big enough?

• Will anyone remember me?

But rather:

• Where is my life quietly intersecting with Jesus’ story?

• What does it look like to respond to Him right where I am?

You may recognize yourself in Simon of Cyrene, drafted into burdens you never asked for. The cross you’re carrying doesn’t feel noble; it just feels heavy. And yet, on this unwanted road, you may be closer to Jesus than you realize.

You may recognize yourself in the Galilean women, standing “at a distance,” watching someone else’s suffering with nothing to offer but your presence and tears. You might be tempted to dismiss that as “not real ministry.” The Gospels do not dismiss them. Neither does Jesus.

You may recognize yourself in Joseph or Nicodemus—someone whose faith has been quiet, cautious, careful. You believe, but you have kept that belief tucked away in safe corners. Then something happens—a crisis, a loss, an opportunity—and you feel the inner nudge: It’s time to step into the light, even if it feels late. Their story says: late courage is still courage. Your next “yes” can still matter.

You may recognize yourself in the centurion or the thief, realizing that Jesus is not who you thought He was. For years you may have stood on the edges of faith: professional, skeptical, hardened by what you’ve seen. Then, unexpectedly, the cross breaks through your tough exterior. You may find yourself whispering words you never imagined you’d say: “This Man… surely… truly…” If that is happening in you, know this: Jesus does not ignore faltering, simple confessions. He answers them.

Or you may feel more like the man with the water jar, the donkey’s owner, the Upper Room host—people whose main claim to fame is that they obeyed a small, strange request and made space for Jesus. Your days may feel ordinary, your obedience unspectacular. But the kingdom of God, we have seen, moves forward on such small obediences.

If nothing else, I hope you have heard this refrain:

There is no such thing as a life too small to matter in the story of the cross and the empty tomb.

Hidden Heroes in Your World

When you look up from the pages of Scripture and back into your own life, you may start to notice hidden heroes around you too.

They don’t introduce themselves that way. They are the people:

• who sit through long nights in hospital chairs,

• who show up with casseroles and quiet hugs,

• who run slides and sound so others can worship without distraction,

• who call on the lonely and remember the grieving long after the funeral,

• who carry more of the load at home or at work than anyone realizes,

• who pray faithfully for people who will never know they were prayed for.

Some bear scars from choices they regret and grace they can hardly believe. Some carry trauma from being in the line of fire—like Malchus—yet somehow still show up near Jesus. Some live in systems that don’t love the light, but like the centurion or Joseph, they are learning what it means to speak truth and honor Christ in those very places.

This book has not only been about seeing yourself more honestly; it has also been about seeing them—the people you might otherwise miss.

If you want a simple way to respond to what you’ve read, you could start here:

• Ask God to show you one “hidden hero” in your church, workplace, or neighborhood.

• Thank them. Name what you see.

• Pray for them by name, asking Jesus to strengthen their hidden obedience and comfort them in their hidden burdens.

In doing so, you will be honoring the same kind of people the Gospels honor, and reflecting the heart of the One who sees what is done in secret.

Stepping Into Your Own Next Scene

We have walked from triumphal entry to garden, from cross to tomb, from locked rooms to open roads. The manuscript ends here. Your next scene does not.

You will step back into days filled with ordinary things: emails, errands, appointments, traffic, dishes, conversations that feel half-finished. Most of those moments will not feel “holy.” Most will not look like the paintings we associate with Holy Week.

And yet, if the Gospels have taught us anything, it is that Jesus tends to show up in places that don’t look holy:

• In borrowed rooms.

• On dusty roads.

• In gardens full of grief.

• In the lives of people who didn’t know they were stepping into Scripture when they said yes.

The same Lord who met a thief in his last breaths, a woman in her tears, two travelers in their confusion, and a doubter in his honesty does not retire after the resurrection.

He is still the risen One who calls names, walks beside ordinary people, and breathes peace into fearful rooms.

As you go, you might carry a few simple questions in your pocket:

• Where, today, might Jesus be passing by on the edge of my attention?

• What small “yes” is He inviting from me, even if no one else will notice?

• Who around me is carrying a cross alone, and how might I, like Simon, step under a corner of that weight?

• Where is He asking me to stay—faithfully present—when everything in me wants to flee?

• Where is it time, like Joseph and Nicodemus, to step out of the shadows and be known as His?

You don’t have to answer all of these at once. The Christian life is not a checklist; it is a long walk with a living Person who knows your frame, your fears, your limits, and your longing.

You will falter. So did they. That is not the end of the story.

The Hero Behind the Hidden Heroes

One last thing.

It can be tempting, after spending time with these lesser-known figures, to turn them into models we must live up to: “Be like Simon. Be like Joseph. Be like Mary. Don’t be like the other thief.” There is some value in that, but if we stop there, we’ve missed the heart of it.

None of these people woke up that morning thinking, Today I will become a hidden hero in a holy book.

They simply collided with Jesus—and everything else in the story flows from that.

The real hope of this volume is not that you will try harder to be admirable on the margins. It is that you will keep bringing your marginal, ordinary, complicated life into contact with Christ:

• in Scripture,

• in prayer,

• in the sacraments,

• in the faces of the least of these,

• in the quiet nudges of conscience,

• in the interruptions that turn out to be invitations.

He is the hero. He is the one who heals ears, forgives enemies, welcomes latecomers, and turns secret disciples into courageous ones. He is the one whose death tore a curtain and whose resurrection turned a garden into the staging ground for new creation.

If He could work through people as fragile, fearful, tired, and mixed as the ones we’ve met in these pages, He can work through you.

He intends to.

So let this be your sending:

Go back into your life—your particular life—with eyes just a little more tuned to the edges of the story.

Notice the people who stand “at a distance.”
Listen for the quiet dreams and warnings in your own heart.
Offer your donkey, your room, your spice, your time, your presence.
Carry what you must; lay down what you can.
Stand at the foot of the cross; walk, when invited, into the empty garden.

And as you go, remember:

In the kingdom of the crucified and risen King, there really are no extras.
Only beloved, seen, sometimes-still-hidden disciples
whom He is quietly turning into heroes of His grace.

This work is freely shared. If it nourishes your life with God, you’re welcome to help sustain it.

Sustain the Work

Chapter 13: Joseph of Arimathea

Chapter 14: The Spice-Bearing Women at Dawn

Chapter 15: Mary Magdalene in the Garden

Chapter 13: Joseph of Arimathea

The Quiet Council Member Who Finally Stepped Into the Light

(with Nicodemus, His Midnight Friend)

1. Opening Story: When You Finally Speak Up—Too Late?

Most of us know what it feels like to speak up too late.

You sit through a meeting where a bad decision gets made. You feel that tightness in your chest, the quiet inner protest: This isn’t right. But you keep quiet. You tell yourself it’s not your place, or you’re not ready. Maybe the timing isn’t good. Later, replaying it in your mind, you think, Why didn’t I say something when it mattered?

Or you watch a friend drift in a dangerous direction. You see the warning signs months ahead, and you consider having the hard conversation, but you hesitate. You don’t want to jeopardize the relationship. Time passes. By the time you finally reach out, the damage seems done. Too late you tell yourself. I missed my chance.

Joseph of Arimathea knows that ache.

He is a respected, wealthy member of the Jewish council. He loves God’s law. He is “a good and righteous man” who has been watching Jesus for some time. Somewhere along the way, he becomes a disciple in his heart—but a secret one. He believes quietly while the council debates loudly. He disagrees with their decision to kill Jesus, but his protest is private, and the verdict stands.

Jesus is condemned, flogged, crucified.

By the time Joseph acts, the worst has already happened. The Teacher he admired is dead. The opportunity to defend Him in life is gone. It seems like there is nothing left for him to do.

And yet, on that awful afternoon, when many of Jesus’ public followers are in hiding, Joseph does something astonishingly brave. He goes straight to Pilate and asks for the body of the crucified Christ. Joining him is another quiet believer: Nicodemus, the Pharisee who once came to Jesus by night. Together they perform one last act of love and honor.

It looks, from one angle, like an act that comes too late.
From heaven’s angle, it becomes a crucial turn: the moment when secret disciples finally step into the light—and unknowingly prepare the stage for the empty tomb.

2. Scripture Window: Asking for the Body

“When evening had now come, because it was the Preparation Day, that is, the day before the Sabbath,
Joseph of Arimathea, a prominent council member who also himself was looking for God’s Kingdom, came.
He boldly went in to Pilate, and asked for Jesus’ body.”
(Mark 15:42–43 WEB)

“He came therefore and took away his body.
Nicodemus, who at first came to Jesus by night, also came, bringing a mixture of myrrh and aloes, about a hundred Roman pounds.
So they took Jesus’ body, and bound it in linen cloths with the spices, as the custom of the Jews is to bury.
Now in the place where he was crucified there was a garden. In the garden was a new tomb in which no man had ever yet been laid.
Then because of the Jews’ Preparation Day (for the tomb was near at hand) they laid Jesus there.”
(John 19:38–42 WEB, excerpt)

The gospel writers show us:

• Who Joseph is: a rich man, prominent council member, looking for the Kingdom

• What he does: goes boldly to Pilate, asks for the body, offers his own new tomb

• Who joins him: Nicodemus, once a nighttime visitor, now carrying an extravagant amount of spice

• How they act: publicly, tenderly, defiling themselves ritually to honor Jesus in death

Two men who spent most of the story in the shadows step forward when it seems like the story is over.

3. The Scene: The Day Before Sabbath, the Hour Before Dark

It is late Friday afternoon—the Day of Preparation before the Sabbath.

The crowds are dispersing. The soldiers are cleaning up. The religious leaders are anxious to have the bodies off the crosses before sunset so that the land is not defiled on a holy day.

Normally, crucified bodies might be left to decay, thrown into a common grave, or handled with minimal respect. The spectacle was part of Rome’s warning: This is what happens to rebels. Their bodies mean nothing.

But this particular condemned man has friends.

The visible friends—the disciples who followed Him everywhere—have mostly vanished into fear. Peter is somewhere nursing his shame. Others are hiding behind locked doors.

In that gap, a different kind of follower steps forward.

Joseph of Arimathea, a man of means and reputation, has been “looking for the Kingdom of God.” He has watched Jesus with growing conviction. He disagreed with the council’s hatred. Luke tells us he did not consent to their plan and action. But until now, his faith has been safely tucked away inside his heart.

With the sun dropping lower and the Sabbath clock ticking, Joseph makes a decision that will change his life:

He will risk his position to honor a condemned man.

He goes to Pilate—the Roman governor who ordered the execution. This is not a small step. He is:

• Aligning himself with someone Rome has just killed as a threat

• Signaling disagreement with the religious leaders’ verdict

• Asking for something that might easily be refused

Mark says he “boldly” went to Pilate and asked for Jesus’ body. Joseph has put himself into a place where he could lose everything important to him.

Courage doesn’t always show up early. Sometimes it shows up just in time.

4. The Hidden Heroes’ Moment: Night Disciples in Daylight

Pilate is surprised to hear that Jesus is already dead. Crucifixion can take days. He summons the centurion to confirm the report. Once it is verified, he grants Joseph permission to take the body.

Now Luke and John fill in the details:

• Joseph takes the body down from the cross.

• He wraps it in a clean linen cloth.

• There is a garden near the place of crucifixion, with a new tomb cut into the rock. It belongs to Joseph. No one has ever been laid there. He offers his own tomb to Jesus.

This is no longer secret discipleship.
This is public association with a crucified criminal.

If anyone wondered where Joseph’s loyalties lay, they do not have to wonder now.

John adds another name to the scene:

“Nicodemus, who at first came to Jesus by night, also came…”

We remember Nicodemus from earlier in John’s gospel:

• He came to Jesus by night with questions about being born again.

• He later spoke up, cautiously, in the council: “Does our law judge a man before it hears from him?” (John 7:51) That did not go well for him.

Now, as the sun sets on the worst day in history, he steps into the open. He brings a lavish amount of burial spices—myrrh and aloes, about seventy-five Roman pounds. It is an extravagant act, fit for a king.

Together, Joseph and Nicodemus:

• Lift a torn, lifeless body from the wood

• Wipe away blood as best they can

• Wrap Jesus in linen with spices, according to burial custom

• Lay Him in Joseph’s own new tomb

• Roll a stone in front of the entrance

They are handling more than a corpse. They are touching their own fears:

• Fear of contamination before Passover

• Fear of losing reputation and status

• Fear that they have believed in vain

They have missed the chance to stand up for Him in life. They will not miss the chance to honor Him in death.

Hidden heroism here looks like coming out of hiding at the most dangerous, least “useful” moment—and offering what you have when all seems lost.

5. What This Moment Reveals About Jesus

Joseph’s and Nicodemus’s actions tell us something important about the One they bury.

a. Jesus Draws Seekers from the Very Heart of the System

Joseph is a council member. Nicodemus is a Pharisee, a “teacher of Israel.” They are insiders—men who belong to the very structures that conspired to kill Jesus.

Yet in their hearts, something else has been happening. Jesus’ words and works have unsettled them, attracted them, convinced and convicted them. They have been quietly seeking the Kingdom, and they have begun to suspect that it has come in this unlikely Galilean.

Jesus doesn’t only draw fishermen and tax collectors. He also plants seeds of faith in the hearts of lawmakers, scholars, and leaders who move slowly, cautiously, but genuinely toward Him.

b. Even in Death, Jesus Commands Costly Honor

Jesus’ body is lifeless. He is, from one perspective, beyond the reach of human kindness. And yet Joseph and Nicodemus treat His body with reverence and generosity:

• A new tomb, not a lonely pit

• Clean linen, not whatever scraps are at hand

• A kingly amount of spices, not the bare minimum

They do not do this for a miracle. They do it because He is worthy, even if the story ends here.

The way they bury Him foreshadows who He really is: not a common criminal, but a King whose body will not see decay.

c. God Uses Their Faith to Set the Stage for Resurrection

They don’t know they are helping fulfill prophecy—Isaiah’s hint that the Servant would be with a rich man in his death. They don’t know that the new, unused tomb will become Exhibit A in the case for resurrection.

They are simply doing what they can with what they have.

God takes that and makes it part of the evidence that will one day convince many that the crucified Jesus has risen.

6. What Joseph (and Nicodemus) Teach Us

These two quiet men invite us to face some uncomfortable truths about discipleship.

a. Secret Faith Is Real—but It Isn’t Meant to Stay Secret

For a long time, Joseph is a disciple “secretly, for fear of the Jews” (John says it plainly). Nicodemus first comes “by night.” Their faith is genuine but hidden.

We might judge them for being timid and slow. But many of us know that tension from the inside:

• Believing in Jesus inwardly

• Staying quiet outwardly in certain circles

• Worried about what family, colleagues, or friends will say

The gospel doesn’t dismiss their secret faith, but it clearly celebrates the moment when it moves into the open. Hidden heroes often begin privately. At some point, though, love compels them to step into the light.

b. Courage Can Be Late and Still Be Courage

It would have been better if Joseph had spoken up strongly in the council and if Nicodemus had defended Jesus more publically earlier. They cannot rewind that clock.

But instead of drowning in regret, they ask, “What can I do now?”

• Now that He has been condemned

• Now that He has died

• Now that everyone is watching

Their answer is not perfect, but it is costly, and it is real.

Each of us likely has our own catalog of “too late” moments. Joseph and Nicodemus remind you: it is better to obey late than never. Grace can turn late courage into true courage.

c. Use What You Have for Jesus—Even When It Seems “Wasted”

Joseph has:

• A relationship with Pilate

• Social standing

• A tomb on his own property

Nicodemus has:

• Wealth

• Access to costly spices

• Legal and religious knowledge

They use those very things for Jesus:

• Joseph uses his status and property.

• Nicodemus uses his money and resources.

It would be easy to ask, “What’s the point? He’s already dead.” But the New Testament insists that offerings made to Jesus—even when they seem impractical or too late—are never wasted.

d. Touching Death for Love’s Sake Is Holy Work

By handling Jesus’ body so close to Sabbath and Passover, they risk ritual uncleanness. They are willing to accept that in order to show honor.

Many modern believers will face different kinds of “uncleanness”—emotional exhaustion, awkwardness, messy situations—when we choose to draw near to death and grief:

• Sitting with the dying

• Helping prepare a body

• Walking families through funerals

• Being present where loss is heavy

Joseph and Nicodemus quietly model that such proximity, for love’s sake, is not a failure of spirituality but an expression of it.

7. Bringing It Home: When You’re Ready to Step Out of the Shadows

Where do Joseph and Nicodemus meet us in our stories?

You may feel the sting and regret of delayed courage. There are conversations you should have had, stands you should have taken, support you wish you had offered sooner. You might look at certain past moments and think: I blew it. It’s too late now.

Their story suggests a different question:

“What can I do now, in the light of who Jesus is, even if I cannot rewrite yesterday?”

Maybe you’ve been a “secret disciple” in some context—a believer at work who never mentions your faith, a family member who stays silent when Christ is mocked, someone who keeps your love for Jesus carefully hidden in certain circles. For a season, perhaps that felt safer, even necessary.

But there may come a moment when staying hidden feels more like fear than wisdom. Something in you—like something in Joseph that afternoon—says, I can’t stay in the shadows forever. I need to step forward, even if it costs me.

Stepping forward may not look dramatic. It might mean:

• Simply naming yourself as a follower of Jesus when asked

• Offering your skills or resources to serve in ways that reveal your allegiance

• Being willing to be seen publicly aligning with Christ and His people

You might also be holding resources—time, money, influence, property—and wondering if it’s “worth it” to spend them on acts of love that seem small or late. Joseph’s tomb and Nicodemus’s spices say:

“Yes. It is worth it. Jesus is worthy, even when you can’t see how your act will fit into the bigger story.”

And if you, like them, find yourself drawn toward places of death and grief—funeral homes, hospice work, hospital chapels—don’t assume that makes you less spiritual. You may be right where God wants you: close to the places where He intends to surprise people with resurrection.

Joseph and Nicodemus walked into that Friday thinking they were closing a chapter with dignity. They were, in fact, setting the bookmark at the very place God planned to turn the page.

8. Questions for Reflection and Conversation

• In what areas of your life do you feel most like a “secret disciple”—believing in Jesus inwardly but reluctant to be known as His follower outwardly? What holds you back?

• Can you think of a time when you acted later than you wish you had, but your “late” action still mattered? How does Joseph’s story encourage you in that?

• What resources has God placed in your hands (time, money, skills, influence, space)? How might you “offer your tomb” or “bring your spices” in a tangible way right now?

• How do you feel about being close to death, grief, or hard endings? Do you tend to avoid those spaces, or are you drawn to them? How might Joseph and Nicodemus’ example shape your response?

• Read Mark 15:42–47, Luke 23:50–56, and John 19:38–42 together. What details stand out when you see all three accounts side by side? What do they stir in you?

9. Closing Prayer

Lord Jesus,

You were taken down from the cross by two men who had loved You in secret and finally found the courage
to step into the light.

Thank You for Joseph and Nicodemus—
for their late, costly obedience,
for their willingness to risk reputation and ritual cleanness
to honor Your body in death.

I bring You my own hesitations and regrets,
the times I stayed silent when I should have spoken,
the moments I hid when I should have stood with You.

Show me what faithfulness looks like now.
Teach me how to use what I have—
my influence, my resources, my presence—
to honor You, even in places that feel like endings.

And when I am tempted to believe it is too late
for courage to matter,
remind me of a garden tomb,
a stone rolled in front of it,
and the quiet, hidden obedience
that You turned into the doorway of resurrection.

Give me grace to step out of the shadows
and into the light of Your love.

Amen.

Chapter 14: The Spice-Bearing Women at Dawn

First at the Tomb, First to Hear “He Is Risen”

1. Opening Story: Showing Up When It Feels Pointless

Some acts of love feel productive and noticeable. You can see the progress—the room is cleaner, the project moves forward, the person thanks you. But other acts of love feel like they don’t change anything at all. You sit at a bedside where the illness isn’t improving. You attend a meeting where the situation hasn’t progressed. You pray for the same need day after day with no visible result. If someone asked why you keep doing it, the best you could say might be, “Because I love them. I don’t know what else to do.”

That’s what the spice-bearing women are doing on the first day of the week. They are not walking toward a miracle. They’re walking toward a grave. They aren’t expecting an empty tomb; they’re expecting a sealed one. In their hands they carry burial spices—the final, tender task for someone they believe is still dead. Their faith isn’t triumphant; it’s simple, sorrowful, and stubborn. They are determined to honor Jesus even if the story is over.

They also know there’s a problem they can’t solve. On the way, they ask each other who will roll away the stone. They don’t have the strength, the status, or the strategy to move that barrier. Still, they keep going. Love moves their feet even when logic says this trip can’t accomplish much.

And it is these women—tired, grieving, and unsure—who walk straight into the surprise. The stone is already rolled away. The body they came to anoint is not there. Instead of guarding a corpse, angels are announcing good news. The errand that felt like a small, almost pointless act of devotion becomes the doorway into the greatest announcement in history: “He is not here, but is risen.” The hidden heroes of dawn are not the ones with a plan; they are the ones who showed up anyway.

2. Scripture Window: “Why Do You Seek the Living Among the Dead?”

“Now on the first day of the week, at early dawn,
they and some others came to the tomb, bringing the spices which they had prepared.
They found the stone rolled away from the tomb.
They entered in, and didn’t find the Lord Jesus’ body.

While they were greatly perplexed about this, behold, two men stood by them in dazzling clothing.
Becoming terrified, they bowed their faces down to the earth.
The men said to them,
‘Why do you seek the living among the dead?
He isn’t here, but is risen.
Remember what he told you when he was still in Galilee, saying that the Son of Man must be delivered up into the hands of sinful men,
and be crucified, and the third day rise again?’
They remembered his words,
returned from the tomb,
and told all these things to the eleven and to all the rest.

Now they were Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James,
and the other women with them…”
(Luke 24:1–10 WEB, portions)

Matthew, Mark, and John add details:

• An earthquake and an angel rolling back the stone (Matthew 28).

• A young man in a white robe telling them Jesus has risen and will meet the disciples in Galilee (Mark 16).

• Mary Magdalene lingering in the garden and meeting the risen Jesus, whom she mistakes for the gardener (John 20).

But Luke captures the essence:

• Spices prepared.

• Stone rolled away.

• Body missing.

• Angelic message.

• Remembering.

• Running to tell.

3. The Scene: Spices, Sunrise, and a Heavy Question

It is early. Very early in the morning.

The Sabbath has ended.

On Friday:

• They watched Joseph and Nicodemus wrap Jesus’ body and lay it in Joseph’s new tomb.

• They noted the location and how He was laid.

• They went home before the Sabbath began.

On Saturday:

• They rested, as the commandment required.

• But their hearts did not rest.

• They prepared spices and ointments, doing what they could, waiting for first light.

Now, on Sunday:

• The sky is still gray.

• The city is quiet.

• They carry spices in their hands and questions in their minds.

Mark tells us they’re asking a practical question: “Who will roll away the stone for us from the door of the tomb?” (Mark 16:3)

They are not planning a resurrection.

They are planning a work-around for a large rock.

They love Jesus.
They believe He is dead.
They are trying to honor Him anyway.

And that is when everything changes.

4. The Hidden Heroes’ Moment: Finding the Stone Moved and the Body Gone

When they arrive, the first surprise: “They found the stone rolled away.”

The problem they were planning to solve
has been solved from the other side.

They step inside.

Second surprise:

“They… didn’t find the Lord Jesus’ body.”

This is not yet good news.
It is alarming.

• Grave robbery?

• Authorities moving the body?

• Some cruel insult added to injury?

Luke says they are “greatly perplexed.”
Of course they are.

Then, without warning:

“…two men stood by them in dazzling clothing.”

Tombs don’t usually contain:

• Missing corpses and

• Glowing messengers.

Terror replaces confusion.
They bow their faces to the ground.

The angels ask a question that reshapes the universe:

“Why do you seek the living among the dead?
He isn’t here, but is risen.
Remember what he told you…”

Three things happen in that sentence:

1. Their assumption is challenged.

   • They came to find a dead body.

   • The angels insist: You’re looking in the wrong category.

   • You’re searching for “the living” in the geography of death.

2. A fact is declared.

   • “He isn’t here, but is risen.”

   • Not: “His spirit lives on,” or “His teachings continue.”

   • A bodily resurrection is announced.

3. Their memory is activated.

   • “Remember what he told you…”

   • The angels quote Jesus’ own words about being delivered up, crucified, and rising on the third day.

   • It dawns on them: He did tell us this. We just didn’t imagine it literally.

Luke says:

“They remembered his words.”

Memory and message collide.

The pieces start to come together.

Grief doesn’t evaporate in an instant,
but it begins to reorganize around a new reality:

Our Teacher is not a dead hero.
He is a living Lord.

5. Theology in the Garden: Resurrection Announced to the Overlooked

There is a reason all four Gospels slow down here.

a. The First Witnesses Were Women—On Purpose

In that culture:

• Women’s testimony was not given full weight in court.

• They were not seen as primary legal witnesses.

If you were inventing a resurrection story in the first century,
you would not make women your star witnesses.

Yet God does.

He entrusts the first announcement of the resurrection to:

• Mary Magdalene (named in all four Gospels),

• Joanna,

• Mary the mother of James,

• “Other women with them.”

This is not a PR mistake.
It is a kingdom statement:

• The kingdom of God does not run on the same assumptions as human systems.

• Those the world sidelines, God centers.

• Those whose voices are discounted in court
  are trusted by heaven to carry the most important news.

The spice-bearing women become the apostles to the apostles—
sent ones to the sent ones.

b. Love Walking Toward Grief Walks Into Glory

They are not rewarded because they had the best theology.
They did not say:

“We know He will rise, so let’s go wait for the miracle.”

They are rewarded because:

• They loved Jesus,

• They stayed near,

• They kept walking toward the last place they saw Him,

• Even when it hurt.

Resurrection is not something they achieve by their faithfulness.
It’s a gift of God’s power.

But their faithfulness positions them to:

• See the empty tomb,

• Hear the angelic message,

• Meet the risen Christ (especially Mary Magdalene in John’s account).

Love that walks toward the grave
finds that Jesus has already walked out of it.

c. The Question We All Must Face: “Why Seek the Living Among the Dead?”

The angels’ question slices through centuries:

“Why do you seek the living among the dead?”

We do that too.

We seek:

• Life in systems that are spiritually dead,

• Identity in relationships that cannot bear our weight,

• Security in money and status that cannot survive death,

• Worth in achievements that fade.

The resurrection story gently mocks our efforts to find living hope
in the cemeteries of our own making.

If Jesus is alive, we must:

• Stop treating Him as a past teacher to be admired,

• And start treating Him as a present Lord to be followed.

The women’s minds and hearts have to:

• Shift from “Where did they take His body?”

• To “Where is He leading us now?”

d. Remembering the Words of Jesus Is Key to Interpreting Our Shock

The angels anchor their announcement in Jesus’ own teaching:

“Remember what he told you…”

Resurrection is not an afterthought.
It is exactly what He promised.

In our own crises, we are often like these women:

• Shocked by events,

• Forgetful of words spoken earlier,

• Needing someone (or the Spirit) to say, “Remember…”

They don’t understand the empty tomb
until they remember the spoken Word.

We will not understand our own “empty tombs”—
sudden losses, surprising turnarounds,
unexpected open doors—
unless we interpret them through the lens of what Jesus has said.

6. What the Spice-Bearing Women Teach Us

Their pre-dawn walk and stunned return carry several lessons.

a. Show Up, Even When You Don’t Feel “Full of Faith”

They did not walk to the tomb singing victory songs.
They walked with spices and sorrow.

Sometimes, the holiest thing you can do is:

• Keep attending worship,

• Keep opening the Scriptures,

• Keep praying halting prayers,

• Keep showing up for community,

even when you feel more grief than glory.

The miracle is not that they felt strong.
The miracle is that they went anyway.

b. God Often Solves Problems from the Other Side

They worried about the stone.

“Who will roll it away for us?”

By the time they arrive,
the stone has been moved.

How many times have we:

• Worried obsessively about a barrier,

• Only to find, when we reach it,
  that God has already done something we never could have engineered?

This doesn’t mean every stone moves.
But it does mean:

Our job is not to pre-solve everything.
Our job is to walk in the direction of obedience and love
and trust that God is at work from the other side.

3. The First Task After Resurrection Is to Remember and Tell

Notice the sequence:

• They remember His words.

• They return from the tomb.

• They tell all these things to the eleven and the rest.

Resurrection restructures their day:

• The spices they brought to honor a corpse
  are no longer needed.

• The mission shifts from tending the dead
  to telling the living.

Hidden heroes often carry a double cargo:

• The “spices” of practical love,

• And the “news” of what God has done.

Both matter.
But on resurrection morning,
the news takes center stage.

4. Expect to Be Disbelieved—and Speak Anyway

Luke tells us:

“These words seemed to them as idle talk, and they didn’t believe them.” (Luke 24:11)

The apostles—the ones who should have been leading in faith—
dismiss the women’s report as nonsense.

The women are:

• Right,

• Obedient,

• Full of fresh revelation—

…and not believed.

Sound familiar?

When you:

• Share what God has done,

• Speak of a hope others find unrealistic,

• Bear witness to a change others can’t yet see,

you may be treated as:

• Naïve,

• Emotional,

• Exaggerating.

The spice-bearing women remind us:

Being dismissed does not mean you’re wrong.
Rise early.
Go anyway.
Tell what you’ve seen.

7. Bringing It Home: Walking to Your Own “Tombs”

Where in your life are you doing what these women did—showing up in a place that feels finished, hopeless, or sealed? Maybe you keep checking in on someone who isn’t responding the way you’d hoped. Maybe you continue serving in a ministry, a job, or a relationship that doesn’t seem to be changing. Maybe you wake up and pray again for a situation that looks exactly like it did yesterday. From the outside, it might look like you’re just “bringing spices to a tomb.”

You may also have your own “stone”—a barrier that stands between you and what you sense God calling you toward. You can see the obstacle clearly: limited resources, a broken relationship, a painful memory, a lack of confidence. Like the women, you can list the reasons your journey doesn’t make sense. But their story invites you to ask a different question: What if God has already been working on the other side of the stone while I’ve been worrying about it?

There might be places where you’ve quietly decided, “This is just how it is now.” A marriage that will never heal, a child who will never return, a heart that will never soften, a community that will never wake up. Over those “settled” verdicts, listen again to the angel’s words: “Why do you seek the living among the dead?” That doesn’t mean every circumstance will be reversed, but it does mean Jesus refuses to be confined to the tomb you’ve assigned Him.

And when you do see glimpses of resurrection—a softened heart, a new beginning, a small door of opportunity opening—it can feel risky to tell others. What if they don’t believe you? What if they think you’re imagining things? The spice-bearing women show us what courage looks like: they remember what they heard, they return to the others, and they share what they’ve seen and been told. You don’t have to explain everything; you only need to be faithful with the story you’ve been given.

Hidden heroes are often people who simply keep walking toward love, even when it feels pointless, and discover along the way that God has already been there. Your quiet faithfulness—to pray, to serve, to show up—may be leading you closer than you realize to an already-rolled-away stone and an already-living Savior.

8. Questions for Reflection and Conversation

1. Read Luke 23:55–24:12 alongside Matthew 28:1–10 and Mark 16:1–8. What different angles on the women’s experience stand out to you?

2. In what ways do you identify with the women: preparing spices, worrying about the stone, being perplexed at first, trembling at the angelic message, or running to tell?

3. Is there an area in your life where you’ve resigned yourself to “death”—assuming nothing new can happen? How might Jesus be inviting you to revisit that tomb with Him?

4. Think of a time when a problem you dreaded turned out to have already been handled by God “from the other side.” How does that memory encourage you now?

5. Who in your life needs to hear a simple, honest version of your resurrection story—how Jesus met you in a place of death and brought some kind of new life?

9. Closing Prayer

Risen Jesus,

You let loyal women walk toward what they thought was the end of Your story and surprised them with the beginning of a new one.

Thank You for Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James, and the other women who carried spices at dawn and came home carrying good news.

Teach me to show up even when I feel only grief.
Teach me to walk toward hard places trusting that You may already be at work.

Roll away the stones I cannot move.
Open my eyes to empty tombs and living hope.

And when I have seen even a glimpse of Your resurrection power, give me courage to remember, return, and tell.

You are not among the dead.
You are alive.
Let my life bear witness to that truth—in my quiet dawn walks and in the stories I share.

– Amen

Chapter 15: Mary Magdalene in the Garden

Mistaking the Risen Jesus for the Gardener and Hearing Her Name

1. Opening Story: When Grief Blinds You to What’s Right in Front of You

Have you ever lost something that was right in front of you the whole time? You pat your pockets for your keys and finally realize they were already in your hand. You walk from room to room looking for your phone while you’re talking on it. You ask everyone if they’ve seen your glasses, only to discover they’re sitting on top of your head. When the stakes are low, we can laugh about how blind we can be.

But sometimes the stakes are higher. Grief can do this to us. When your heart has been shattered, you become so certain you know how the story ends that nothing else seems possible. You stop looking for new beginnings. You assume anything unfamiliar is just background noise. You can stand in the middle of a new chapter and still swear you’re stuck on the last page.

Mary Magdalene understands this kind of blindness. She comes to the tomb at dawn with tear-swollen eyes and a script already written in her mind: Jesus is dead. She finds that His body is missing and someone has made a terrible situation worse. Even when angels speak to her, even when Jesus Himself stands right in front of her, she can only imagine Him as “the gardener,” a helpful stranger who might know where the corpse has gone. Her grief is so real that resurrection doesn’t even occur to her as an option.

And yet, this is exactly where the risen Christ meets her—not in her clarity, but in her confusion; not in her confidence, but in her weeping. One word—her name on His lips—breaks through the fog. The story of Mary in the garden is the story of how Jesus gently rewrites our scripts, not by scolding our blindness, but by calling us personally into a reality we couldn’t yet see.

2. Scripture Window: “Mary!”

“But Mary was standing outside at the tomb weeping.
So, as she wept, she stooped and looked into the tomb,
and she saw two angels in white sitting,
one at the head, and one at the feet,
where the body of Jesus had lain.

They asked her, ‘Woman, why are you weeping?’

She said to them, ‘Because they have taken away my Lord,
and I don’t know where they have laid him.’

When she had said this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing,
and didn’t know that it was Jesus.

Jesus said to her, ‘Woman, why are you weeping?
Who are you looking for?’

She, supposing him to be the gardener, said to him,
‘Sir, if you have carried him away,
tell me where you have laid him,
and I will take him away.’

Jesus said to her, ‘Mary.’

She turned and said to him, ‘Rabboni!’ which is to say, ‘Teacher!’

Jesus said to her, ‘Don’t hold me, for I haven’t yet ascended to my Father;
but go to my brothers, and tell them,
“I am ascending to my Father and your Father,
to my God and your God.”’

Mary Magdalene came and told the disciples that she had seen the Lord,
and that he had said these things to her.”
(John 20:11–18 WEB)

Tears.
Angels.
A mistaken identity.
A single spoken name.
An errand to the apostles.

Mary Magdalene is the first person in John’s Gospel to encounter the risen Jesus face to face.

And she is the first to preach, in simple form, “I have seen the Lord.”

3. The Scene: A Garden Full of Absence

It is still early on Sunday.

We’ve already seen:

• The group of women come to the tomb,

• The stone rolled away,

• The angelic announcement,

• Peter and “the other disciple” running to see,

• The disciples returning home puzzled.

John zooms in on what Mary does after the others leave.

“But Mary was standing outside at the tomb weeping.”

She can’t leave.
Where others see enough confusion and go home, she stays.

Her world has already shattered on Friday.
Now even His body is missing.

It feels like grief stacked on grief:

• First, they killed Him.

• Now, they’ve taken Him.

She bends to look inside.

Two angels are sitting where the body had been:

• One at the head,

• One at the feet.

It’s like a living echo of the mercy seat on the ark of the covenant, where two cherubim faced each other over the place of atonement.

But Mary is not doing theology.
She is doing grief.

They ask,

“Woman, why are you weeping?”

She answers honestly:

“Because they have taken away my Lord, and I don’t know where they have laid him.”

She is not searching for “the body.”
She calls Him my Lord—even in death.

Then she turns and sees someone standing behind her.

She does not know it’s Jesus.

This is not because He is playing a trick.
It’s because:

• Resurrection has changed Him in ways she doesn’t expect,

• Her tears blur her vision,

• Her mind is not ready for “alive” in a place of death.

Jesus asks the same question as the angels—and adds one more:

“Woman, why are you weeping? Who are you looking for?”

It is the who that matters.

She answers like someone still living in Friday:

“Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away.”

She is ready to carry His dead weight.
She is not ready for Him to carry her living hope.

4. The Hidden Hero’s Moment: Recognized by Her Name

Then comes the turning point of the entire scene:

“Jesus said to her, ‘Mary.’”

Not “Woman.”
Not “Friend.”

Her name.

The voice she has heard call her before:

• Out of torment,

• Into freedom,

• Along dusty roads,

• Into deeper trust.

There is something about the way He says it that cuts through the fog.

The same voice that once called Lazarus out of the tomb now calls Mary out of despair.

She turns (again)—this time, not just physically, but in recognition.

“She turned and said to him, ‘Rabboni!’”

“Rabboni” (my Teacher) is not a cool theological title.
It is an intimate, personal cry:

• It’s You.

• You’re really here.

• Everything I thought I lost is still alive.

John doesn’t describe her actions, but Jesus’ next words hint at them:

“Don’t hold me…” (or “Don’t cling to me…”)

We can picture her:

• Falling at His feet,

• Grabbing hold of Him,

• Holding on like someone who has lost Him once and refuses to let Him out of her grasp again.

Jesus is not rejecting her.
He is gently redirecting her:

“I haven’t yet ascended to my Father; but go to my brothers, and tell them…”

The shape of their relationship is changing:

• From physically following and clinging,

• To spiritually trusting and bearing witness.

Mary is not losing Him again.
She is being sent with Him in a new way.

She becomes:

• The first human teller of the Ascension story in seed form:

“I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.”

• The first person to announce to the disciples,

“I have seen the Lord.”

In a garden where she thought she lost everything, she finds her calling.

5. Theology in the Garden: Resurrection, Recognition, and Relationship

Mary’s encounter is not just emotional; it is deeply theological.

a. The Risen Jesus Is Both Familiar and New

Mary sees Him and doesn’t recognize Him.

This tells us:

• His resurrection body is continuous with His old body (the tomb is empty, the graveclothes empty),

• But glorified in a way that is not immediately obvious.

The same is true for us:

• Resurrection is not God scrapping the old and starting over.

• It is God transforming what was into something higher, in ways that may be hard to recognize at first.

Mary’s journey—from not recognizing to recognizing—mirrors ours:

• We often don’t see Jesus clearly in new seasons,

• Until we hear Him speak into them.

b. Jesus Knows His Sheep by Name

He doesn’t say, “Hey, it’s Me.”

He says, “Mary.”

Back in John 10, He said:

“He calls his own sheep by name, and leads them out…
My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me.”

In the garden, the Good Shepherd lives His own metaphor:

• He calls one of His sheep by name.

• She hears His voice.

• Recognition dawns, and she follows His new command: go and tell.

You are not just “disciple number 4,538.”

You are a name in His mouth.

Resurrection is not only a cosmic event; it is a personal encounter.

c. From Clinging to Commission

Mary wants to hold onto Jesus in the way she knew Him before.

Who can blame her?

But Jesus says:

“Don’t hold Me… go to my brothers…”

He is not saying, “Stop loving Me.”
He is saying, “Let our love take its next form.”

This is a pattern:

• We meet Jesus in one way,

• We grow attached to that form,

• Resurrection and ascension shift the relationship:

  • From physical to spiritual,

  • From seeing to believing,

  • From clinging to obeying,

  • From receiving to being sent.

He is moving Mary from:

I have You again, to I have a message from You to carry.

The same happens with us:

• We feel like our lives have stopped due to a tragedy and God gives us the strength to move on.

• We move from living off spiritual feelings to living from His word and mission.

d. “My Father and Your Father, My God and Your God”

Jesus gives Mary a profound theological sentence to deliver:

“I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.”

He is drawing her (and the disciples) into His own relationship with the Father.

• He doesn’t say, “Our Father” here, because His sonship is unique.

• But He does say, “My Father and your Father,” opening the door for them to share in that intimacy.

Resurrection is not just about:

• Victory over death,

• A ticket to heaven.

It is about adoption:

• Being brought into the family of God through union with the risen Son.

Mary Magdalene becomes the courier of this astonishing upgrade in status.

6. What Mary Magdalene in the Garden Teaches Us

Her tears and her turning speak to all who live in Saturday spaces, stuck between crucifixion and resurrection.

a. Don’t Rush Away from Your Grief; Jesus Often Meets You There

Everyone else leaves the tomb.

Mary stays and weeps.

Her willingness to:

• Stand in the place of loss,

• Tell the truth about her pain,

• Refuse to numb or distract herself,

positions her to be the first to see Jesus.

We often want to:

• Get out of sad places as fast as possible,

• Avoid the cemetery,

• Stay busy.

Mary shows the holiness of staying long enough for Jesus to show up.

b. Grief Can Make You Misread Reality—and That’s Okay

Mary:

• Talks to angels like they’re orderlies at a hospital.

• Talks to Jesus like He’s the groundskeeper.

• Offers to drag a corpse somewhere on her own.

She is not thinking clearly.
She is thinking honestly.

Jesus doesn’t scold her for not recognizing Him.
He simply says her name.

When you are in deep grief, you may:

• Misinterpret what God is doing,

• Miss His presence at first,

• Say clumsy, even theologically off things.

He is not put off.

He knows how to make Himself clear in His time.

c. Hearing Your Name in His Mouth Changes Everything

Most of us can look back on moments when:

• A verse,

• A conversation,

• A moment in prayer,

• A line from a hymn or sermon,

suddenly went from generic to personal.

It felt like God said: You. Right now. I mean you.

Mary’s “Rabboni!” is the sound of someone realizing she has been personally addressed.

Ask yourself:

• When have I “heard my name” with God?

• How did it change the way I saw my situation?

Returning to those moments can help us recognize Him again when confusion thickens.

d. You Don’t Have to Understand Everything to Obey the Next Thing

Mary does not walk away from the garden with a complete Christology.

She doesn’t know:

• How resurrection works,

• What ascension will look like,

• How the church will be born at Pentecost.

She knows:

• “I have seen the Lord.”

• “He gave me a message for you.”

So she goes and tells.

You may be waiting to:

• Understand all the theological details,

• Resolve every doubt,

• Feel completely healed,

before you share anything.

Mary shows us: You can obey with tears still on your face and questions still in your mind.

7. Bringing It Home: Your Name, His Voice

Where does Mary’s garden encounter intersect your story? You may be standing by your own “tomb” in tears—some loss that feels final, a future you quietly buried, a version of yourself you’re convinced is gone for good. Like Mary, you might be doing the only thing you know to do: staying close to what you’ve lost, telling the truth about your pain, refusing to pretend it doesn’t hurt. In those places, Mary would lean close and say, “Stay honest. Stay present. The One who holds your future may be closer than you think.”

It’s also possible that, like Mary, you’ve “mistaken Jesus for the gardener” in some area of your life. You treat Him as background—part of the scenery but not the center. You assume He’s just there to keep things tidy while you handle the real problems. You overlook His presence because He doesn’t look like what you expected. This is a good moment to pray, “Lord, say my name again in this situation. Call me in a way I can recognize, even through my confusion.”

Maybe you find yourself longing for an old way God used to feel close: “When my prayers felt powerful… when Scripture felt alive… when worship felt electric.” You want to cling to a previous season the way Mary wanted to cling to the Jesus she knew before death and resurrection. Hear His gentle words to her as words to you: “Don’t hold Me that way. I’m not gone; I’m moving you forward.” He is not abandoning you; He is inviting you into a new form of trust, a new way of recognizing His presence and joining His work.

And is there a message you’ve been given to carry—a story of how Jesus met you, a word of comfort, a reminder that He is “my Father and your Father… my God and your God?” Don’t underestimate the power of your simple, honest, “I have seen the Lord,” spoken into someone else’s locked room of fear. Mary’s witness began with tears still on her face and questions still in her mind. Yours can, too. He knows your name. He is speaking. The question is not whether you understand everything, but whether you will listen, turn toward His voice, and share what you have seen.

8. Questions for Reflection and Conversation

• Read John 20:1–18 slowly. What emotions do you feel as you move with Mary from darkness, to confusion, to recognition, to being sent?

• When have you stayed in a painful place (emotionally or physically) longer than others—and how did God meet you there, if at all?

• Can you recall a time when Scripture, prayer, or an event felt like God was “saying your name”? How did that shape your faith?

• Are you in a season where Jesus feels unfamiliar—like someone you “ought” to recognize but don’t? What might it look like to wait and listen instead of forcing clarity?

9. Closing Prayer

Rabboni, Teacher, Gardener of new creation,

Thank You for meeting Mary in the place of her deepest grief.
Thank You for saying her name when she couldn’t see clearly.

Say my name again in the gardens of my own confusion.
Call me out of assumptions, out of despair, out of the belief that You are gone.

When I cling to what You used to look like in my life, gently loosen my grip and send me with a message of hope instead.

Let me hear You say, “My Father and your Father, My God and your God,” until I know deep in my bones that I am part of Your family.

And give me the courage, like Mary, to go to others and say, with my own tears and joy mixed together, “I have seen the Lord.”

– Amen

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In This Article:

Chapter 10: The Penitent Thief

Chapter 11: The Centurion at the Cross

Chapter 12: The Galilean Women at a Distance

Chapter 10: The Penitent Thief

A Last-Minute Prayer and a Royal Promise

1. Opening Story: When You’re Almost Out of Time

Most of us like the idea of second chances—as long as they don’t come too late.

We tell stories about people who turned their lives around: the student who finally started studying, the addict who entered recovery, the couple who healed their marriage. We cheer those stories, but they all share something in common: they had time. There were still years, or at least months, to live differently.

But what about the person who waits until the very end?

What about the one who wastes opportunity after opportunity, makes a long string of bad choices, and only at the edge of the cliff says, “I was wrong”?

Part of us wants to say, “Too late. You had your chance.”

On the hill called Golgotha, two criminals are crucified alongside Jesus—one on His right, one on His left. They are not petty thieves; Rome doesn’t waste crucifixion on minor offenders. They have done real harm. They are receiving what they themselves call “just” punishment.

One of them joins the crowd in mocking Jesus. If you’re the Christ, prove it. Save Yourself—and us. Even in agony, he is still bargaining, still cynical, still clinging to whatever scraps of control he thinks he has.

The other thief does something different.

He doesn’t have a life left to rebuild. There will be no fresh start, no long repentance, no evidence of changed behavior. All he has is a few more breaths, a battered body, and a crucified stranger beside him who, for reasons he can’t fully explain, seems like a King.

In that final, narrowing sliver of time, he does three things:

• He owns his guilt.

• He defends Jesus’ innocence.

• He asks, “Remember me when You come in Your kingdom.”

It is one of the shortest prayers in Scripture. It is also one of the clearest pictures we have of what grace looks like when a dying sinner reaches out to a dying Savior.

This man becomes a hidden hero of the crucifixion—not because of his crimes, but because of the way he turns, at the last possible moment, toward the only hope left to him.

2. Scripture Window: A Conversation Between Crosses

“One of the criminals who was hanged insulted him, saying, ‘If you are the Christ, save yourself and us!’
But the other answered, and rebuking him said, ‘Don’t you even fear God, seeing you are under the same condemnation?
And we indeed justly, for we receive the due reward for our deeds, but this man has done nothing wrong.’
He said to Jesus, ‘Lord, remember me when you come in your Kingdom.’
Jesus said to him, ‘Assuredly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.’”
(Luke 23:39–43 WEB, excerpt)

Between two crosses, a small debate breaks out:

• One criminal uses his last energy to mock and demand.

• The other uses his to confess, to defend, and to ask.

Jesus answers only one of them.

3. The Scene: Three Crosses, Two Attitudes

By the time Luke introduces the two criminals, Jesus has already been:

• Tried by Jewish leaders and by Pilate

• Beaten, mocked, and flogged

• Forced to carry—or at least begin to carry—His cross

• Brought to the place of the Skull and nailed to wood

Above His head is an inscription: “This is the King of the Jews.” The rulers sneer. Soldiers offer sour wine and taunts. Bystanders watch. Some of His followers stand at a distance, hearts breaking.

On either side of Him hang men the text simply calls “criminals.”

They share several things in common:

• They are under the same sentence: death by crucifixion.

• They are suffering the same physical agony.

• They are close enough to read the inscription over Jesus’ head and hear the insults being hurled.

• They are equally unable to change their circumstances.

From a distance, the three crosses might look like three failed lives, pinned in place by the power of Rome.

But up close, something very different is unfolding. On one cross, sinless love is bearing the weight of the world. On another, hardened sin is snarling all the way to the end. On the third, a guilty man is quietly doing something that would shock everyone in the crowd, if they had ears to hear: he is repenting and believing.

4. The Hidden Hero’s Moment: Owning Guilt, Seeing Innocence, Asking Boldly

Luke lets us listen in.

One criminal joins the chorus of contempt:

“If you are the Christ, save yourself and us!”

It’s the old temptation again:

• Prove yourself.

• Use power for self-preservation.

• Meet my demands or you’re not who you say you are.

The other criminal answers him, and in his few short sentences, we hear a miracle.

First, he recovers the fear of God:

“Don’t you even fear God, seeing you are under the same condemnation?”

He recognizes that this is not just a political execution; there is a holy God over this scene, and they are about to meet Him. Mocking Jesus at the edge of eternity is madness.

Then he owns his guilt:

“We indeed justly, for we receive the due reward for our deeds…”

He doesn’t blame the system, his upbringing, or bad luck. He calls his sentence “just.” He acknowledges, “This is what my actions have earned.”

Confession is not self-hatred; it is telling the truth about ourselves in the presence of God. This man tells the truth.

Then he defends Jesus:

“…but this man has done nothing wrong.”

From his cross, he can see what the leaders refuse to see:

• Jesus is not like them.

• He does not deserve this punishment.

• An innocent man is dying between the guilty.

Somehow, in that moment, the thief sees both realities at once: his own guilt and Jesus’ innocence. That is grace already at work.

Finally, he turns toward Jesus with a request that is both humble and astonishingly bold:

“Lord, remember me when you come in your Kingdom.”

He calls the crucified man beside him “Lord.”
He believes Jesus still has a “kingdom,” even as they both hang under a sign that labels Him “King” in mockery.
He doesn’t ask for pain relief or last-minute escape. He asks to be remembered—seen, included, not forgotten—when Jesus comes into whatever future reign this is.

It’s a last-minute, mustard-seed kind of faith.
And Jesus answers it with a promise far bigger than he dared to ask.

“Today you will be with me in Paradise.”

Not “someday.” Not “if you prove yourself.” Not “after a season of probation.”

Today.
With Me.
In Paradise.

The dying thief’s simple, desperate plea becomes one of the clearest pictures we have of salvation by grace through faith, apart from works.

5. What This Moment Reveals About Jesus

The way Jesus responds to the penitent thief tells us as much about the Savior as it does about the sinner.

a. Jesus Saves Even at the Last Hour

Jesus is in unspeakable pain. Every breath costs Him. And yet, He uses some of those breaths to:

• Hear a sinner’s confession

• Receive his small, shaky faith

• Speak a word of assurance

He does not say, “It’s too late.”
He does not say, “You should have come to Me sooner.”
He does not say, “Your crimes put you beyond My reach.”

He rescues a dying criminal between one heartbeat and the next.

b. Jesus Honors Honest Confession Over Religious Performance

The thief has:

• No good works to offer

• No record of church attendance

• No chance to go back and make amends

• No opportunity to prove he’s changed

All he has is a bare, honest admission—“We are here justly”—and a plea for mercy.

Jesus is not interested in impressive resumes. He responds to truth-telling and trust.

c. Jesus Offers Himself as the Reward

The promise is not merely a nicer environment—“You’ll be in a better place.” It is profoundly relational:

“You will be with me…”

Paradise is paradise because Christ is there.

The thief’s request is “remember me.”
Jesus’ answer is “be with Me.”

He gives more than the man knows how to ask for.

6. What the Penitent Thief Teaches Us

For someone whose life has gone so wrong, this man has a lot to teach us in his final minutes.

a. There Is a Difference Between Demanding Rescue and Asking for Mercy

Both criminals want to be saved from their circumstances.

• One says, “Save Yourself and us” as a taunt—a test of power and usefulness.

• The other says, “Remember me” as a plea—a surrender to Jesus’ mercy and authority.

One posture says, “If You don’t do what I want, You’re not who You claim to be.”
The other says, “Even if You don’t change my situation, I’m throwing myself on Your kindness.”

Hidden heroes are not those who get the miracle they want, but those who learn to ask the right Man for the right kind of rescue.

b. Confession Is Not Self-Destruction; It’s Agreement with God

The thief does not wallow in shame or list every detail of his crimes. He simply acknowledges:

• “I am guilty.”

• “My sentence is just.”

• “Jesus is not like me.”

That clarity is a gift. Many people go to their graves defending themselves, blaming others, insisting they were the real victims. This man lays down his defenses. His honesty becomes the doorway to hope.

c. Even a Tiny Faith Can See Beyond the Present Moment

From a human perspective, there is no evidence that Jesus has a future kingdom. Rome appears to be winning. The only “throne” in sight is a rough beam of wood.

Yet this man looks at a dying King and sees:

• Someone who will yet reign

• A kingdom on the other side of death

• A possibility that he might be remembered there

His faith is not sophisticated. It is simply stubborn enough to say, “This is not the end of Your story, or mine, if You will have me.”

d. Grace Offends Our Sense of Fairness—and That’s Part of the Point

If we’re honest, many of us feel a flicker of resistance to this scene:

• He wasted his whole life and gets heaven in one conversation?

• What about all the faithful people who struggled for years?

Grace is not “fair” in the way we usually use that word. It is not about proportional rewards. It is about:

• The generosity of the Giver

• The sufficiency of the cross

• The humility of the receiver

The penitent thief is not a loophole story; he is a spotlight on the heart of God.

7. Bringing It Home: Hope for Latecomers and Long-Timers

Where does this thief’s story meet yours?

You might see yourself in his late awakening:

Maybe there are parts of your life you look back on with grief—years you feel you squandered, choices you regret, damage you can’t undo. You might secretly fear that you have “waited too long,” that whatever God might have had for you is already spent.

The penitent thief whispers, “As long as you have breath, it is not too late to turn toward Jesus.” There may be earthly consequences that remain. There may be relationships that can’t be fixed in the way you wish. But in terms of your standing with God, the door is still open as long as you can say, even weakly, “Lord, remember me.”

You might also see yourself in his simple clarity:

Most of us spend a lot of time trying to convince ourselves and others that we are “not that bad.” This man, in his final hour, is done with that. He tells the truth about himself and throws himself on Jesus’ goodness. That same simplicity is available to you now, without waiting for a deathbed. You don’t have to keep carrying the weight of self-justification.

Or perhaps you’re more like the crowds watching—or even like the other criminal:

If you’ve walked with Jesus a long time, you may find grace for people like this thief harder to swallow than you’d like to admit. You might feel a subtle resentment toward “last-minute” believers or people who seem to get mercy without the long struggle you’ve endured. His story gently exposes that in us and invites us back to the truth: all of us, whether we came early or late, are there by the same grace, covered by the same blood, welcomed by the same Savior.

And if you are in a season of pain that won’t relent, this story also offers a different kind of comfort. Sometimes, like the penitent thief, you are not rescued from the suffering. The nails stay. The cross stands. The pain continues. But you are promised a companion in it and a future beyond it:

“Today… with Me… in Paradise.”

Jesus may not always change your circumstances, but He offers Himself in the middle of them and Himself at the end of them. For many of us, that is the deeper miracle.

8. Questions for Reflection and Conversation

• When you picture the two criminals beside Jesus, which one feels more familiar to you—the mocker or the penitent one? Why?

• Are there areas of your life where you still find yourself making demands of God—“If You are really there, then prove it by doing X”? How does this story challenge that posture?

• What regrets or “it’s too late” narratives do you carry? How might the penitent thief’s experience speak into those places?

• How do you honestly feel about the idea of someone turning to Jesus at the very end of their life and receiving the same salvation as a lifelong believer? What does your reaction reveal about your understanding of grace?

• Read Luke 23:39–43 slowly. Which phrase stands out to you most today, and what might the Holy Spirit be highlighting through it?

9. Closing Prayer

Lord Jesus,

You listened to a dying criminal’s trembling request
and answered with a promise of Paradise.

I bring You my own mixture
of guilt, regret, fear, and hope.
Teach me to tell the truth about myself,
to stop defending what cannot be defended,
and to trust Your mercy more than my record.

For the places in me that feel too late,
too wasted, or too far gone,
speak again Your word of assurance.
And when I face my own final hours,
let my heart be turned toward You
with the same simple prayer:

“Lord, remember me.”

Thank You that Your answer,
for all who turn to You,
is still:

“You will be with Me.”

– Amen.

Part III – Hidden Heroes at the Place of the Skull

Chapter 11: The Centurion at the Cross

A Hardened Soldier Who Confessed the Son of God

1. Opening Story: When You Think You’ve Seen It All

There are jobs that put you front row to human suffering.

An ER nurse who has worked nights for twenty years.
A homicide detective who has walked through countless crime scenes.
A hospice worker who has sat at hundreds of bedsides.
A soldier who has seen too many battles.

People in those roles develop a certain toughness. They have to, just to function. You can’t fall apart every time you see blood or hear another awful story. Over time, the shocking becomes ordinary. You learn to say, “I’ve seen it all.”

Right up until the day you see something you can’t explain.

The Roman centurion at the cross is that kind of person.

He is not a curious tourist.
He is not a grieving follower of Jesus.
He is a professional executioner, a mid-level officer in the Roman army who has likely supervised multiple crucifixions. This is his job. He knows how men die and how crowds behave. He has watched many condemned criminals curse, beg, bargain, or simply go silent.

When he begins that Friday morning, it is just another assignment:

• Keep the detail organized.

• Make sure the sentence is carried out.

• Maintain order among the crowd.

• Report back when the job is done.

But as the hours pass, something he did not expect happens. The man on the center cross does not die like other men. The sky should be bright; instead, it goes dark. The earth shakes. The crowd that was mocking grows uneasy. And above it all is the strange, steady composure of Jesus—praying for His executioners, promising paradise to a criminal, crying out to His Father, and then choosing the moment to breathe His last.

The centurion has seen many deaths. He knows what “normal” looks like. This is not normal.

By the time Jesus dies, the hardened soldier is saying something out loud that no one in his position is supposed to say.

He becomes a hidden hero, not because he planned to be one, but because in the most public moment of Rome’s power, he allows himself to be surprised, humbled, and convinced.

2. Scripture Window: “Truly This Man Was…”

“Jesus cried out with a loud voice, and gave up the spirit.
The veil of the temple was torn in two from the top to the bottom.
When the centurion, who stood by opposite him, saw that he cried out like this and breathed his last, he said,
‘Truly this man was the Son of God!’”
(Mark 15:37–39 WEB)

Luke records a slightly different emphasis:

“When the centurion saw what was done, he glorified God, saying,
‘Certainly this was a righteous man.’”
(Luke 23:47 WEB)

Between the two accounts we hear his confession:

• “This was the Son of God.”

• “This was a righteous man.”

Either way, something in him has shifted from:

Just another execution

to

Something holy has happened here.

3. The Scene: Darkness at Noon, Earth Shaking Underfoot

The crucifixion has been underway for several hours.

• Nails have done their work.

• The inscription has been posted: “This is the King of the Jews.”

• Soldiers have gambled for clothing.

• Passersby have hurled insults.

• Religious leaders have mocked: “He saved others; he can’t save himself.”

The centurion is “standing by opposite Him,” overseeing it all. Then…

Instead of a typical progression toward death, several strange things happen:

• From about noon to three in the afternoon, darkness covers the land—unnatural, unsettling.

• Jesus speaks words from the cross that are unlike any the centurion has heard: prayers for His executioners, care for His mother, a loud cry of abandonment directed not at the crowd but at God.

• At the end, Jesus does not simply fade away. He cries out with a loud voice and then gives up His spirit—as if surrendering life rather than having it taken.

• At that same moment, though the centurion cannot see it, the veil of the temple is torn in two from top to bottom. Nearby, the earth shakes and rocks split.

The centurion doesn’t know about the temple curtain yet. He may or may not connect the earthquake directly to this particular execution. But he knows enough to say:

“I have never seen a man die like this.”

4. The Hidden Hero’s Moment: A Soldier’s Confession

Mark emphasizes that the centurion speaks when he sees:

“that he cried out like this and breathed his last.”

Luke says:

“When the centurion saw what was done, he glorified God…”

The centurion is paying attention. He is not numb. He is not on autopilot. He is watching the condemned man in the center and noticing:

• The way Jesus endures suffering

• The way He speaks from the cross

• The timing and manner of His final cry

• The strange weight of the moment

Something in the soldier breaks open. In the presence of a dying man, he finds words he has never said before:

“Truly this man was the Son of God.” (Mark)
“Certainly this was a righteous man.” (Luke)

We don’t know exactly what he means by “Son of God.” As a Roman, he may have used that phrase for emperors or heroes. He almost certainly does not have a fully developed Christian theology in that instant.

But we know this:

• He publicly declares Jesus’ innocence and unique status.

• He distances himself from the mockery of the crowd.

• He glorifies God instead of Rome.

In other words, he switches sides, at least in his heart.

He goes from being the man in charge of the execution to being the first person at the cross to preach a small, stumbling sermon about who Jesus really is.

That is hidden heroism.

5. What This Moment Reveals About Jesus

The centurion’s reaction tells us as much about Jesus as it does about the soldier.

a. Jesus Reveals Himself in the Way He Dies

Most leaders reveal their character in how they live. Jesus reveals His most clearly in how He dies.

The centurion is not converted by:

• A healing

• A parable

• A miracle of multiplication

He is moved by:

• Jesus’ prayer for His enemies

• Jesus’ calm sovereignty even in suffering

• Jesus’ final loud cry and chosen moment of death

The cross is not just where Jesus saves us; it is where He shows us what God is like:

• Self-giving

• Forgiving

• Steadfast

• In control even when appearing powerless

b. The Cross Speaks to Outsiders

The centurion is a Gentile, a representative of the occupying empire. He is not steeped in Jewish expectation about the Messiah. He has not sat under Jesus’ teaching for three years. He comes to this scene as an outsider.

Yet he is the one who says, “Truly this man was the Son of God.”

The cross has a way of bypassing religious insider status and speaking directly to hearts:

• Hardened hearts

• Foreign hearts

• Unexpected hearts

Jesus is drawing all kinds of people to Himself—even in His dying breath.

c. God Is at Work in the Middle of Human Violence

From one angle, this scene is a showcase of brutality and injustice:

• False accusations

• Political cowardice

• Public humiliation

• State-sanctioned violence

From another angle, God is doing His most important work:

• Tearing the temple veil

• Shaking the earth

• Opening a way into His presence

• Awakening faith in a Roman soldier

The centurion’s confession is a small but significant sign that even in the worst human moments, God is actively revealing Himself.

6. What the Centurion Teaches Us

For someone with so few recorded words, the centurion has a lot to teach.

a. Pay Attention in the Places You’d Rather Go Numb

If anyone had an excuse to be desensitized, it was this man. Crucifixion was part of his job. Suffering was his workplace backdrop.

But he notices this death. He watches the way Jesus suffers and dies and lets it land on him.

Many of us live surrounded by suffering—through our work, our news feeds, or our history. It is easy to go numb. The centurion challenges us to stay spiritually awake, especially at the foot of the cross.

b. Be Willing to Change Your Mind in Public

The centurion’s confession is not whispered in a corner. It is spoken within earshot of other soldiers, religious leaders, and bystanders.

To say, “This was a righteous man… the Son of God” is to imply:

• Something terribly wrong has just happened.

• Rome’s execution and the leaders’ accusations have killed an innocent.

• I no longer stand fully with the crowd.

Hidden heroes are willing to let new truth overturn old assumptions—even if it costs them face in front of their own people.

c. You Don’t Have to Understand Everything to Say Something True

The centurion’s theology is likely incomplete. He doesn’t yet know about the resurrection. He doesn’t know how God will spread this message to the nations. He only knows:

• “I have just seen a righteous man die like no one else I’ve ever seen.”

• “This death is connected to God.”

God honors that small, honest confession and preserves it forever in Scripture.

You don’t have to have every doctrine nailed down before you can say something true about Jesus. Often, discipleship begins with a simple, sincere sentence: “Surely this man is who He claims to be.”

7. Bringing It Home: When the Cross Breaks Through Your Toughness

Where does the centurion’s story intersect with yours?

Maybe you’re someone who has seen a lot—through ministry, medicine, law enforcement, caregiving, or just a long life. You’ve learned how to push your feelings down to get through the day. You might even feel a bit jaded about spiritual things. You’ve heard the sermons, sung the songs, seen the church at its worst and best.

You might not say it out loud, but part of you thinks, I’ve seen it all.

The centurion reminds you that Jesus can still surprise people who think they’ve seen everything. The cross has layers you have not yet exhausted. There is a way of looking at Jesus’ suffering that can still make you say, maybe quietly at first, “Surely. Truly. This Man…”

Or perhaps you identify more with his role than his experience. You are in systems and structures that feel indifferent—or even hostile—to the things of God. Your workplace, your extended family, your social circles may be more Rome than Jerusalem. You know what it is to feel like the odd one out if you speak a word of faith.

The centurion stands as a quiet encouragement:

• It is possible to glorify God from within the empire.

• It is possible to speak truth about Jesus even when you are wearing the uniform of the very system that crucified Him.

• A single honest sentence—“This was a righteous man… the Son of God”—spoken at the right moment can be a powerful witness.

Finally, his story invites all of us to ask:

• What happens to me when I stand still at the cross and really look?

• Do I allow myself to be affected, corrected, and moved?

• Or have I learned to walk past this story as if it were just another religious image?

The centurion’s conversion moment isn’t dramatized. There are no lights, no altar call, no choir. There is only the sight of the crucified Christ and an honest man letting that sight change his mind.

You don’t have to manufacture emotion. You don’t have to force yourself to feel something dramatic. You only have to stand there, pay attention, and be willing to say, in your own words:

“I see You, Jesus.
You are not like any other man.
Truly, You are who You say You are.”

8. Questions for Reflection and Conversation

• In your own life, where have you “seen it all” and started to go numb—especially around suffering or spiritual things? How might the centurion’s attentiveness challenge you?

• What do you think the centurion saw or sensed in Jesus’ death that convinced him something was different? How does that deepen your own view of the cross?

• Have you ever changed your mind about Jesus, the church, or faith in a way that required you to admit, “I was wrong”? What was that like?

• Where do you feel pressure to stay silent about what you believe—family, workplace, social media? What might faithful, honest confession look like in those spaces?

• Read Mark 15:33–39 and Luke 23:44–48 slowly. What details stand out to you? What do they stir in your heart about Jesus? About the centurion?

9. Closing Prayer

Lord Jesus,

You died under the watchful eye
of a hardened soldier
who thought he had seen everything.

Yet in the way You suffered,
in the way You prayed,
in the way You breathed Your last,
You broke through his defenses
and drew from him a confession of truth.

I bring You my own worn places—
the parts of me that feel jaded,
tired, or too “experienced” to be moved.
Let me stand again at the foot of Your cross
and really see You.

Where I have been numb, awaken me.
Where I have been stubborn, soften me.
Where I have been silent, give me courage to say,
even in simple words,

“Truly, You are the Son of God.”

Let that confession shape my life
in the systems, relationships,
and responsibilities where You have placed me.

– Amen.

Chapter 12: The Galilean Women at a Distance

Those Who Stayed When the Others Ran

1. Opening Story: Sitting in the Waiting Room

There is a kind of love that can fix things.
It brings tools, makes phone calls, writes checks, solves problems.

And there is another kind of love that can’t fix anything at all—but refuses to leave.

You see it in hospital waiting rooms at 2 a.m., where family members sit half-asleep in hard chairs, clutching Styrofoam coffee cups, waiting for news they cannot control.

You see it at funerals, in the quiet faces of friends who drove for hours just to be there, knowing they will say nothing that eases the grief, but hoping their presence will say, You aren’t alone.

You see it in caregivers who keep vigil at a bedside, or in parents watching from the stands, or in companions who will not walk away even when there’s “nothing left to do.”

By the time Jesus is nailed to the cross, many of His closest male disciples have scattered. Peter has denied Him. Most are in hiding, confused and afraid. But there is a group that will not leave—women from Galilee who have followed Him for a long time, served His needs, and listened to His teaching.

They cannot stop the crucifixion.
They cannot argue with Pilate.
They cannot reach the cross, or push through soldiers, or dress His wounds.

But they can do this: they can stand as close as they are allowed and keep their eyes on Him until the very end.

They become the quiet, steady witnesses on the worst day of their lives. We know them as the Galilean women at a distance—hidden heroines whose ministry is not to fix, but to stay.

2. Scripture Window: Watching from Afar

“There were also women watching from afar, among whom were both Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James the less and of Joses, and Salome;
who, when he was in Galilee, followed him and served him; and many other women who came up with him to Jerusalem.”
(Mark 15:40–41 WEB)

Luke adds:

“All his acquaintances, and the women who followed with him from Galilee, stood at a distance, watching these things.”
(Luke 23:49 WEB)

And later, at the burial:

“The women, who had come with him out of Galilee, followed after, and saw the tomb, and how his body was laid.
They returned, and prepared spices and ointments. On the Sabbath they rested according to the commandment.”
(Luke 23:55–56 WEB)

Mark and Luke want us to notice three things:

• These women had a history with Jesus in Galilee.

• They are watching from afar at the cross.

• They are paying attention to where and how His body is laid.

In other words, they are there for the whole terrible sequence: cross, death, burial, waiting.

3. The Scene: At the Edge of the Horror

As Jesus hangs on the cross:

• Soldiers are gambling for His clothes.

• Leaders are mocking.

• Bystanders are streaming past, some curious, some bored, some entertained.

• Darkness covers the land. The earth will soon shake.

At some distance from the cross—far enough to stay out of the soldiers’ way, but near enough to see—stands a group of women.

Mark names three:

• Mary Magdalene

• Mary the mother of James the less and of Joses

• Salome

Then he adds: “many other women who came up with him to Jerusalem.”

Luke simply calls them “the women who followed with him from Galilee.”

They have traveled long roads with Jesus. In Galilee, they used their resources to support His ministry:

“…who, when he was in Galilee, followed him and served him…” (Mark 15:41)

They cooked, gave, organized, listened, learned. They were more than spectators; they were disciples.

Now, at the cross, they are not in the inner circle of power. They have no seats at the council table. They cannot step onto the judgment platform or into Pilate’s chamber. The closest they can get is the edge of the execution grounds.

So they stand there, “watching these things.”

It is not a passive watching. It is the helpless, heartsick seeing of people who love someone and cannot intervene.

4. The Hidden Heroes’ Moment: Staying for the Whole Terrible Story

It would have been easier to look away.

They know what crucifixion does to a body. They hear the mocking, see the blood, feel the earthquake. Every instinct must scream, Run from this. Protect yourself. Forget what you see.

But they don’t.

They stay in that awful space between “We can’t do anything” and “We can’t bear to leave Him.”

Later, when Joseph of Arimathea goes to ask for Jesus’ body and lays Him in a new tomb, the women are still there.

“The women… followed after, and saw the tomb, and how his body was laid.” (Luke 23:55)

They pay attention to details:

• Where is the tomb located?

• How is His body placed?

• What will we need to do later, if we can, to honor Him properly?

They go home and prepare spices and ointments. Then they keep Sabbath—not with the normal joy, but with a grief that must have felt suffocating.

They do not yet know about Easter morning.
They only know: We were with Him in Galilee. We will be near Him now, as much as we are allowed.

Hidden heroism here looks like:

• Staying when there is nothing to do but hurt and watch.

• Paying attention when others are numbed or distracted.

• Quietly planning small acts of honor in the face of overwhelming loss.

5. What This Moment Reveals About Jesus

Even though these verses center on the women, they also tell us something important about Jesus.

a. Jesus Drew Real Disciples from the Margins

In a world where women’s voices were often discounted, Jesus welcomed them as:

• Listeners to His teaching

• Benefactors of His ministry

• Partners in His mission

They followed Him, not as background decoration, but as true disciples. The fact that they are still there, on this day of shame and danger, says less about their personality and more about His character.

He treated them in such a way that:

• They knew they belonged.

• They knew their presence mattered.

• They were willing to be publicly identified with Him even at His lowest point.

b. Jesus’ Life Was Surrounded by Faithful, Unspectacular Love

The gospels often highlight the dramatic moments—miracles, controversies, confrontations. But underneath those visible events is the steady presence of people who fed Him, hosted Him, traveled with Him, and now stand by as He dies.

Jesus’ ministry was not sustained only by public moments. It was surrounded by quiet, faithful care. The Galilean women at a distance are living reminders that God’s work usually rests on a foundation of unspectacular love.

c. The First Witnesses to the Resurrection Are Already in Place

Even before angels roll the stone away, God is positioning witnesses who will be able to say, with authority:

• “We saw Him die.”

• “We saw where they laid Him.”

• “We came back on the third day, and the tomb was empty.”

The women’s careful watching at a distance becomes essential groundwork for their up-close encounter at dawn.

6. What the Galilean Women Teach Us

They never speak a line in these verses, but their lives speak volumes.

a. The Ministry of Being There

In a culture obsessed with doing, it’s easy to underestimate the power of simply being present.

The women cannot change the story, but they refuse to abandon Jesus at the most painful part of it. Their nearness becomes an act of honor.

Many of the most important acts of love in our lives will look like:

• Sitting beside a hospital bed

• Standing at a graveside

• Attending a hard meeting

• Showing up for someone’s worst day

You may not have the right words. You may not have any solutions. But staying is itself a Christlike act.

b. Courage at the Edges

They stand “at a distance.”

Some of that distance is likely enforced by soldiers. Some of it may be prudence: get too close and you might be swept up in the hatred that put Jesus there.

But they put themselves as close as they can, within the constraints they face. They are not in the safe inner rooms where the disciples hide. They are within sight of the cross.

Courage doesn’t always look like charging into the center. Sometimes it looks like standing as near as you safely can, where your heart can still see.

c. Paying Attention When Others Look Away

Grief often tempts us to shut our eyes. These women keep theirs open.

They watch “these things”: the crucifixion, the last breath, the taking down of the body, the burial. That painful attentiveness prepares them to understand the empty tomb when they see it.

There are things in our world that are hard to look at—abuse, poverty, injustice, the slow erosion of someone’s health. The Galilean women teach us that part of Christian love is remaining attentive in those places, not out of morbid curiosity, but out of commitment.

d. Grief Can Still Plan to Honor

They cannot anoint His body on Friday night—Sabbath is coming. But before the sun sets, they make note of the tomb. Then they go home and prepare what they can.

It is a small act in the face of a large loss, but small acts are often exactly what faith looks like when our hearts are broken.

e. Faith can remain even in times of crisis

The women cannot change the outcome. They cannot make this right. All they can do is grieve. Honoring the Sabbath was painful. Instead of resting in the assurance that God was with them, they suffered in the pain of knowing their Messiah was now dead.

They remained true to Jesus. They went to the tomb to do what they could to show their love and to say, in their own way, “We still see you, love you… miss you.”

7. Bringing It Home: When You Feel “Far Away” but Still Faithful

You may find your heart slipping easily into the shoes of these Galilean women. They are not in the council chamber where decisions are made. They are not standing beside the soldiers giving commands. They are not even close enough to the cross to touch Jesus’ feet. They are “at a distance,” on the edge of the scene, watching a story they cannot control and cannot bear to miss.

Maybe that’s where you live most of your life—on the edges of other people’s decisions and crises. You are the one in the waiting room, the hallway, the back row. You stand in doorways while the hard conversation happens inside. You listen to updates from doctors, judges, bosses, and then carry the weight of those words for the people you love. You show up, again and again, even when there’s nothing you can fix and nothing profound you can say.

It’s easy to believe that this kind of presence doesn’t really count. Our culture celebrates the ones in the spotlight—the decision-makers, the problem-solvers, the people who stand at microphones and seem to move the story. Compared to that, sitting beside a hospital bed, walking quietly next to a grieving friend, or simply keeping your eyes open to someone else’s suffering can feel small and unimpressive. Hidden. Forgettable.

The Galilean women gently contradict that lie. The Gospels go out of their way to mention them by name, to note their history with Jesus in Galilee, to record that they were there when He died and there when He was buried. God thought their watching and staying mattered enough to write it into Scripture. Their faithfulness at the edge of the story becomes the bridge into the next chapter, because the ones who saw exactly where His body was laid will be the first to understand what it means when the tomb is empty.

So, if you feel “far away”—from the center of power, from the place where decisions are made, even from the vivid experiences of other people’s faith—don’t mistake distance for insignificance. The God who noticed these women at the fringe of the crowd notices you at the fringe of your own scenes. He sees the late-night drives, the quiet texts, the hours in plastic chairs, the way you keep showing up even when your heart is tired and you wish someone could fix things for you, too.

There may come a day when all this watching and waiting suddenly makes sense, when a “sealed tomb” in your life cracks open and you realize you were standing in position to witness it because you refused to walk away when everything looked hopeless. Until then, your calling may look very much like theirs: stay as close as you can, keep your eyes open, love steadily from whatever distance you are allowed, and trust that Jesus counts that as real discipleship.

8. Questions for Reflection and Conversation

• When have you been in a situation where you could not fix anything, but you chose to stay present anyway? What did that cost you, and what did it give?

• Do you tend to undervalue “just being there” for someone in pain? How does this story challenge or affirm your view?

• In what areas of your life do you feel “at a distance”—not in control, but still watching? How might God be inviting you to see that place as a calling, not a failure?

• Read Mark 15:40–41 and Luke 23:49, 55–56 slowly. What details do you notice that you may have skimmed over before? How do they deepen your appreciation for these hidden heroines?

9. Closing Prayer

Lord Jesus,

You were not alone on the hill.
At a distance,
the women who had followed and served You
stood and watched,
refusing to leave even when they could do nothing to stop the suffering.

Thank You for their faithful presence.
Thank You for every quiet disciple
who stands on the edges of hard stories
and stays.

When I feel helpless,
teach me the courage of simply being there.
When I feel far away from the center,
remind me that You see me,
as surely as You saw those women on that dark day.

Open my eyes to the crosses around me
that I am called to witness,
not as a spectator,
but as a companion in love.

And when empty-tomb mornings come
after days of watching and waiting,
let me be among those who are ready—
because I stayed,
because I watched,
because I would not walk away.

– Amen

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Sustain the Work

Article 1 is a preview. Additional articles are available as they are published to PLM+ members. CLICK HERE for more information.

In This Article:

Chapter 7: Pilate’s Wife

Chapter 8: Simon of Cyrene

Chapter 9: Daughters of Jerusalem

Chapter 7: Pilate’s Wife

A Disturbing Dream and a Silenced Warning

1. Opening Story: “I Had the Strangest Dream About You…”

There’s a particular kind of dream that lingers.

Most dreams evaporate as soon as you open your eyes. A few hang around the edges of your day—so vivid, so unsettling, so heavy that you can’t shake them. You catch yourself saying to someone you trust, “I had the strangest dream about you…”

Sometimes those dreams are just the brain sorting out yesterday’s noise.
Sometimes they feel like more—a warning, a nudge, a flashing yellow light in the soul.

Now imagine waking up from a dream so troubling that you:

• Feel it in your body

• Can’t focus on anything else

• Are convinced it is about one specific person and one specific situation

And the person at the center of it is currently standing trial in a court your spouse oversees.

That’s Pilate’s wife.

On the day Jesus stands before Pontius Pilate, she has “suffered many things” in a dream because of Him. While priests scheme and crowds shout and Pilate weighs his options, she sends an urgent message into the courtroom:

“Have nothing to do with that righteous man…”

It is a small sentence aimed at a massive injustice. A quiet voice of conscience pushed up against a roaring system.

Pilate will ultimately ignore her warning.
The crucifixion will go forward.
But her dream and her courage to speak place her among the hidden heroes of the passion story—those who, in their own limited way, tried to stand between Jesus and the machinery of sin and fear.

Read more

Article 1 is a preview. Additional articles are available as they are published to PLM+ members. CLICK HERE for more information.

In this article:

Chapter 4: The Woman with the Alabaster Jar

Chapter 5: The Man with the Water Jar

Chapter 6: Malchus, The High Priest’s Servant

Chapter 4: The Woman with the Alabaster Jar

Anointing Jesus for Burial Before Anyone Understood

1. Opening Story: “What a Waste…”

Most of us have watched someone make a decision with their money or time and quietly thought, That’s a waste.

Maybe it was:

• A large gift to a cause you’re not sure will last

• A career choice that made no financial sense

• Hours poured into a person who didn’t seem grateful

• A big, lavish gesture on something that would be over in a moment

From the outside, we shake our heads.
“If they were going to give that away, there were better uses.”
“If they were going to spend that much time, it should have been on something more productive.”
“If they wanted to make a difference, there had to be a smarter way.”

We aren’t always wrong; sometimes we’re being wise stewards. But sometimes, if we’re honest, our “What a waste” is just a more respectable way of saying, “I don’t understand that kind of love.”

In Bethany, in the days just before the cross, a woman walks into a room where Jesus is eating. She is carrying an alabaster jar of perfume so valuable it represents a year’s wages. Without a speech, without asking permission, she breaks the neck of the jar and pours the perfume on Jesus.

The fragrance fills the house. The tension fills the room.

Some people are indignant. What a waste! Jesus says something entirely different:

“She has done a good work for me....”
(see Mark 14:6)

This hidden hero shows us what it looks like to give in a way that may never make sense to the practical critics in the room—but is deeply understood and cherished by Jesus.

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Introduction

Part I– Seeing the Story from the Shadows

1. When the Curtain Begins to Tear
   Why the hidden heroes of the cross and empty tomb matter

2. A Week That Changed Everything
   Timeline and setting of the crucifixion and resurrection stories

Part II– Hidden Heroes on the Road to the Cross

3. The Donkey’s Owner
   Lending ordinary things to an extraordinary King

Introduction

You already know this story.

You’ve heard about the Upper Room and the Garden. You’ve watched Pilate wash his hands, seen Peter weep bitterly, stood beside Mary at the foot of the cross. You can almost feel the cool air of the early morning when the stone is rolled away and the risen Christ calls Mary Magdalene by name.

These scenes have shaped our prayers, our worship, our imagination of what God is like. But if you linger in the story long enough, you begin to notice the faces at the edge of the frame.

• A nameless man carrying a water jar through crowded streets.

• A governor’s wife who wakes from a disturbing dream and sends a note: “Have nothing to do with that righteous man.”

• A thief on a neighboring cross, who has wasted almost everything—and uses his last breaths to whisper, “Remember me.”

Most of them don’t get much airtime in sermons. They are not the “main characters.” They speak one sentence, or none at all. They walk across the stage for a verse or two and then disappear.

And yet, the Holy Spirit saw fit to write them into Scripture.

This book is my attempt to linger with them—to listen for what their quiet, hidden lives reveal about Jesus, and about us.

Why “Hidden Heroes?”

Calling them “heroes” does not mean they did everything right. Many of them were confused, late, afraid, conflicted, or caught in the middle of events they could not control. Some were on the “wrong side” of the story at first. A few never even speak to Jesus.

But in each of these lives, something crucial happens at the very point where our story intersects with His:

• The man drafted to carry a stranger’s cross discovers he is walking closer to the Messiah than he ever imagined.

• The women who can only stand and watch become the ones who know exactly where His body is laid and so are first to understand what it means when the tomb is empty.

• The centurion who thought he had seen it all realizes he has just witnessed something holy.

• Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus, who followed in secret, find courage at last when it looks like courage can’t change anything.

They are “hidden heroes” not because they are flawless, but because their small, imperfect responses to Jesus show us something big and beautiful: What matters most is not how prominent you are, or how polished your story is, but how you respond when Jesus passes through your life.

For most of us, discipleship does not look like leading a movement or writing a gospel. It looks more like:

• Doing a simple job on an ordinary day, only to find God has woven our route into His purposes.

• Offering a gift others call wasteful, and hearing Jesus call it beautiful.

• Standing near someone else’s suffering when we can’t fix it.

• Admitting we were wrong, even if it’s late.

• Letting our hearts be moved when we would rather go numb.

In that sense, every reader of this book has at least one hidden hero whose story is already quietly echoing your own.

What This Book Is—and Isn’t

This book focuses on Holy Week, the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus, told through the eyes of the people who usually stand in the shadows of the story.

It will not try to retell every detail. You won’t find a complete harmony of the gospels here. Peter, Pilate, Judas, Mary the mother of Jesus, and the other “major characters” still matter deeply—but they are not the center of this unique journey. Instead, we will walk beside the so-called “supporting cast,” the ones who often slip past our attention when we read quickly:

• The owner of a donkey

• The women at the cross and at the tomb

• Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus

• The Emmaus travelers, Thomas, and others at the edge of the empty tomb story

Each chapter is built around one of these lives. You’ll notice a pattern.

We begin with an opening reflection that starts right where you live—in hospital waiting rooms, staff meetings, long drives home, family conversations—because the same issues that surface in them surface in the Passion story: regret, fear, confusion, courage, doubt, late obedience, costly love.

Then we step into the text itself, looking at what the gospels actually say about each person. We explore the scene, the context, and the “moment” where their story intersects with Jesus’ journey to the cross or out of the tomb.

From there, we ask two main questions:

1. What does this hidden life reveal about Jesus?
   The real star of every chapter is still Christ. These supporting characters are like facets in a diamond, helping us see His justice, mercy, sovereignty, tenderness, and courage in fresh angles.

2. What does this hidden life reveal about us?
   Their struggles are our struggles. Their mistakes are uncomfortably familiar. Their responses—good and bad—can comfort, confront, and guide us as we follow Jesus in our own time and place.

Along the way, each chapter ends with space to “bring it home”—questions for reflection or conversation, and a closing prayer you can make your own.

This is not meant to be a scholarly commentary, though we will pay careful attention to the text. It is also not meant to be a sentimental retelling that smooths out all the rough edges. My hope is that it will be an honest journey: grounded in Scripture, attentive to the real human beings in the story, and honest about the real human beings we are.

How to Use This Book

You can read these chapters straight through, the way you might read any book, and follow the flow from Palm Sunday to the empty tomb.

You can use this in a “book club” format where you discuss the details of each hidden hero and learn from other fellow travelers in this hero’s journey. Each chapter section is numbered for easy reference during a group discussion.

You can also use them devotionally:

• as a Lenten or Holy Week companion,

• as a small-group study,

• or as a way to slow down and sit with familiar passages from a slightly different angle.

Read with a Bible open. Let the Scripture itself have the first and last word. If a particular character’s story tugs at you more than the others, don’t rush past it. Sit with it. Ask the Spirit what He wants to show you there.

You may find that certain chapters resonate more in certain seasons of your life:

• When you’re carrying burdens you never chose, Simon of Cyrene may feel like a friend.

• When you are haunted by late regret, Joseph and Nicodemus may offer unexpected comfort.

• When you are hurt by people who claim to follow Jesus, Malchus might have something to say.

• When you feel like your only ministry is “being there,” the Galilean women at a distance may validate that calling.

• When you fear you’ve waited too long to turn back toward God, the penitent thief will be waiting beside you.

Let these stories meet you where you live now—not where you think you should be.

A Word to the “Hidden Ones”

If there is a thread that ties all these chapters together, it is this: the God who saved the world through the cross and the empty tomb loves to work through people who are not in the spotlight.

He sees servants and soldiers, caregivers and questioners, people with mixed motives and shaky courage. He sees the ones who show up late, or quiet, or unsure. He sees the ones who feel like they are always at the edge of the room, the back of the crowd, the outskirts of the story.

You may feel like that in your own life of faith:

• You’re not the preacher, the worship leader, the “super Christian.”

• You are the one in the nursery, the sound booth, or the kitchen.

• You are the one sitting beside a hospital bed, the one sending quiet texts, the one praying in the night for people who will never know.

If that’s you, I hope this book will feel like home. Because if the Passion and Resurrection story teaches us anything, it is that Jesus does some of His most beautiful work in the lives of people who assumed they were background characters.

There are no extras in the kingdom of God.

As you read, my prayer is that you will see three things more clearly:

• Jesus Himself– more compelling, more tender, more just, more mysterious and merciful than you remembered.

• The hidden heroes of Scripture– not as distant figures, but as fellow travelers whose stories still matter.

• Your own place in God’s story– not as an afterthought, but as a beloved, called, seen disciple whose small acts of faithfulness are woven into something much larger than you can see.

The cross and the empty tomb are not just events we remember. They are the landscape we walk in every day. Somewhere along that road, you will find yourself in the reflection of a donkey’s owner, a centurion, a grieving woman, a fearful council member, a repentant thief.

When you do, listen closely.

The same Jesus who met them in their moment stands ready to meet you in yours.

Part I – Seeing the Story from the Shadows

Chapter 1: When the Curtain Begins to Tear

Why the Hidden Heroes of the Cross and Empty Tomb Matter

1. Opening Story: The People You Never See

If you stay long enough after a church service or a play, you notice something: when the crowd goes home, the real workers come out.

Someone is stacking chairs. Someone is coiling cables. Someone is wiping fingerprints off glass doors or scrubbing a mysterious stain out of the carpet. They aren’t on the stage. Their names aren’t printed in the program. Most people will never know they were there. But if they hadn’t done what they did, the “main event” would have fallen apart.

The story of Jesus’ crucifixion and resurrection is like that.

We know the names printed in bold: Jesus. Peter. Judas. Pilate. Mary Magdalene. But in the shadows of those scenes are people whose obedience, questions, courage, and even failures quietly shaped the story we know so well.

This book is about them—the ones we usually walk past on our way to the “main” characters. The ones who show up briefly, often unnamed, and then disappear… but not before God weaves their small, ordinary choices into His great saving work.

2. Scripture Window: A Tearing Curtain and a Watching Centurion

“Behold, the veil of the temple was torn in two from the top to the bottom. The earth quaked and the rocks were split… Now the centurion and those who were with him… said, ‘Truly this was the Son of God.’” (Matthew 27:51, 54)

At the very center of the crucifixion story, two things happen almost at once:

• In the temple, a heavy curtain tears from top to bottom—God’s own sign that the distance between Himself and His people is being torn open.

• At Golgotha, a hardened Roman centurion, who has seen countless men die, suddenly sees this death differently and confesses, “Truly this was the Son of God.”

One sign happens in the holiest place on earth. The other sign comes from a nameless Gentile soldier.

The torn curtain shouts from heaven. The centurion whispers from the margins.

Both matter.

Hidden heroes live in that space—where God quietly tears curtains and opens eyes, and where ordinary people on the edges suddenly see what’s really happening.

3. The Curtain and the Edges of the Story

When we read the passion and resurrection narratives, we tend to stand in the middle of the stage.

We follow Jesus’ last supper with the Twelve.
We trail behind Him into Gethsemane.
We watch His trial before Pilate.
We run to the empty tomb with Peter and John.

But if we step back a bit, we start to notice the edges of the scene:

• An unnamed donkey’s owner who lets his animal be taken “because the Lord needs it.”

• A woman with an alabaster jar who spends a year’s wages in one extravagant moment of love.

• A man carrying a water jar whose simple obedience leads the disciples to the Upper Room.

• Women who watch from a distance, refusing to leave when most of the men run.

None of them deliver a sermon at Pentecost.
None of them write a New Testament letter.
But without them, the story would look very different.

The torn curtain is more than a dramatic event; it’s a symbol of what God is doing everywhere in this story. He is pulling back the fabric we thought separated “important people” from “unimportant people,” “holy places” from “common places,” “central characters” from “background characters.”

The curtain begins to tear—and suddenly we realize the people on the edges were never really on the edges.

4. Who Are the “Hidden Heroes”?

When we talk about Hidden Heroes of Holy Week, we’re not talking about:

• Sinless saints who always got it right

• Spiritual celebrities with perfect faith

• People who knew they were making history

We’re talking about people who:

• Acted in obscurity– Their names, if given at all, are easy to miss.

• Carried small assignments– A jar of water. A borrowed room. A moment of courage.

• Wrestled with fear or confusion– Doubters, outsiders, servants, soldiers.

• Intersected with Jesus at crucial moments– A single decision, a short conversation, a brief encounter that God quietly wove into the great saving story.

They are unassuming and almost invisible because we don’t always notice them.
They are heroes because God does.

Hidden heroes are not the center of the story—Jesus is. But they show us how ordinary lives line up with an extraordinary Savior in ways that matter far more than they ever realized.

5. Why the Hidden Heroes Matter Now

Why spend a whole book on these shadow-side characters? Because most of us live there.

Most disciples will never:

• Preach to thousands,

• Write a book of the Bible,

• Or have a church named after them.

But most of us will:

• Raise a child, care for a spouse, or sit with a dying friend.

• Serve behind the scenes at church when no one is watching.

• Say a small, costly “yes” to Jesus when it would be easier to say “no.”

· Offer what little we have and quietly wonder if it really matters.

The hidden heroes of Holy Week tell us at least three crucial truths:

1. God sees what others miss.
The gospel writers were not careless. If they mentioned someone—even briefly—it’s because the Holy Spirit wanted them in the story.

2. There are no background roles in the kingdom.
Every act of obedience, every tear, every question, every simple resource offered—God can stitch into a saving story.

3. Jesus does His greatest work surrounded by ordinary people.
He hangs on the cross between criminals.
He is buried by two hesitant, secret disciples.
He rises and first reveals Himself not to rulers, but to grieving women and doubting men.

If God chose those people to stand that close to the most important moments in history, maybe our obscure lives are closer to holy ground than we think.

6. Becoming a Hidden Hero

This book will walk through Holy Week and beyond, one hidden hero at a time. As we journey, you’ll notice some patterns—qualities shared by many of them.

Hidden heroes:

• Offer what they have.
  A room. A jar. A donkey. A tomb. A strong back beneath a cross.

• Obey when they don’t understand.
  “Go into the city… you’ll see a man with a water jar…”
  “Tell the owner, ‘The Lord needs it.’”

• Stay near Jesus when others pull away.
  Women at the cross, disciples on the road to Emmaus, doubters who still keep showing up.

• Let Jesus redefine them.
  A thief becomes a citizen of paradise.
  A centurion becomes a confessor of Christ.
  A fearful secret disciple steps into public courage.

As you read, I invite you not just to learn about these hidden heroes, but to recognize yourself in them.

Maybe you’re like Simon of Cyrene, feeling forced into a burden you didn’t choose.
Maybe you’re like Pilate’s wife, sensing something spiritually significant that others ignore.
Maybe you’re like the women at the tomb, faithful but heartbroken, doing “spice-bearing” work for a Lord you think you’ve lost.

In each chapter, we’ll ask:

What does this hidden hero show us about Jesus, and what does it reveal about the quiet ways we can join His story today?

7. Questions for Reflection and Conversation

• When you think of the crucifixion and resurrection, which major characters come to mind first? Which minor characters have you rarely noticed?

• Do you tend to think of your own life as “center stage” or “background”? How has that shaped your sense of calling or worth?

• Can you remember a time when a small, almost invisible act by someone made a huge difference in your life? How might God use similar acts through you?

• Where in your current season do you feel “hidden”—unseen, uncelebrated, or overlooked? What might it mean to see that place as holy ground?

8. Closing Prayer

Jesus,

You wrote the story of salvation surrounded by people the world barely noticed.

Tear the curtains in my own heart—the ones that say only big; public moments matter.

Open my eyes to the sacred weight of small obediences.

Teach me to live as a hidden hero in Your hands, content to be unseen as long as You are known. – Amen

Chapter 2: A Week That Changed Everything

Timeline and setting of the crucifixion and resurrection stories

1. Opening Story: “It All Happened So Fast…”

Ask anyone who has lived through a crisis or a miracle, and they’ll often say the same thing:

“It all happened so fast.”

Later, when they tell the story, they slow it down. They replay the conversations, the phone calls, the tiny decisions that led to the moment when everything changed. What felt like a blur in real time becomes a series of scenes when they look back: this room, that person, this sentence, that turning point.

Holy Week is like that.

In our churches, we often move from palm branches to an empty tomb in a matter of minutes. One Sunday we shout “Hosanna!” and the very next Sunday we proclaim, “He is risen!” In between, we might pause briefly at the cross on Good Friday—but the week itself can feel like a blur: triumph, tension, betrayal, trials, crucifixion, silence, surprise.

If you had asked the disciples to describe that week as it happened, many of them might have said, “It all happened so fast.” But when the gospel writers look back, they slow everything down.

They take us day by day, scene by scene, into:

• Crowded streets and quiet upper rooms

• Noisy courtyards and silent gardens

• Public showdowns and private conversations

And as the camera lingers, we start to notice what we missed when it was all a blur—hidden heroes stepping into and out of the frame, sometimes for only a verse or two, yet standing very close to the saving work of God.

This chapter is our way of slowing the week down. We won’t retell every detail. But we will sketch the locations, trace the days, and point out where the “background” people quietly walk onto the stage.

2. Scripture Window: The Center of the Week

“For I delivered to you first of all that which I also received: that Christ died for our sins according to the Scriptures, that he was buried, that he was raised on the third day according to the Scriptures.” (1 Corinthians 15:3–4)

Paul gives us the heart of the week in three short movements:

• Christ died

• He was buried

• He was raised

The gospels stretch those three lines across several days and several locations. They slow the story down, not to add drama, but to help us see how God works through places, times, and ordinary people.

As we walk through this overview, pay attention to who is standing just outside the spotlight.

3. The Map: Where This Week Unfolds

Before we trace the days, picture the places:

• Jerusalem– A city swollen with Passover pilgrims from all over the known world, buzzing with religious expectation and political tension. Every street is crowded; every conversation feels charged.

• The Temple Mount– The beating religious heart of Israel, where sacrifices are offered, prayers are spoken, and power struggles simmer. Here Jesus teaches, confronts leaders, heals the broken, and overturns tables.

• Bethany and the Mount of Olives– Home base for Jesus during this week, just outside the city. He eats with friends in Bethany, spends nights on the Mount of Olives, and weeps over Jerusalem from its slopes.

• The Upper Room– A borrowed space somewhere inside the city, prepared by unnamed hands, where Jesus shares Passover with His disciples, washes their feet, and speaks at length about love, the Spirit, and what is coming.

• Gethsemane– A garden at the foot of the Mount of Olives, where Jesus wrestles in prayer, His disciples fall asleep, and a crowd arrives with lanterns, swords, and a kiss of betrayal.

• The High Priest’s Courtyard– A chilly night space lit by a charcoal fire, where Peter warms himself, a servant girl asks unsettling questions, and fear pushes a friend into denial.

• Pilate’s Headquarters– Where Roman authority and Jewish leaders face off; where truth stands before power; where a governor tries to wash his hands of responsibility he cannot escape.

• Golgotha (“The Place of a Skull”)– Outside the city walls, the place of public execution where Rome does its brutal work and where, in apparent defeat, the Lamb of God takes away the sin of the world.

• A Nearby Garden with a New Tomb– Owned by a wealthy council member, offered by a secret disciple; a place of hurried burial on Friday and quiet waiting on Saturday.

• The Empty Tomb– Guarded by soldiers, visited by women at dawn, entered by breathless disciples, and finally recognized as the doorway of a new creation.

• The Road to Emmaus– A dusty path away from Jerusalem, where two discouraged disciples walk with a stranger who opens the Scriptures and breaks bread.

These locations are the “stage.” Our hidden heroes slip in and out of these spaces—often unnamed, always important.

4. The Week, Day by Day (with Hidden Heroes in the Wings)

Scholars differ on some of the exact details, but a widely accepted outline of the week looks something like this. Notice the hidden heroes in each scene.

Sunday– The King on a Borrowed Donkey

Jesus enters Jerusalem riding on a young donkey.

• Hidden Hero: the donkey’s owner, who lets his animal go simply because the disciples say, “The Lord needs it.”

• Crowds wave branches and shout “Hosanna!”

• Children cry out in the temple courts, receiving Jesus’ praise and the leaders’ scorn.

The week begins with borrowed transportation and the voices of little ones.

Monday– Tables Turned and Eyes Watching

Jesus returns to the temple and overturns the tables of money changers.

• The courts are crowded: priests, merchants, worshipers, tired travelers, curious onlookers.

• Sick and broken people come near; children cry out in the temple again.

• Hidden heroes here are mostly unnamed: the ones healed that day, the children who keep singing when adults want them quiet, the quiet observers who see both corruption and courage up close.

Tuesday– Questions, Traps, and Long Conversations

This is a long day of teaching and confrontation.

• Religious leaders question Jesus about authority, taxes, resurrection, and the greatest commandment.

• Jesus tells parables about tenants, weddings, and watchfulness.

• He warns about hypocrisy and speaks of coming judgment and future hope.

In the background:

• A nameless scribe is commended for being “not far from the kingdom.”

• A poor widow drops two small coins into the temple treasury—a hidden hero whose quiet generosity becomes a timeless example.

• People in the crowd listen, weigh, and whisper, not knowing how close they stand to the turning point of history.

Wednesday– Plots, Perfume, and Quiet Decisions

This day is sometimes called “Silent Wednesday,” but Scripture shows us that important decisions are being made.

• Religious leaders plot to arrest Jesus “by stealth.”

• In Bethany, a woman breaks an alabaster jar and pours expensive perfume on Jesus.

She becomes one of the great hidden heroes of the week:

• She sees what others do not—that Jesus is worthy of extravagant love and that His death is near.

• Others criticize; Jesus defends her and promises that wherever the gospel is preached, her act will be remembered.

Meanwhile, Judas quietly agrees to betray Jesus for money.
Not every decisive act this week is heroic. Some are tragic.

Thursday– A Borrowed Room and a Basin of Water

Preparations are made for the Passover meal.

• Hidden Hero: a man carrying a water jar, whose simple obedience leads the disciples to the right house.

• An unnamed homeowner offers an upper room—another quiet act of hospitality that becomes the setting for the Last Supper.

In that room:

• Jesus washes His disciples’ feet, including the feet of the one who will betray Him.

• He breaks bread and shares the cup, reinterpreting Passover around His own body and blood.

• He speaks of love, the coming Holy Spirit, and the grief and joy to come.

Later, in Gethsemane:

• Jesus prays in agony while His friends struggle to stay awake.

• A crowd arrives with torches and weapons.

• Hidden hero: a servant named Malchus, whose ear is cut off by a frightened disciple and healed by the very man he came to arrest.

Friday– Crosses, Crowds, and a Centurion’s Confession

This is the day of crucifixion.

• Jesus is dragged from hearing to hearing: the high priest, the council, Pilate, Herod, back to Pilate.

• Hidden hero: Pilate’s wife, disturbed by a dream, sends a message, “Have nothing to do with that righteous man.”

• A criminal named Barabbas is released instead of Jesus.

On the road to Golgotha:

• Hidden hero: Simon of Cyrene, pulled from the crowd to carry the cross. What feels forced may become the moment that changes his family forever.

At the cross:

• Soldiers gamble for clothing and mock the condemned.

• Two criminals hang on either side of Jesus; one turns to Him in a last-minute plea and receives a promise of paradise.

• Women stand at a distance, watching, refusing to leave.

When Jesus dies:

• The temple curtain tears from top to bottom.

• The earth shakes.

• Hidden hero: a Roman centurion, who has watched many men die, suddenly sees this death differently and confesses, “Truly this was the Son of God.”

Friday Evening and Saturday– A Tomb, Spices, and Silence

As Sabbath approaches:

• Hidden hero: Joseph of Arimathea, a respected council member, courageously asks for Jesus’ body.

• Hidden hero: Nicodemus, who once came to Jesus at night, brings a large mixture of myrrh and aloes.

• Together they wrap the body and place it in a new tomb in a garden.

Women watch to see where He is laid. Spices are prepared. A stone is rolled in place. A guard is posted.

Saturday is quiet on the surface—Sabbath rest, closed shops, hushed homes.
But God is not idle. The story is turning under the silence.

Sunday– Spices, Startled Hearts, and an Empty Tomb

At dawn on the first day of the week:

• Women carrying spices come to finish what they began at the burial.

• Hidden heroes: these spice-bearing women, first at the tomb, first to hear the news, first commissioned to tell the others.

They find the stone rolled away and hear the angels’ announcement: “He is not here, but is risen.”

Soon after:

• Mary Magdalene, overwhelmed with grief, mistakes the risen Jesus for the gardener—until He speaks her name.

• Two discouraged disciples on the road to Emmaus meet a stranger who opens the Scriptures and later breaks bread with them. They run back to Jerusalem with burning hearts and a new story.

• Thomas, absent from the first gathering and insistent on evidence, becomes a late but vital witness whose honest doubt leads to one of the clearest confessions of faith: “My Lord and my God.”

By the end of this week, the religious and political powers think they have finished with Jesus. But God has only just begun to call hidden heroes out of the shadows.

5. Why the Timeline and Setting Matter for Hidden Heroes

Seeing this week in slow motion helps us notice a few things.

• God weaves small people into big days.
A donkey’s owner, a man with a water jar, a servant with a wounded ear—each appears at a hinge moment in the story. They never preach a sermon. They never lead a movement. Yet Scripture remembers them, because God used their ordinary lives at extraordinary moments.

• Holy moments often look ordinary at the time.
Carrying a jar, lending a room, buying spices, standing guard—none of these feel particularly “spiritual.” They are everyday tasks in crowded cities and quiet homes. Yet they all end up standing very close to the saving work of God. We often recognize holy ground only in hindsight.

• Place and time shape courage.
The same Jerusalem that cheers on Sunday is hostile by Friday. The same courtyard that warms Peter by its fire also exposes his fear. Hidden heroes are not superhuman; they are people trying to navigate crowded streets, tense courts, and silent Sabbaths with faith and faltering hearts.

• God works in public and in secret at the same time.
While leaders plot and crowds shout, God is moving in dreams, in private conversations, in back rooms, in gardens, in borrowed spaces. Hidden heroes often stand in those quieter places—where history is turning and they don’t yet know it.

Taken together, the timeline and the setting remind us: In every generation, God still writes His story into ordinary weeks, ordinary places, and ordinary lives.

6. Questions for Reflection and Conversation

• When you picture Holy Week, which day or scene do you feel most connected to right now—and why?

• In this week’s outline, which hidden hero intrigues you the most? What about their situation feels familiar in your own life?

• Where do you spend most of your time—home, work, church, commute, online spaces? How might those become your “Upper Room,” “Gethsemane,” or “Emmaus Road”?

• If someone slowed down this week of your life and told it like a gospel story, what small act of faithfulness might God choose to mention?

7. Closing Prayer

Lord Jesus,

You entered a crowded city and a crowded week, and every street, room, and garden became holy ground.

Teach me to see my own days the same way. In my ordinary places, among ordinary people, open my eyes to the quiet work You are doing and the small part You invite me to play.

Lead me, step by step, through this week with You, that I may become a faithful witness in the shadows. – Amen

Part II – Hidden Heroes on the Road to the Cross

Chapter 3: The Donkey’s Owner

Lending Ordinary Things to an Extraordinary King

1. Opening Story: “Can I Borrow Your Truck?”

If you own a truck, you also own half the neighborhood’s moving company.

“Hey, could I borrow your truck this Saturday?”
“It’s just a quick run across town.”
“We’ll bring it right back.”

There’s a little risk in every yes.
What if they scratch it?
What if they’re late?
What if they’re harder on it than you would be?

Most of the time, we still say yes. Why?
Because people matter more than things.
Because we’ve all needed help ourselves.
Because relationships are more valuable than paint jobs and tailgates.

Now imagine a knock at your door and two strangers say, “We’re taking your car. The Lord needs it.”

No contract. No background story. No promise of when—or if—you’ll see it again.

Somewhere just outside Jerusalem, an ordinary owner of an ordinary animal faces that kind of moment. Strangers begin untying his young donkey—a valuable piece of his family’s livelihood. They offer one simple explanation: “The Lord needs it.” And for reasons he may not fully understand; he lets them go.

That quiet, everyday yes becomes part of Jesus’ final, deliberate ride into Jerusalem as Israel’s King. The crowds will wave branches and shout “Hosanna,” but none of that happens without a small decision made by a person whose name we will never know.

This is the story of the donkey’s owner—a hidden hero who shows us what it looks like to hold our ordinary resources with open hands when Jesus says, “I need that.”

2. Scripture Window: “The Lord Needs It”

When they came near to Bethsphage and Bethany, at the mountain that is called Olivet, he sent two of his disciples, saying, ‘Go your way into the village on the other side, in which, as you enter, you will find a colt tied, which no man has ever sat upon. Untie it and bring it. If anyone asks you, “Why are you untying it?” say to him: “The Lord needs it.”’ …As they were untying the colt, its owners said to them, ‘Why are you untying the colt?’ They said, ‘The Lord needs it.’ Then they brought it to Jesus… (Luke 19:29–35a)

In a story full of shouting crowds and waving branches, the camera quietly pauses on a small exchange:

• A tied colt

• Some puzzled owners

• A simple explanation: “The Lord needs it.”

• An unrecorded response that must have been yes, because the next line is: “Then they brought it to Jesus.”

We never learn the owners’ names. We never see their faces. We only see their decision.

Hidden-hero work often looks exactly like this: a brief interruption, a confusing request, a quiet yes.

3. The Scene: A Village, a Colt, and a King

It’s the beginning of the week we now call Holy Week.

Jerusalem is swollen with Passover pilgrims. Tents and lodgings are packed. The air hums with prayer, song, and political tension. Everyone is hoping God will do something big; many are hoping God will do something political.

Just outside the city, near the Mount of Olives, sit two villages: Bethany and Bethsphage—places where Jesus has friends, history, and hospitality. From there, He is about to make a deliberate, symbolic entry into Jerusalem, fulfilling a prophecy Israel has cherished for centuries:

Rejoice greatly, daughter of Zion!
Shout, daughter of Jerusalem!
Behold, your King comes to you!
He is righteous, and having salvation;
lowly, and riding on a donkey,
even on a colt, the foal of a donkey.
(Zechariah 9:9 WEB)

Kings normally rode war horses.
Jesus chooses a young donkey—a humble beast of burden, not a war machine.

There’s only one practical problem: Jesus doesn’t own a donkey.

To fulfill this prophecy and make the statement He intends to make, He will borrow one.

So, He sends two disciples: “You’ll find a colt tied… Untie it and bring it. If anyone asks, ‘Why are you untying the colt?’ say, ‘The Lord needs it.’”

Some readers imagine this was prearranged; others see it as a display of Jesus’ prophetic knowledge. Either way, real people watch strangers untying their animal. Real people feel the jolt of, “Hey, that’s ours.” Real people have to decide whether to hold tight or let go.

This isn’t a disposable item. In that culture, livestock equals wealth. A colt means transportation, work, income, status, future. You don’t casually hand it over...

Unless you believe the One who needs it is worth everything.

4. The Hidden Hero’s Moment: Letting Go

Luke writes, “its owners said… ‘Why are you untying the colt?’”
Owners—plural. Maybe a family. Maybe siblings. Maybe a household.

The disciples answer with the one sentence Jesus gave them: “The Lord needs it.” That’s all.
No detailed explanation.
No return-by date.
No “we’ll replace it if anything happens.”

Luke doesn’t narrate an argument, a bargaining session, or a suspicious delay. He simply moves on: “Then they brought it to Jesus…”

Between “The Lord needs it” and “Then they brought it to Jesus” lies a decision that changed the shape of the day.

The owners could have said:

• “The Lord can’t have it; we need it.”

• “If He needs a colt, He can buy one Himself.”

• “Who are you, anyway? Show me some ID.”

Instead, they let go.

We don’t know whether they had heard Jesus teach, or saw a miracle, or only knew rumors. We don’t know if they were skeptics, half-convinced, or fully devoted. We only know this: When the Lord’s need bumped into their property, they opened their hands.

That is hidden-hero obedience.

5. Theology from a Borrowed Donkey

This tiny story quietly teaches us some big truths about Jesus and about ourselves.

a. The King Who Chooses to “Need”

Jesus is the One through whom all things were made. He could have created a colt on the spot if He wished.

Instead, He chooses to place Himself in a position of need—depending on something ordinary from ordinary people. That’s not a one-time quirk; it’s a pattern:

• He eats Passover in a borrowed upper room.

• He preaches from borrowed boats.

• He multiplies borrowed bread and fish.

• He is buried in a borrowed tomb.

Again and again, the Lord of all creation limits Himself in such a way that He works with what people already have rather than around them.

He doesn’t just want to do things for His people; He delights to do things with them, through them, and using what they are willing to release.

b. Stewardship: Everything Is “On Loan” Anyway

From heaven’s perspective, the donkey already belongs to the Lord.

The earth is Yahweh’s, with its fullness;
the world, and those who dwell therein.
(Psalm 24:1 WEB)

God could have simply claimed it. Instead, He honors the owners as stewards. He lets them participate in His plan by making a choice:

• Will I cling to this animal as my possession?

• Or will I recognize that I’m holding it on behalf of Someone greater?

When the disciples say, “The Lord needs it,” they are not making a spiritualized cash grab. They are naming a deeper truth: What you ‘own’ is already part of a larger story.

c. Prophecy and Partnership

Jesus is fulfilling Zechariah’s prophecy.
The King is coming to Zion, gentle and riding on a donkey. He could have done that in a dozen miraculous ways. Instead, He weaves a family’s willingness into the fulfillment of Scripture.

Prophecy isn’t only God showing off His foreknowledge.
It is God inviting ordinary people into the script He has already written. The donkey’s owners walk into a prophetic moment without fanfare. There’s no verse that says, “Blessed are these faithful stewards.” Yet every Palm Sunday, when believers picture Jesus riding into Jerusalem, those unnamed owners are standing somewhere in the background, having simply said yes.

6. What the Donkey’s Owner Teaches Us

This hidden hero whispers some gentle but challenging truths to us.

a. Your “Small Stuff” May Be Carrying Great Weight

To the owners, the colt is:

• Transportation

• Work animal

• Asset

To Jesus, the colt is:

• A prophetic sign

• A living picture of the kind of King He is

• The way He will publicly enter Jerusalem as Messiah

What feels small or purely practical to you may be the very thing Jesus wants to use for a much larger purpose.

A spare room can become an upper room.
A simple meal can become a moment of holy hospitality.
A daily commute can become a place of intercession.
A quiet gift can unlock ministry for someone else.

You rarely see the full weight your “small stuff” is carrying.

b. You Often Hear the Call Before You Have the Details

“The Lord needs it” is not an explanation; it’s an invitation.

The owners do not know:

• How long Jesus will use the colt

• How far He will ride

• What will happen in Jerusalem

• What this moment will mean for history

Obedience often begins with unclear logistics but a clear sense: Jesus is asking for this.

Hidden heroes don’t wait for complete explanations. They move on the clarity they do have: The Lord needs this from me right now.

c. Letting Go Is Part of Following

To say yes, the owners have to accept at least three losses:

• Loss of control– The colt is no longer in their yard.

• Loss of security– There’s no guarantee they’ll see it again.

• Loss of schedule– Whatever they had planned for that day just changed.

Letting go is rarely painless. But when what you release ends up carrying Jesus more visibly into the world, the loss becomes a kind of joy.

d. You May Never Know the Outcome This Side of Heaven

We are not told:

• Whether the owners watched the procession

• Whether they heard the crowds shout “Hosanna!”

• Whether they recognized their colt under the Messiah

• Whether they later became followers of Jesus after the resurrection

They may have died never realizing how often their small yes would be re-told in Christian memory.

Hidden heroes frequently obey without seeing the full fruit.
But God sees.
God remembers.
God weaves every yes into His story.

7. Bringing It Home: “The Lord Needs It” in Your Life

What might “The Lord needs it” sound like in your world?

It probably won’t involve a young donkey and palm branches. It might sound more like:

• “The Lord needs this extra hour of your evening to call someone who’s lonely.”

• “The Lord needs your spare room to shelter someone in transition.”

• “The Lord needs your listening ear in this hospital room.”

• “The Lord needs your skill with spreadsheets for a ministry that’s drowning in disorganization.”

• “The Lord needs your savings to fuel a mission you may never personally visit.”

You and I will never be asked to hand over livestock for Messiah’s ride into Jerusalem. But we will be asked, again and again, to hold our time, money, gifts, and plans as available instead of untouchable.

So, the question is not only, “Do I believe in Jesus?” It is also, “Can Jesus interrupt how I use what I have?”

Somewhere in your life right now, the Spirit may be nudging: “Loosen your grip on that. The Lord needs it.”

You may not know the full story on the other side of your yes. You don’t need to. The donkey’s owner didn’t. It was enough to know who was asking.

8. Questions for Reflection and Conversation

• When you picture the donkey’s owners watching strangers untie their colt, what emotions rise in you—suspicion, curiosity, fear, trust? Why?

• What are some “colts” in your life—ordinary resources, skills, spaces, or schedules—that feel obviously “yours”? How might God be inviting you to hold them more loosely?

• Can you recall a time when saying yes to a small, inconvenient request ended up mattering more than you expected? What did you learn about God from that experience?

• Is there an area right now where you sense the Spirit whispering, “The Lord needs it”—your time, attention, finances, or comfort? What would it look like to respond like the donkey’s owner?

• Read Luke 19:28–40 slowly. Where do you see humility in Jesus, and where do you see courage? How might those two traits work together in your own discipleship?

9. Closing Prayer

Lord Jesus,

You are the King who chose to ride a borrowed colt. You are not ashamed to need what little I have.

Today, if You whisper, “The Lord needs it,” give me the courage to open my hands. Loosen my grip on plans, possessions, and comfort. Let even the ordinary things in my life become a way for You to ride more clearly into the world around me.

Make me faithful in small, hidden obediences—content that You see what others never will. – Amen

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The Introduction and Chapters 1-3 are a free preview. Chapters 4-14 are available as they are published to PLM+ members. CLICK HERE for more information.

Scripture: John 1;14

The Word became flesh, and lived among us

Unwrapping the Real Gift

We’ve reached the end of the Christmas story—or at least the part we usually tell.

No more shepherds or angels. No more stars or stables. No more gifts or gold.

But if you’ve made it through this journey, one thing should be clear:

The real Christmas story isn’t soft. It’s strong.
It’s not romanticized. It’s revolutionary.
It doesn’t play by Hallmark rules. It bends the arc of history.

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The Introduction and Chapters 1-3 are a free preview. Chapters 4-14 are available as they are published to PLM+ members. CLICK HERE for more information.

Scripture: Revelation 19:10

The testimony of Jesus is the spirit of prophecy.

When Whispers Become Flesh

Long before shepherds heard angels or Magi followed a star, the world had been waiting.

The story of Christmas doesn’t begin in Bethlehem—it begins in the wilderness, in the palace courts, and on lonely mountains where prophets, often misunderstood and mistreated, declared a coming hope.

They spoke to kings and commoners. They warned of judgment. They wept over sin. And in the midst of war, exile, idolatry, and despair, they kept whispering of someone yet to come—a servant, a king, a child, a light.

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The Introduction and Chapters 1-3 are a free preview. Chapters 4-14 are available as they are published to PLM+ members. CLICK HERE for more information.

“We saw his star in the east, and have come to worship him.” — Matthew 2:2

When the Heavens Declare His Glory

It’s one of the most famous symbols of Christmas: the Star of Bethlehem.

We hang it on trees, top our nativity scenes with it, and watch it guide the wise men in school plays. But the real star—the one described in Matthew 2—is cloaked in mystery.

What exactly did the Magi see?
Was it a supernatural miracle?
A natural phenomenon?
Or, perhaps, both?

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The Introduction and Chapters 1-3 are a free preview. Chapters 4-14 are available as they are published to PLM+ members. CLICK HERE for more information.

“My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit has rejoiced in God my Savior.” — Luke 1:46–47

When Praise Becomes Protest

We’ve romanticized Mary’s song.

We read it at Christmas pageants in quiet tones or print it on cards with golden halos and doves in the margins. But in its original context, Mary’s Magnificat wasn’t soft or sentimental.

It was a revolutionary anthem.

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The Introduction and Chapters 1-3 are a free preview. Chapters 4-14 are available as they are published to PLM+ members. CLICK HERE for more information.

“Get up, take the young child and his mother, and flee into Egypt.” — Matthew 2:13

When Protection Looks Like Displacement

It should have been the calm after the storm. The child was born, the Magi had come and gone, and the danger seemed over.

But the story of Jesus’ early life isn’t one of cozy peace. It’s one of divine disruption and dangerous travel. Instead of returning to a quiet life in Nazareth, Joseph was awakened by another dream, another warning:

“Herod is about to search for the child, to destroy him.”

So, the holy family became refugees, fleeing by night, leaving their homeland behind.

In a narrative where every move carries deep meaning, their journey to Egypt is more than a practical escape—it is a theological echo, a fulfillment of prophecy, and a reminder that God’s protection often comes wrapped in displacement.

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The Introduction and Chapters 1-3 are a free preview. Chapters 4-14 are available as they are published to PLM+ members. CLICK HERE for more information.

“When King Herod heard it, he was troubled—and all Jerusalem with him.” == Matthew 2:3

When Power Is Shaken by a Child

The Gospel of Matthew gives us a stark contrast: on the one hand, Magi bowed in worship. On the other, a king trembled with fear.

Herod the Great was not known for humility. His name filled people with dread. He had clawed his way to the top through shrewd alliances, political manipulation, and brutal violence. And yet when he heard the news of a child’s birth—not even in his palace, but in the nearby village of Bethlehem—he was undone.

Herod trembled. Jerusalem trembled with him.

Because when a man who kills for power feels threatened, everyone feels the quake.

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The Introduction and Chapters 1-3 are a free preview. Chapters 4-14 are available as they are published to PLM+ members. CLICK HERE for more information.

Scripture: Luke 2:30

“My eyes have seen your salvation.”

When Patience Meets the Promise

They weren’t there for the birth in Bethlehem.
They didn’t hear angels singing or follow a star.
But they had been waiting quietly, faithfully, and for years.

Simeon and Anna were not part of the main Christmas pageant, yet they hold a crucial role. While the world remained largely unaware of who Jesus was, these two elderly prophets recognized Him in the Temple as an infant. They saw what others missed. They understood what others ignored.

And their faithfulness teaches us that sometimes the most powerful part of the story comes after the miracle, not before.

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The Introduction and Chapters 1-3 are a free preview. Chapters 4-14 are available as they are published to PLM+ members. CLICK HERE for more information.

Scripture: Matthew 2:2

“We saw his star in the east, and have come to worship him.”

When Outsiders Find the King

They came from the east—strange men with strange customs, riding into Jerusalem on camels, dressed like royalty. They weren’t Jews. They weren’t prophets. They didn’t quote scripture or speak Hebrew. But they had seen something the religious leaders missed. And they crossed a continent to act on it.

They were the Magi—and they were among the most misunderstood characters in the Christmas story.

Not kings. Not three. Not at the manger.

They were Gentile astrologers who followed a star and walked into prophecy. And in a story filled with devout Jews, temple rituals, and Hebrew fulfillment, the Magi remind us that God sometimes uses unexpected people to recognize His work.

They were the first Gentiles to worship the Messiah.
The first to call him King.
And they did it before any priest or prophet knew He had arrived.

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The Introduction and Chapters 1-3 are a free preview. Chapters 4-14 are available as they are published to PLM+ members. CLICK HERE for more information.

Scripture: Luke 2:10

“The angel said to them, ‘Don’t be afraid; for behold, I bring you good news of great joy which will be to all the people.’”

When Heaven Breaks into the Fields

If you were announcing the most important birth in human history, where would you begin?

Most of us would start with royalty. Or influencers. Or priests. Or powerful people in high places.

God started with night-shift shepherds.

They weren’t temple elite, or religious scholars, or city leaders. They were blue-collar workers on the bottom rung of the social ladder. Unshaven. Unbathed. Uninvited to most of polite society. Yet they became the first people to hear that the Messiah had arrived—and the first to tell others.

The story of the shepherds is one of divine reversal, social rejection, and radiant grace. And once you see what it really meant for them to be chosen, you’ll never look at a nativity scene the same way again.

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The Introduction and Chapters 1-3 are a free preview. Chapters 4-14 are available as they are published to PLM+ members. CLICK HERE for more information.

Scripture: Luke 2:7

“She laid him in a feeding trough, because there was no room for them in the inn.”

When the King Was Born in Rejection

There is perhaps no more iconic image in all of Christianity than the nativity scene. A cozy stable. Straw scattered like confetti. A peaceful baby in a wooden manger. Gentle animals gazing with serene reverence. It’s beautiful… and almost entirely inaccurate.

The truth, when unplugged from centuries of Christmas card sentimentality, is far more gritty, more human—and more divine. Jesus wasn’t born in a quaint stable because there were too many tourists in town. He was born in rejection, not inconvenience. The text doesn’t describe an overcrowded inn; it points to a deeper and more painful reality: there was no room for them in the family home.

Jesus didn’t just come into poverty—He came into exclusion. And that changes everything.

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The Introduction and Chapters 1-3 are a free preview. Chapters 4-14 are available as they are published to PLM+ members. CLICK HERE for more information.

Scripture: Matthew 1:24

“Joseph… did as the angel of the Lord commanded him.”

When Righteousness Has No Words

In all the Christmas pageantry, Joseph often stands silently in the background. And for good reason—because the Gospels record no spoken words from him at all. He is the only main character in the Advent story who never says a thing. But don’t mistake his silence for insignificance. In Joseph’s case, actions spoke louder than words.

Joseph’s story is one of quiet courage, moral strength, and divine obedience. His legacy isn’t in what he said—it was in what he did. While others received angelic visions, sang revolutionary songs, or prophesied in the Temple, Joseph dreamed—and obeyed.

In a world that prizes volume and visibility, Joseph reminds us that some of God’s greatest servants walk in quiet faithfulness.

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The Introduction and Chapters 1-3 are a free preview. Chapters 4-14 are available as they are published to PLM+ members. CLICK HERE for more information.

Scripture: Luke 1:38

“Behold, the handmaid of the Lord; be it to me according to your word.”

When Grace Finds the Unlikely

When God sent His messenger to announce the birth of the Messiah, He didn’t choose a queen or a prophetess. He didn’t appear in the temple courts or seek out a religious leader. Instead, He sent the angel Gabriel to a teenage girl in a small town called Nazareth in an area that experienced severe Roman oppression after the people there rebelled. It was a place so despised that people joked, “Can anything good come from Nazareth?” (John 1:46).

This unassuming commoner was named Mary—or more accurately, Miriam, after Moses’ sister. The name in Hebrew means “rebellious” or “wished-for child” depending on the context. Curiously, both of those meanings refer to Nazareth’s reputation and Mary’s future.

God often writes His most important stories in places the world ignores. And Mary, an ordinary girl with extraordinary faith, became the vessel of incarnation.

A Message in the Midst of Normal Life

According to Luke 1:26–38, six months after Gabriel visited Zacharias in the Temple, he was sent to Mary in Nazareth. Unlike Zacharias, Mary wasn’t in a sacred space offering incense. She was likely going about her daily chores—cleaning, cooking, or weaving cloth. Gabriel didn’t descend in a beam of light; he walked into the room. No thunder. No tremors. Just divine interruption.

“Greetings, highly favored one. The Lord is with you.”

Luke says Mary was greatly troubled. She wasn’t terrified by the angel’s appearance, as Zacharias was. She was confused by the words. “What kind of greeting is this?” she wondered. What had she done to deserve divine visitation?

Nothing. And that’s the point.

When Fear Meets Faith

Gabriel told her not to be afraid—just as he had told Zacharias. And then he spoke words that would alter the world:

“You will conceive in your womb, and give birth to a son, and shall name him Jesus.”

He would be the Son of the Most High. He would inherit David’s throne. His Kingdom would never end.

Mary had only one question: “How can this be, since I am a virgin?”

Her question, unlike Zacharias’s, wasn’t disbelief—it was logistics. She wasn’t asking if it would happen. She was asking how. She believed the promise but wanted to understand the process.

Gabriel explained: The Holy Spirit would overshadow her. The power of the Most High would surround her. The child would be called the Son of God.

As astounding as this message was, it carried with it a myriad of problems: what would her family say, how would she be treated in her town... what would Joseph do?

And then, in keeping with God’s mercy, Gabriel gave her a lifeline: “Your relative Elizabeth has also conceived a son in her old age.”

This was more than proof. It was provision. Elizabeth would become Mary’s safe haven.

A Teenage Girl’s Courage

Mary could have resisted. She could have asked for time to think, for a sign, for a safer plan. She knew what this meant. Pregnancy outside of marriage could lead to public disgrace, rejection by her fiancé Joseph, or even death by stoning.

But Mary didn’t delay. She didn’t negotiate.

“Behold, the handmaid of the Lord; be it to me according to your word.” Mary’s faith and discernment led her to call herself “the handmaid of the Lord.” In Jewish culture, when a wife could not bear children, her handmaid would bear a child for the family. Mary immediately knew her place, not as the “wife” of the Lord, but a humble substitute.

Mary offered her body and her future to God with full awareness of the cost. And then, Luke tells us, she “arose and went with haste” to the hill country—to Elizabeth’s house. It’s one thing to say yes to God. It’s another to act on it immediately.

Mary didn’t wait to be found out. She didn’t have all the answers, but she knew who would understand better than anyone else could. She moved toward the one person who could be her lifeline.

The Power of Faithful Support

Mary’s visit to Elizabeth (Luke 1:39–56) reveals something beautiful and often overlooked: God didn’t just give Mary a promise. He gave her a companion.

Elizabeth, long barren and now miraculously pregnant, was Mary’s lifeline. Their shared experience of divine conception wasn’t just miraculous—it was human. Who else could believe her? Understand her? Support her?

And when Mary walked into Elizabeth’s home, Elizabeth’s unborn child—John the Baptist—leapt in her womb. Filled with the Holy Spirit, Elizabeth declared:

“Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb!”

Mary hadn’t told her anything yet. But Elizabeth already knew.

And in that moment of confirmation and understanding, Mary found her voice—and sang.

The Magnificat: A Revolution in Song

Mary’s song, called the Magnificat for the Latin word “magnify,” echoes Hannah’s song from 1 Samuel 2. But it isn’t just poetry—it’s protest, prophecy, and praise.

“My soul magnifies the Lord…
He has scattered the proud…
He has put down the mighty from their thrones…
He has filled the hungry with good things.”

This wasn’t a gentle lullaby. It was a declaration of divine reversal. The oppression would be lifted. The rulers would be brought low. The humble would be exalted. Mary was carrying not just a child, but a revolution.

In the context of Roman occupation and Jewish yearning for deliverance, these words were electric. Dangerous even.

And they came from a teenage girl in hiding.

Lessons from the Girl in Nazareth

1. God Doesn’t Wait for You to Be Qualified

Mary had no credentials. No platform. No power. And that made her the perfect candidate. God isn’t looking for the impressive—He’s looking for the willing.

2. You Can Ask Honest Questions

Mary’s question wasn’t punished. God welcomes our questions as long as our hearts are open. Doubt that seeks understanding is different from disbelief that resists truth.

3. Favor Doesn’t Mean Easy

Mary was “highly favored,” but her path would be hard. The favor of God often leads into discomfort, not away from it. But it also comes with divine presence and provision.

4. Your Song Matters

Mary’s song was shaped by history, Scripture, and her own experience. She didn’t just react to life—she interpreted it. Her voice still speaks because she sang from the depths of her soul.

From Mary to Us

Mary’s story reminds us that faith doesn’t always come with clarity. That obedience often means risk. That favor isn’t about ease—it’s about being part of something bigger than yourself.

You don’t have to be experienced, eloquent, or educated to say yes to God. You just have to be willing.

When God interrupts your life with unexpected news, when the plan you had is replaced with something you don’t understand—will you resist? Or will you say, like Mary, “Let it be to me according to your word”?

Reflection and Application

• What is God asking of you that feels too risky or too uncertain?
  Like Mary, you may not know all the steps. Say yes anyway.

• Who in your life is your “Elizabeth”?
  Seek out those who can affirm your calling and walk with you through confusion and change.

• Have you made space for a song?
  Take time to reflect on what God is doing in your life—not just in your circumstances, but in your soul. Write or speak your own Magnificat.

• How do you respond to divine interruption?
  Do you treat unexpected change as a threat or as a possible invitation to something holy?

A Final Word

Mary is often portrayed as meek and mild. But the girl from Nazareth was fierce with faith and inner strength. Her yes shook the foundations of heaven and earth.

You may feel small. You may feel unqualified. But if you say yes to God, your story can carry eternity.

Because courage isn’t the absence of fear—it’s faith that speaks anyway.

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Scripture: Luke 1:13

“Don’t be afraid, Zacharias, because your request has been heard.”

When Faith Fails in Holy Places

Of all the scenes that could launch Luke’s Gospel, we begin not with angels in the sky or shepherds in the fields, but with a priest struck speechless inside the Temple. The story of Zacharias is the first act in Luke’s retelling of the Christmas narrative—a dramatic scene filled with incense, fear, divine presence, and doubt. And it sets the tone for everything that follows.

Zacharias, whose name ironically means “Yahweh remembers,” had long since stopped expecting answers to his most fervent prayer: a child. A priest in the division of Abijah, he was part of the priestly line serving the Temple in Jerusalem twice a year. He was righteous, blameless, and married to a godly woman named Elizabeth—herself from a priestly line. But despite their piety, they carried a lifelong burden: they had no children.

In that culture, barrenness was seen as a mark of disfavor, a source of shame. Though faithful and obedient, Zacharias must have wondered in his heart of hearts whether God had forgotten him. Doubt and discouragement plagued him. Yet, he still faithfully served God in the Temple when it was his turn.

Then, one day, in a moment that looked routine, everything changed.

A Divine Encounter in the Temple

Chosen by lot—what seemed like random chance but was divinely orchestrated—Zacharias was selected to offer incense in the Holy Place, a ritual in which the priest offers up the prayers of the people to God. A priest was only allowed to perform this ritual once in their lifetime. The incense altar stood inside the Temple just outside the veil that concealed the Holy of Holies—the place the Jewish people believed was God’s earthly home. As the smoke rose upward, symbolizing the prayers of the people, Zacharias stood alone, cloaked in sacred silence.

And then: an angel appeared. Not just any angel—Gabriel, whose name means “God is my strength,” stood on the right side of the altar, the place of favor and authority. Zacharias, a man accustomed to sacred things, was terrified. Angels don’t show up unless something big is happening—or if he was in trouble.

Gabriel’s words were immediate and clear: “Your request has been heard. Your wife Elizabeth will bear you a son, and you will name him John.”

We don’t know whether Zacharias had prayed for a child recently—or whether he had given up that dream long ago. But his prayer had been heard. Still, Zacharias faltered. He questioned. “How can I be sure of this?” he asked, pointing out his and Elizabeth’s advanced age.

Wrong question.

Silenced by Disbelief

In that moment of hesitation, disbelief replaced faith. Gabriel responded with divine discipline: “I am Gabriel, who stands in the presence of God. I was sent to speak to you and to bring you this good news. Behold, you will be silent and not able to speak until the day that these things will happen, because you didn’t believe my words, which will be fulfilled in their proper time.” (Luke 1:19-20)

This was more than discipline. It was a divine pause. A forced silence that would last for at least nine months.

But why such a harsh response? Because Zacharias wasn’t just a man; he was a priest. He had been standing on behalf of the people, offering incense and blessing. He questioned the truth of Gabriel’s message—a message directly from God. That level of doubt was unacceptable for a man in his position.

There was another problem: Zacharias had not finished with his priestly task. He was supposed to leave the Temple, raise his hands, and pronounce the Priestly Blessing to the people indicating that God had heard their prayers.

And now, because of his doubt, he could not complete his responsibilities.

Had he done so, he would have assured the people of God’s grace and affirmed the wonderful message Gabriel gave to him. The words he would have spoken are a familiar benediction used in worship services even today:

The LORD bless you and keep you;
The LORD make his face shine on you and be gracious to you;
The LORD lift up his countenance on you and give you peace.
– Numbers 6:24–26

Instead of blessing others, he could only gesture and make signs. The people waiting outside the Temple sensed something had happened. But they didn’t hear a word.

A Priest Without Words

There’s poetic symmetry here. A priest who should speak for God is struck mute. A man whose name means “God remembers” cannot tell others that God had heard him and remembered that He and Elizabeth wanted a child. It’s as if Luke is showing us what happens when religious ritual loses its meaning. Zacharias had spent a lifetime offering prayers, sacrifices, blessings—but his faith had been muted by routine and disappointment.

Yet God was not done with him.

In time, Elizabeth conceived. The promise was fulfilled. And when the child was born, Zacharias’s tongue was loosed. He named his son John—just as the angel said. And then, finally, the old priest found his voice again—not to explain, not to argue, but to prophesy.

“You, child, will be called a prophet of the Most High… to give knowledge of salvation to his people by the remission of their sins.” – Luke 1:76–77

Zacharias’s final recorded words aren’t about himself. They’re about the coming Messiah. His silence gave birth to deeper vision.

Lessons from the Silent Priest

1. Doubt Isn’t a Disqualifier—But It Can Have Consequences

Zacharias wasn’t struck dead. He wasn’t cast out of the priesthood. But he did lose his voice for a season. Doubt can coexist with faith—but when it silences our obedience, it requires correction. This was a divine pause, not divine rejection.

2. God Works Through Our Weakness

Even while Zacharias stood silent in his disbelief, God went ahead with the plan. John would be born. The Messiah would follow. Our failure doesn’t cancel God’s faithfulness. Failure can make God’s actions in our lives that much more evident.

3. Silence Can Be Sacred

In a noisy world, Zacharias teaches us the value of holy silence. When you can’t speak, you listen differently. Perhaps this is why God often speaks to us when we slow down enough to hear.

4. God’s Discipline Is a Form of Love

The silence wasn’t retribution—it was preparation. Zacharias emerged more attuned to God’s purpose, and his restored voice became a trumpet of hope. Setbacks can be springboards to divine action.

From Zacharias to Us

We’ve all prayed prayers that felt like they went unanswered. We’ve all experienced disappointment when God seemed silent. But sometimes, it’s not God who’s silent. Sometimes it’s we who stop believing—or stop listening.

And yet, God still moves. Still fulfills promises. Still invites us back into the story.

Zacharias reminds us that even priests can forget the power of prayer. That holiness doesn’t make us immune to doubt. But also—blessedly—that God remembers even when we forget.

You may feel silenced by circumstances, shame, or regret. But your story isn’t over. Your voice, like Zacharias’s, can return—this time, filled with prophetic hope.

Reflection and Application

• Where have you given up hope? Like Zacharias, have you stopped praying because the wait has been too long?

• What might God be saying in the silence? Is there a lesson or redirection happening that requires quiet reflection?

• How can you shift from disbelief to trust? Zacharias’s mistake was not asking how but asking whether it was possible. Ask with faith, not cynicism.

• Who in your life needs a blessing? You may not be a priest, but your words matter. Don’t let doubt keep you from speaking life over others.

A Final Word

Zacharias was silenced because he didn’t believe God’s promise. But in that silence, God birthed a prophet.

You may feel muted by disappointment or fear—but your voice can return. And when it does, let it speak of redemption, hope, and faith.

Because even in our silence, God remembers.

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