Stones That Cry Out: The Joy and Hope of Easter Sunday

There’s a moment in the Easter story—tucked in the Gospel of Luke—that has always caught my attention. As Jesus rides into Jerusalem, crowds are cheering, waving palm branches, proclaiming Him as King. And then some Pharisees, annoyed and threatened by the noise and worship, call out to Jesus: “Teacher, rebuke your disciples!” Jesus responds with a declaration so powerful and poetic that it still echoes today: “I tell you, if they keep quiet, the stones will cry out.” (Luke 19:40)

I’ve read that verse a hundred times. But lately, I’ve read it through the lens of a woman, a mother, a worker, a doer. A soul who’s tired and hopeful all at once. And this Easter, more than any other, I’m realizing that the stones in my life—both heavy and holy—have something to say.

The Stones We Carry

Let’s be honest: Working moms know a thing or two about carrying stones. We carry the stone of responsibility—meals to plan, meetings to lead, kids to drive, bills to pay, laundry to fold (again), and relationships to hold together like duct tape on a leaky pipe.

We carry the stone of guilt—that never-enough feeling that creeps in whether we’re at work too long or at home too distracted. Did we spend enough time with them? Did we miss the moment? Did we raise our voice? Forget the class snack? Lose our temper?

We carry the stone of weariness—emotional, physical, spiritual. The kind that doesn’t sleep away with eight hours and a melatonin gummy. The kind that comes from always being “on,” always holding it together.

But Easter Sunday whispers something different to us. It says: “That stone? It’s not the end of the story.”

A Stone Rolled Away

On the third day, at dawn, the women came to the tomb bringing spices, hearts heavy with grief. They had come to care for Jesus’ body—because that’s what women do, right? We show up. We hold space. We do the hard things, the tender things. But when they got there, everything changed.

“They found the stone rolled away from the tomb.” (Luke 24:2)

The stone—the very thing that had sealed the darkness, the pain, the silence—was no longer in place. And that stone, though silent, spoke volumes. That stone shouted: He is not here. He is risen. It wasn’t just a rock pushed to the side. It was the first sign of resurrection. It was the first whisper of hope in a garden of grief. And for every mom, every woman, every weary soul? It’s a promise.

When Life Feels Like Saturday

We talk a lot about Good Friday and Easter Sunday—but most of us live in the space in between: Saturday. Saturday is the waiting place. The uncertain space between grief and glory. Between diagnosis and healing. Between heartbreak and restoration. Between wondering if the tomb is the end or if God still writes resurrections. It’s hard to wait in the dark.

But sister, can I remind you of something? Even when it feels silent—God is still working. The stone was being moved before anyone saw the sunrise. Heaven was writing victory while earth still wept. And just like those women, we don’t always get to see the miracle until after the obedience. They walked to the tomb. They showed up in grief. And when they did, they saw the stone rolled away and a Savior risen.

Joy That Doesn’t Depend on Circumstance

Easter joy isn’t about perfect families in pastel outfits. It’s not about sunrise services with clean hair and warm coffee. It’s not about how many eggs you hid or whether the ham dried out.

Easter joy is gritty. It’s real. It rises from the grave of despair and says: Even this can be redeemed. Joy isn’t the absence of sorrow—it’s the presence of Jesus in the middle of it.

This means:

• You can be exhausted and still held.

• You can be grieving and still grounded in hope.

• You can be unsure of the next step and still believe God is making a way.

Because resurrection didn’t just happen one Sunday in Jerusalem—it’s still happening now. In your living room. In your minivan. At your job. In your marriage. In your motherhood.

When the Stones Cry Out

Maybe your heart feels too tired to praise right now. Maybe you’re walking through a divorce, sickness, financial trials, or dealing with a prodigal child. Maybe you’re exhausted from caregiving, or grieving a parent, or walking through a health scare that’s drained your peace. And maybe, just maybe, it feels like too much.

Then let the stones cry out. Let the evidence of God’s goodness in your life shout what your weary heart can’t yet say:

• That time He provided when you didn’t know how.

• That friend who showed up with groceries and grace.

• That morning you didn’t think you’d get out of bed—but you did.

• That child who whispered “I love you” when you thought you were failing.

Let the resurrection remind you that nothing is ever wasted, and no tomb is too final when Jesus is involved.

Resurrection Hope for Working Moms

Let me say this clearly to every woman who feels stretched too thin, unseen, or just plain tired:

You are not forgotten. You are not disqualified. You are not too late or too much.

The same power that raised Jesus from the dead lives in you. And this means:

• You can walk into Monday with holy confidence.

• You can parent with grace instead of guilt.

• You can work hard and rest well.

• You can live fully, even in the unknown.

Easter isn’t just a church holiday. It’s a daily invitation to step into joy, hope, and resurrection power.

Your Stone Is Not the End

Maybe this Easter, there’s a stone in your life that feels immovable.

An unanswered prayer.

A broken relationship.

A dream that feels buried.

A weariness that won’t lift.

But what if the stone is the very thing that God will roll away—not just to reveal what’s inside, but to show the world what He’s doing in you? God doesn’t just move stones. He transforms them.

He turns graves into gardens.

He turns weeping into worship.

He turns sacrifice into salvation.                                                                                    He turns working moms into warriors of hope—even on the days we feel anything but strong.

Closing Benediction

So this Easter, pause and listen. Maybe the stones are crying out—not just to remind the world that Jesus lives, but to remind you.

You, who showed up even when it was hard.

You, who folded laundry while praying for a miracle.

You, who kept believing in the dark.

You, who whispered “thank You” through tears.

You, who are doing holy work in a messy world.

Let the stone that was rolled away be your reminder:

He sees you.

He’s not done.

And joy is coming.

Happy Easter, Mama.

Let the stones cry out. Let your soul rise up. And let resurrection hope carry you into every ordinary, extraordinary day ahead.

Be strong. Be brave. And, let everything you do be done in love. 

Thank you for your time. It is a great privilege for me to have had it. 

Laura