Why Do You Keep Going Back to Dead Things?
Scripture
Luke 24:1-6 | Jeremiah 29:11 | Isaiah 43:18-19 | Romans 8:11
Most of us have "that drawer" in our house. You know the one, the junk drawer. It’s full of stuff you don’t actually use but can’t quite bring yourself to toss. An old iPhone charger for a phone you haven’t owned since 2016. An expired coupon for a store that went out of business. A random key that doesn’t fit a single lock in the house.
Every few months, you open it, look at the mess, and then just... close it again. You keep it because, on some level, those scraps still feel like they belong to you.
We do the exact same thing with our lives.
We go back to seasons that ended years ago. We return to the last place we felt "okay"—the old relationship, the version of ourselves that felt more alive, or the career path that finally made sense—and we keep showing up there, hoping the outcome will be different this time. We replay old wounds like a movie on a loop, wondering why we can’t seem to move forward.
The thing about that first Easter morning is that the women didn’t show up at the tomb expecting a miracle. They weren’t there in faith; they were there with burial spices. They were coming to perform a final chore for a dead man. They went to the tomb because it was the last place they saw Him.
That’s what grief and pain do to us—they route us back to the familiar. Even when the "familiar" is a cold, dark tomb. We stay there because the pain has a shape we recognize. Freedom is actually much scarier than familiar grief because freedom requires us to step into the unknown.
In Isaiah 43, God basically tells His people to stop staring in the rearview mirror: "Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing!" He isn't saying the past didn't matter. He’s saying that if you’re constantly looking back at what was, you’re going to miss what’s springing up right in front of you.
Jeremiah 29:11 promises a "hope and a future." Notice it doesn’t say a "hope and a repeat."
When the women got to the tomb, they were met with a question that changed everything: "Why do you look for the living among the dead?" It wasn't a scolding; it was a redirection. God wasn't mad that they were at the tomb, but He wanted them to know He didn’t live there anymore.
He’s not in your past, either. He isn't in that old version of your story. He moved. And the same Spirit that pulled Jesus out of that grave lives in you right now (Romans 8:11). That’s not just a nice Sunday school sentiment—it’s "dunamis" power. It’s the energy meant to break the cycles you think you’re stuck in.
So, what "dead thing" are you still carrying spices for? An old identity? A mistake you can’t forgive yourself for?
The tomb doesn't have to be your permanent address. The stone has already been rolled away. You don't have to keep visiting the grave—He’s already out here, waiting for you to catch up.
Every few months, you open it, look at the mess, and then just... close it again. You keep it because, on some level, those scraps still feel like they belong to you.
We do the exact same thing with our lives.
We go back to seasons that ended years ago. We return to the last place we felt "okay"—the old relationship, the version of ourselves that felt more alive, or the career path that finally made sense—and we keep showing up there, hoping the outcome will be different this time. We replay old wounds like a movie on a loop, wondering why we can’t seem to move forward.
The thing about that first Easter morning is that the women didn’t show up at the tomb expecting a miracle. They weren’t there in faith; they were there with burial spices. They were coming to perform a final chore for a dead man. They went to the tomb because it was the last place they saw Him.
That’s what grief and pain do to us—they route us back to the familiar. Even when the "familiar" is a cold, dark tomb. We stay there because the pain has a shape we recognize. Freedom is actually much scarier than familiar grief because freedom requires us to step into the unknown.
In Isaiah 43, God basically tells His people to stop staring in the rearview mirror: "Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing!" He isn't saying the past didn't matter. He’s saying that if you’re constantly looking back at what was, you’re going to miss what’s springing up right in front of you.
Jeremiah 29:11 promises a "hope and a future." Notice it doesn’t say a "hope and a repeat."
When the women got to the tomb, they were met with a question that changed everything: "Why do you look for the living among the dead?" It wasn't a scolding; it was a redirection. God wasn't mad that they were at the tomb, but He wanted them to know He didn’t live there anymore.
He’s not in your past, either. He isn't in that old version of your story. He moved. And the same Spirit that pulled Jesus out of that grave lives in you right now (Romans 8:11). That’s not just a nice Sunday school sentiment—it’s "dunamis" power. It’s the energy meant to break the cycles you think you’re stuck in.
So, what "dead thing" are you still carrying spices for? An old identity? A mistake you can’t forgive yourself for?
The tomb doesn't have to be your permanent address. The stone has already been rolled away. You don't have to keep visiting the grave—He’s already out here, waiting for you to catch up.
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