A NEW DAWN FOR WOUNDED HEARTS: WHAT THE RESURRECTION ACTUALLY MEANS FOR YOU TODAY

 There are moments in Scripture that read like earthquakes, moments where heaven shakes the ground beneath human feet and nothing is ever the same again. Matthew 28 is one of those moments. It is not a quiet chapter. It is not a gentle chapter. It is the chapter where God breaks every rule we thought governed our limits, our losses, our failures, our fears, and even our final breath. This is the chapter where the impossible stops being a theory and becomes a doorway. This is the chapter where sorrow rewrites its own ending. This is the chapter where a grave becomes a garden. And if you let it, Matthew 28 is also the chapter where your entire story can begin again.

When I read Matthew 28, I don’t just see an empty tomb. I see every place in our lives that feels sealed shut. I see every dream buried under disappointment. I see every heartbreak that convinced us the story was over. I see every guilt that tells us we ruined our chance. I see every fear that whispers we will never rise again. And then I watch the stone roll back. I watch the guards tremble. I watch the dawn break. I watch heaven announce, “He is not here. He is risen.” And suddenly, everything we thought was final becomes flexible in the hands of God. Everything we thought was dead becomes eligible for resurrection. Everything we thought was over becomes the starting line for what comes next.

Matthew 28 begins in the quiet hours of the morning, long before most of the world wakes up. Mary Magdalene and the other Mary go to look at the tomb. They aren’t expecting a miracle. They’re just trying to hold on to whatever is left of the One who changed everything for them. Isn’t that how many of us approach God after a season of loss? Not with bold faith. Not with wild hope. Just with a tired willingness to show up even when we don’t know what to expect. Sometimes resurrection doesn’t begin with confidence; sometimes resurrection begins with showing up broken but still showing up.

These two women were the last at the cross and the first at the tomb. While the disciples scattered in fear, the women stayed near. While others hid behind locked doors, the women walked toward the place where their grief hurt the most. And without even knowing it, they walked straight into the miracle. That alone is enough to stop and breathe in. God often puts resurrection on the path of people who refuse to run from pain. There is something about the courage to face what hurts that positions your heart for what heals. Matthew 28 isn’t just a resurrection story. It is a story about the power of persistence in faith, even when faith feels thin.

Then the earth shakes. An angel descends. The stone rolls away—not so Jesus can get out, but so the world can see He is already gone. And the angel sits on the stone as if to say, “This barrier that once stood in your way is now beneath the authority of heaven.” The guards fall like dead men. The women fall to their knees. The angel says the words that split history wide open: “Do not be afraid.” Isn’t it interesting that the first command after the resurrection is not “Believe” or “Rejoice” or “Celebrate,” but “Do not be afraid”? God knows that when He starts overturning the impossible, fear becomes the first thing that rises in us. Fear of hoping again. Fear of trusting again. Fear of trying again. Fear that the miracle might not be real. But heaven’s first assignment is to calm the trembling heart.

“He is not here. He has risen, just as He said.” That sentence alone is enough to anchor a lifetime. It means God keeps His word even when circumstances contradict the promise. It means no amount of darkness can suffocate divine intention. It means every time God speaks, something in the universe starts counting down toward fulfillment. It means your story is not shaped by the tomb you fear but by the Savior who walks out of it. When the angel says “Come and see the place where He lay,” it is an invitation to investigate the miracle, to look at the evidence of what God has done, to see for yourself that death has lost jurisdiction. And maybe God still invites us into that same courage: to look at the empty places in our lives not with despair but with expectation.

Then something beautiful happens. The women run to tell the disciples. They don’t walk. They don’t debate. They don’t reason it out. They run with fear and great joy. That combination—fear and great joy—is the emotional definition of faith. Faith often feels like running while your heart shakes. Faith feels like joy mixed with trembling. Faith feels like carrying news too good to be true and too important to stay silent. God doesn’t wait for you to perfect your emotions before He uses you. He uses you right in the swirl of everything you’re feeling.

And then, in the middle of their run, Jesus meets them. I love this moment because it tells us something about His heart. Jesus could have waited to appear in a formal setting. He could have waited until everyone was gathered. He could have waited to make a dramatic entrance. But He chooses to meet two women in motion, two women carrying a message they barely understand, two women who showed up when others stayed home. Sometimes Jesus meets you not on the mountaintop but on the messy road between fear and obedience. Sometimes His presence shows up when you simply decide to move in the direction of hope.

“Greetings,” He says. Not a sermon. Not a rebuke. Not a thunderous proclamation. Just a simple greeting that reveals He is both God and incredibly personal. They fall at His feet and worship Him. And then Jesus repeats the same message the angel spoke: “Do not be afraid.” Whenever heaven repeats itself, it means we really need to hear it. Maybe Jesus knows that resurrection doesn’t instantly remove fear—it simply gives us a power stronger than fear to walk forward with. Fear may speak, but resurrection speaks louder.

Then Jesus gives them an assignment: “Go and tell my brothers to meet me in Galilee.” My brothers. Not “my disciples.” Not “my followers.” Not “the ones who abandoned me.” My brothers. Jesus resurrects with reconciliation already in His mouth. The cross wasn’t just a place where sin was defeated; it was the place where relationship was restored. And by calling them brothers, He erases the shame of their failure. That same grace is alive for us. Jesus doesn’t resurrect so He can remind you of your worst moments. He resurrects so He can rename you with love.

Meanwhile, the guards run to report what happened. The priests panic. They create the first conspiracy theory in Christian history. They pay the guards to lie. They invent a story to cover the truth. And there’s a reason this detail matters. Matthew includes it so we understand something we still need to understand: when God moves, there will always be people trying to explain it away. When God resurrects something in your life, not everyone will celebrate. Some will doubt you. Some will question your motives. Some will accuse you of exaggerating. Some will refuse to believe anything supernatural happened at all. But Matthew 28 reminds us that truth does not depend on public approval. The resurrection happened whether people chose to believe it or not. And your resurrection will too.

Finally, we reach the mountaintop in Galilee. The disciples gather. Some worship. Some doubt. Both are present in the room, and Jesus is not threatened by either. He never waits for perfect belief to move forward with His mission. He meets people where they stand. And He speaks the words that continue to echo through every generation: “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me.” The One who was crucified now carries the authority of heaven and earth. The One who was rejected now reigns. The One who was buried now breathes. When Jesus says “Go, therefore…,” He is telling us that our calling is built on His authority, not on our ability. He is telling us that the resurrection is not just an event to celebrate; it is a power to walk in.

“Make disciples of all nations.” Not “make fans,” not “make followers,” not “make spectators.” Make disciples—people who learn, grow, transform, and follow Jesus in the everyday trenches of life. “Baptizing them in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit.” A new identity. A new belonging. A new spiritual lineage. “Teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you.” Not controlling them. Not intimidating them. Teaching them—guiding them into a life shaped by love, truth, mercy, strength, and the kingdom of God.

And then Jesus ends with the promise that has carried believers across centuries, continents, wars, heartbreaks, failures, victories, and personal wilderness seasons: “I am with you always, even to the end of the age.” Not I will be with you. Not I might be with you. I am with you. Present tense. Constant. Unbreakable. The resurrection isn’t just something that happened. It’s something that keeps happening. Every time you rise again, every time hope returns, every time courage flickers back to life, every time God meets you in the dark and pulls you toward the light—you are living in the ripple of Matthew 28.

And that is why this chapter matters for your story. Because whether you realize it or not, you have tombs in your life. You have stones you cannot roll away by yourself. You have places where you’ve buried hopes or parts of yourself. You have memories that feel heavy and moments that convinced you nothing could ever change. But the God who walked out of that tomb walks into those places too. Not to judge you. Not to shame you. Not to tell you that you should have been stronger. But to resurrect you. To rewrite what you thought was final. To lift what you thought was lost. To breathe life where you thought the air was gone.

Matthew 28 is not just a conclusion to the Gospel of Matthew. It is the beginning of everything God wants to awaken in you. And in Part 2, we will walk deeper into how this resurrection power moves into your real life, into your wounds, into your calling, into your fears, and into your future—because the story that began at the empty tomb is still unfolding in you right now.

When you look closely at Matthew 28, you begin to realize something profound—the resurrection didn’t remove the reality of life; it transformed the meaning of it. The disciples still had responsibilities. They still had pressures. They still had memories of their failures. They still lived in a world that crucified Jesus just days earlier. The resurrection didn’t make life easier; it made life possible. It gave them a reason to stand again, to believe again, to move again. And that same Spirit is trying to breathe something new inside you. Not to erase your past, but to redeem it. Not to wipe away the story, but to give it a new ending. Matthew 28 is not about pretending everything is fine. It’s about discovering that even when everything fell apart, God never left. God never lost control. God never surrendered His plan for you.

Resurrection means that even if you feel like you have failed too many times, your story is still in God's hands. The disciples understood failure intimately. They had abandoned Jesus. Peter denied Him. Thomas doubted Him. They had all scattered like frightened children while the One who loved them most suffered alone. But Jesus comes back and calls them brothers. He comes back to send them, trust them, empower them, and walk with them. That right there is the gospel. God does not define you by the moment that broke you. God defines you by the calling He placed on your life before the moment ever happened. You may have scars, but in Matthew 28, scars do not disqualify you—they become evidence that resurrection power has passed through your life.

And that’s why this chapter speaks directly to every person who feels like something in them died long before they ever knew how to name it. Maybe it’s your confidence. Maybe it’s your joy. Maybe it’s your sense of purpose. Maybe it’s your trust in people. Maybe it’s a dream you carried so long it feels foolish now. Or maybe it’s the part of you that believed God could do something beautiful with your story. Matthew 28 teaches us that nothing stays dead when Jesus steps into the scene. The tomb was sealed. Guards were posted. A stone had been rolled in place. Human logic said it was over. But heaven does not take orders from human logic. Heaven speaks into places where hope has been silenced, and suddenly the impossible stands up again.

When the angel told the women, “Come and see,” it wasn’t simply an invitation to witness the resurrection—it was an invitation to confront the lie that the story had ended. Sometimes we need that same invitation. Come and see where fear told you your future was buried. Come and see where shame convinced you that God stopped loving you. Come and see where disappointment whispered that joy would never return. Come and see the places where you gave up—and realize that God hasn’t. The stone rolled away is not just a historical detail; it’s a divine message: whatever you think is sealing you in—fear, grief, past mistakes, pressure, exhaustion—God has the power to move it.

The women leave with fear and great joy. You may be in that same emotional mixture right now. You might be stepping out of your tomb season with shaking hands but an ignited heart. That’s okay. Faith is not the absence of fear. Faith is walking forward with fear still talking. Faith is carrying hope while uncertainty still whispers. Faith is choosing movement when everything inside you wants to freeze. The resurrection doesn’t require you to feel strong—it requires you to be willing to move. As the women ran, Jesus met them. And maybe that is what God is waiting for in you—not perfection, not certainty, not confidence, just movement. A step toward hope. A decision to try again. A willingness to believe that God is not finished.

When Jesus met the women and repeated, “Do not be afraid,” He wasn’t chastising them—He was comforting them. He knows resurrection can be overwhelming. He knows change can feel frightening. He knows stepping into a new chapter requires courage you didn’t think you had. But He also knows something you haven’t fully seen yet: you are not walking into this next season alone. He is with you. Not conceptually. Not symbolically. Literally. Spiritually. Powerfully. Practically. And when Jesus says, “I am with you,” it means every step you take is backed by the authority of heaven. It means you can stand where fear told you you’d fall. It means you can rise where pain said you’d stay down. It means you can hope again—even when you’re still healing.

The conspiracy created by the religious leaders reminds us that truth and opposition often arrive together. Don’t be surprised when your breakthrough is met with resistance. Don’t be discouraged when people misunderstand what God is doing in your life. Don’t retreat when others can’t comprehend your transformation. Not everyone will understand your resurrection season. Not everyone will believe the new you. Not everyone will embrace the story God is writing. But Matthew makes something very clear: unbelief did not stop Jesus from rising, and it will not stop your calling from unfolding. People can doubt you. They can misinterpret you. They can question your motives. But they cannot cancel the resurrection God has placed inside you.

By the time Jesus gathers with the disciples in Galilee, the atmosphere is rich with a mixture of emotions. Some worship. Some doubt. Maybe you’re carrying both too. That’s okay. Jesus didn’t send away the doubters; He commissioned them. He didn’t wait for certainty; He called them into purpose. He didn’t require flawless faith; He offered flawless grace. Matthew 28 reminds us that Jesus does not demand perfection before He uses you. He invites you as you are—uncertain, conflicted, growing, evolving. And in His presence, even your doubt becomes a doorway to deeper revelation.

“All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me.” These words are the hinge of the entire chapter. Because if Jesus has all authority, then nothing else has the final say. Not death. Not fear. Not shame. Not regret. Not the past. Not the enemy. Not your insecurity. Not the voices that doubt you. All authority belongs to Jesus. So when He sends you, He sends you with power. When He calls you, He calls you with backing. When He strengthens you, He strengthens you with a kingdom behind Him. You are not walking into your purpose as a fragile person trying to impress God—you are moving as someone commissioned by the resurrected Christ.

“Go and make disciples of all nations.” This calling is not for a select group of spiritual elites. It’s the heartbeat of every believer. But notice what it flows from—not obligation, but resurrection. Not shame, but empowerment. You don’t make disciples by proving how holy you are. You make disciples by living as someone who has encountered the risen Jesus. People don’t need you to be perfect—they need to see where Jesus has brought you back to life. They need to hear the story that made you rise. They need to see hope in motion. That is discipleship: not information transfer, but transformation lived out.

And the final promise—“I am with you always”—is the anchor you carry into every part of life. When fear rises, He is with you. When doubt creeps in, He is with you. When life feels overwhelming, He is with you. When you don’t know the next step, He is with you. When you feel unworthy, He is with you. When you are uncertain of your calling, He is with you. And when you feel resurrection stirring in your spirit but you don’t yet see the evidence, He is with you. If Matthew 28 teaches us anything, it is this: the presence of Jesus is the greatest power in your life, and nothing in existence can separate you from it.

The resurrection is not merely a doctrine, a belief, a theological stance—it is the air your spirit breathes. It is the foundation of every prayer you pray. It is the strength behind every step you take. It is the courage behind every risk you embrace. It is the comfort behind every night you cry and still choose to hope. Matthew 28 is your reminder that God has not called you to live in the shadows of what hurt you. He has called you into the light of what He redeemed.

The tomb is empty, and because the tomb is empty, no part of your life needs to stay buried. The stone is rolled away, and because the stone is rolled away, no obstacle can permanently block God’s purpose for you. Jesus is risen, and because Jesus is risen, your future is alive. Your heart is eligible for healing. Your purpose is eligible for awakening. Your story is eligible for transformation. Matthew 28 is not the end of the Gospel—it is the beginning of your resurrection life.

You may feel like you’re still standing in the dark part of the morning, like the women who walked toward the tomb not knowing what they would find. But hear me: dawn is breaking. The earth is shaking. God is moving stones you cannot move. And the same Jesus who walked out of His grave is walking into your life with authority, compassion, strength, and a promise that cannot be broken. Your resurrection season is here. Your new beginning is unfolding. And your story is stepping into a chapter that only God could write.

This is the legacy of Matthew 28: that resurrection is not only something Jesus experienced, but something He invites you to live—every day, every season, every sunrise that says, “This story is not over. God is still moving.”

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Your friend,

Douglas Vandergraph


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