Perhaps the only thing predictable about grief is its unpredictable nature. We grieve loss—be it the death of someone we love or the death of a relationship or dream—differently, and there’s no right way to grieve or even a statute of limitations on grief.

My childhood home of two bedrooms/one bath didn't afford my mother much private space for mourning my father's death, which was why her sobs one night startled my sisters and me. We had never heard her cry like that before—heart-wrenching, inconsolable sobs. The three of us ran to her room, piled on her bed and joined in her tears. We eventually fell asleep, a bit better prepared for the next teary mess that would come, unexpected, but come, nonetheless.

Even though Jesus clearly told his disciples that he would suffer, be rejected, killed, and would rise after three days, they weren’t prepared for Jesus’ painful cry, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Mark 9:33) They were not prepared for his brutal and very real death. Yet, in this messiness of mockery, denial, daytime darkness and bloody death, the unexpected began to happen because he who knew no sin became sin for us.

Then there's the unexpected witness of the centurion, who stood watching Jesus, recognition dawning on him that “Truly this man was the Son of God!” (Mark 15:39). There are women looking on at all this from a distance, when two of them, Mary Magdalene and Mary the mother of James the younger and of Joses, decided to trail Joseph of Arimathea to see where he laid Jesus.

Not unexpectedly, the two Marys headed home. That Saturday, they navigated their grief by preparing spices and ointment for Jesus’ body, and then by keeping the Sabbath. Their only expectation as they walked to the tomb on the first day of the week was wondering who would roll away the stone from the tomb’s entrance.

Fortunately for them, someone had already rolled it away—and Easter came, unexpected.

I’d like to imagine that spices and ointment went every which way when the two angels asked, “Why do you seek the living among the dead? He is not here but has risen.” I also think that grief and despair went every which way as the women went from fear to trembling to astonishment that Jesus had risen just as he had told them.

Death is expected at the end of life, but death comes with an unexpected statute of limitations. It's called resurrection, here and now and forevermore.

In his book The Heart in Pilgrimage, A Treasure of Classic Devotionals on the Christian Life, Leland Ryken includes a devotional by British author, artist and missionary Lilias Trotter titled, "Death Is the Gate of Life." Writes Trotter:

"Yes, life is the uppermost, resurrection life, radiant and joyful and strong, for we represent down here Him who liveth and was dead and is alive for evermore. . . . A gateway is never a dwelling-place; the death-stage is never meant for our souls to stay and brood over, but to pass through with a will into the light beyond . . . , for above all and through all is the inflowing, overflowing life of Jesus. . . . He is not a God of the dead, but a God of the living, and He would have us let the glory of His gladness shine out."

He is risen indeed.