Jesus’ Tomb
Easter has a way of stirring questions that don't show up any other time of the year. Maybe its the symbolism or the ancient memories buried in all of us, but what happened to Jesus in those three days of silence and what does that mean for us now? I find myself circling the question: Did he really rise from the dead? If so, why did it happen for him, but not for us? Why haven't we seen water turned into wine?How come we were not born with access to that type of power? I don't ask to argue. I ask because something in me remembers. Something in me wants to believe, not blindly, but deeply. I ask because there are days I feel like I'm doing everything I can to live in alignment, and still I doubt. I long to see it, feel it, or at least know that the path I'm on is leading somewhere real and sacred. That I'm not walking in circles, and resurrection is not reserved for someone else.
In traditional Christianity, the resurrection is considered a literal, historical event. Jesus was crucified, laid in a tomb, and rose again three days later, not just in spirit but in body. His followers saw him, touched his wounds, and ate with him. This wasn't just a metaphor, but evidence of his divinity. In this view, he rose because he was God. He transcended death to prove the promise of eternal life and the power of grace. It's a view that brings comfort and structure to millions. If he overcame death, then we can too, through him. We don't have to understand the mechanics, we just have to trust the source.
Through the mystical lens, Jesus didn't defy the laws of nature. He mastered them. He was a soul who remembered - remembered what, exactly? Who he was. Where he came from. How energy, intention, thought, and vibration shape reality. How to align his mind and body to universal rhythms. He moved with divine will so precisely that death could not cling to him. In this view, resurrection isn't a rare event granted by God alone. It's what becomes possible when the soul awakens and lives in harmony with the laws of creation. These are laws that govern everything: vibration, polarity, rhythm, cause and effect. Laws that many of us ignore. Jesus was born knowing how to breathe with the universe. His return wasn't a performance, but rather a demonstration of what humanity could become. Mastery, not magic.
Others see the resurrection less as a historical event and more as a powerful symbol of spiritual truth. In this light, Jesus' death represents the death of the ego, shedding all that is false and separate. The tomb becomes the silence after surrender, and the resurrection is the return to the true self. To the light within. The soul's rebirth, the rising after descent. We know this pattern. We live it. When we grieve a lost identity through divorce, addiction, depression, or abandonment, we descend. It feels like a kind of death. We don't know who we are anymore and we go silent, but if we stay in the process long enough, something shifts and we begin to rise. It may be slow or sometimes invisible, but it is resurrection nonetheless.
There's also the view from historical scholars who suggest that the resurrection story may have been a sacred myth, not meaning it was false, but perhaps that it was true in a deeper way. Perhaps Jesus' presence was so powerful, so unforgettable, that his early followers felt him long after death. Something in them said "He is still here." Thus giving that presence the name of Resurrection. Not a body walking around, but a love refusing to die. A presence that remained and a truth that could not be buried. To them, the tomb was empty not because of a miracle of flesh, but because love had expanded beyond the limits of death. The story was told and retold because it echoed something eternal.
And then... there is me. My own view shifts like light through stained glass. Part of me wants it to be literal. Part of me wants it to be symbolic. Part of me feels it in my body, as if I have lived this cycle myself. I wasn't nailed to a cross, but I have known death through heartbreak, identity loss, silence, doubt, and grief. Though somehow, something in me always rises, and that is resurrection too.
Still, I ache for proof. I've asked why I cant walk on water. If Jesus could do it, and if I'm made in the image of God, then why do I feel so limited? Why do the elements not respond to my faith? Maybe the answer isn't about failure. Perhaps its about the intimacy with divine law. Jesus did not walk on water to show off. He did it because he was so completely in harmony with the divine that the water became a mirror to his consciousness. There was no gap between his intention and creation. No fear, no disbelief, no separation. He trusted reality so completely that reality moved for him. I am still learning to trust like that, how to act in stillness, and how to embody alignment rather chase results.
Maybe I cant walk on water yet because I'm still remembering how. Maybe I'm not meant to perform miracles for proof, but to become a living miracle through quiet, consistent alignment with what is sacred. Maybe resurrection doesn't come to those who need it to validate their worth, but to those who are willing to die to everything false and rise, empty, into love. Maybe the miracle is not spectacle. Maybe it's intimacy with God.
So, did he really rise from the dead? Maybe.
Maybe the better question is: What in me needs to die so that something truer can rise? What part of me have I buried that I am ready to resurrect? What if the resurrection isn't something still happening, here, now, in every soul that dares to surrender and return?
Whether you believe the resurrection was literal, symbolic, energetic, or emotional, the story touches something universal. We all want to believe that love can transform us. That silence isn't empty, but sacred. Life, real life, waits beyond our surrender.
That is resurrection. It isn't behind us. It's a living reality, still unfolding within you. If you are not there yet, if you're still in the silence of your tomb, that's okay. Stay with yourself, and stay open. Resurrection doesn't shout. Sometimes it whispers.
