The Empty Grave and Ordinary Days
By Julie Hawkins, Pastor of Ministry
I woke up Monday morning a little frustrated that it felt like an ordinary day. How could we possibly go from the celebration and feasting of Easter Sunday to sitting in carpool lines and a regular workday? I appreciate that the week after Christmas is usually a quiet, slow week off. But, depending on when Spring Break falls, after Easter, we spring back into action.
It feels like a jolt to the system. One day, we’re proclaiming, “He is risen indeed!” Voices lifted, hearts full, tables set with the best of what we have. And the next, we’re standing in the kitchen again, packing lunches, replying to emails, and folding laundry. Shouldn’t the resurrection change everything?
That’s the mystery of Easter, though, isn’t it? The stone is rolled away, the grave is empty, but the world around us still looks the same. No angels trumpet our arrival at the office. The kids still have track practice. The calendar doesn’t change just because Jesus rose from the dead.
But maybe that’s the beauty of resurrection…that it meets us in the ordinary.
Jesus didn’t ascend to heaven right away. He lingered. He walked dusty roads with his disciples. He made breakfast on the beach with his friends. He showed up in homes, passed through locked doors, offered peace, calmed doubts, and revealed his scars. The resurrection wasn’t just an event, it became a way of being with Jesus, in his presence, that transformed ordinary spaces into holy ground.
Perhaps that’s our invitation, too. To let the resurrection seep into our Mondays. To carry the joy and hope of Easter Sunday into our commutes and Costco runs, into staff meetings and bedtime routines. The empty grave doesn’t erase the rhythms of life—it gives them purpose. It reminds us that Christ is alive, not just in our sanctuaries and sacred holidays, but in our kitchens and classrooms, our cubicles and carpool lines.
This week, I’m trying to notice resurrection in the ordinary. In the blossoms bursting into bloom. In a moment of laughter with my kids. In the quiet patience of a friend who listens well. In my own heart, that is still being made new.
The church calendar calls this next season “Ordinary Time,” but I think that’s a bit of a misnomer. Because nothing is truly ordinary after Easter. Not anymore. We live in resurrection time now.
So go ahead—reply to the emails, pick up kids from practice, go to the gym, live your ordinary days. But do it knowing the grave is still empty. Christ is still risen. And even the most mundane of days has been touched by glory.
Julie