Easter is both a resounding surprise of life and a harmonious interweaving of cosmic signs: spring, full moon, the first day of the week, the first hour of the day. It shouts of a new start: a new week begins (just like in biblical Genesis), the day starts, the sun is new, and the light is new.
On the first day, at sunrise, they went to the tomb. Luke does not mention any names, but it is not necessary to name them; everyone knows that they are the women, the same ones who courageously did not retreat an inch from the small perimeter around the cross on Friday. The women whose hearts broke when they heard God’s heartbeat stop.
On the great Sabbath, the transitional moment between the Friday of death and the first Sunday of life, they prepared aromatic oils to confront death, to touch and care for the wounds of the crucified once more. In the Gospel of Luke, these women are three warriors who go to provide their presence and care to the Lord.
The Angel shocked them: “He is not here!” He is the Lord, but not here; He is alive and cannot be among dead things; He is everywhere, but not here. The Gospel is infinitely precise because it does not close with a sad ending but with a new creation.
Our souls are enriched with the first fruits of the resurrection, for our hearts possess the profound capacity to embody Christ’s essence.