Welcome to Article 4 of the first book in the Hidden Heroes series.
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 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
This work is freely shared. If it nourishes your life with God, you’re welcome to help sustain it.