When I was younger, I was fascinated by space. I remember scanning the school course listings and hoping—every year—that an astronomy class might finally be offered. It never was. But that didn’t stop me from wondering.
Years later, I found myself standing under a clear, star-filled sky on a summer night. No city lights. No telescope. Just the vastness of it all. It left me in awe. I remember thinking, “God, You made all of this. And yet… You see me too?”
There’s something about moments like that—when we feel small but somehow seen. Maybe that’s why Easter hits differently. It reminds us that the God who hung the stars also walked dusty roads. He felt hunger, heartbreak, rejection. And He went all the way to the cross… for us.
But that’s not the end of the story.
In Matthew 28, we find two women—Mary Magdalene and “the other Mary”—heading to the tomb. They’re not expecting a miracle. They’re going to mourn. But then, a violent earthquake shakes the ground, an angel rolls back the stone, and says words that would change everything:
“He is not here; He has risen, just as He said.”
Can you imagine their shock? Their joy? Their confusion?
Then suddenly—Jesus meets them. Right there on the road. “Greetings,” He says. Simple. Personal. Not thundering from the heavens, but close enough to touch.
That same day, two of His followers are walking to Emmaus – heads down and hearts heavy. A stranger joins them—walks beside them, listens to their sadness, and begins to teach. It’s only later, while breaking bread, that their eyes are opened.
It was Jesus all along.
They just hadn’t recognized Him.
How often does that happen to us?
We’re grieving, busy, doubting, distracted… and we miss Him. But Easter reminds us:
Jesus is closer than you may realize.
He comes in the ordinary. He meets us on the road, in our questions, in our quiet places of pain. He speaks our name, just like He did to Mary. He walks alongside us, just like He did on the road to Emmaus.
Maybe this Easter, you’re not feeling especially “spiritual.” Maybe life feels heavy, uncertain, or just plain full. But here’s the good news: You don’t have to reach up to heaven to find Jesus. He’s already near.
In your questions. In your wonder. In your hurt. In your hope.
He draws near not only in the miraculous but in the mundane. In the breaking of bread. In the kindness of a friend. In the quiet moments when your soul whispers, “Could it be Him?”
The empty tomb isn’t just about what happened long ago. It’s about what’s true right now.
Jesus is alive. And He is closer than you may realize.
Upside Down Faith 