Rise Up Out of the Tomb

In the dark, I sat still—almost too still. The kind of stillness that makes you question whether you are truly living or simply existing. Silence pressed down heavy on me, not the comforting kind that soothes but the kind that steals the air from your lungs. Somewhere along the way, I had grown comfortable here, in the shadows of my own doubts, buried beneath the weight of lies that wrapped themselves around my heart.

I believed them for so long—the whispers that told me I was too broken, too weary, too far gone to ever find my way back. And because I believed them, I stayed. Safe, maybe, but not alive. It felt easier to hide beneath the weight of the grave than to step out and risk being hurt again.

That’s the thing about lies. They don’t just speak to your mind—they bury themselves in your soul until they feel like truth. And once they settle in, you forget there is more. You forget you were made for life, not death. For hope, not despair. For freedom, not chains.

But then, in that silence, came a voice. Gentle, yet undeniable. Strong enough to pierce stone. “Rise up.”

At first I wanted to ignore it. I had grown used to the darkness. It was familiar, even if it was suffocating. But His words carried something I hadn’t felt in so long: power. Hope. Life. Something in me stirred. Something I thought had died moved again, like a heartbeat I almost forgot existed.

And it was His voice—the voice of Jesus—calling me out. Just as He called Lazarus from the tomb, He was calling me.

I thought about Lazarus, wrapped in grave clothes, sealed away, lifeless for days. Everyone around him had accepted the finality of it. But Jesus spoke into that impossible place and said, “Come out.” And death had no choice but to let go.

And here I was, feeling much the same. Entombed by fear, sealed in by grief, wrapped in the grave clothes of lies and shame. And yet—Jesus spoke. He called me by name. He told me I was not too far gone. He told me the grave was not my home. He told me the power of death could not hold me.

It was time to rise.

Breathing again feels strange at first when you’ve been buried for so long. Light feels too bright, too overwhelming for eyes that adjusted to darkness. Hope feels fragile when despair has been your constant companion. But slowly, breath by breath, step by step, I realized: I was alive.

Not because I had the strength to claw my way out, but because He called me out. Because His resurrection power is stronger than my despair. Because His love is louder than my fear.

That’s the miracle—resurrection doesn’t depend on me. It depends on Him. The same voice that spoke life into Lazarus is still speaking life into us today. The same power that rolled away the stone then can roll away the stones we still face now.

Maybe you’ve felt it too—the comfort of the tomb. The strange safety in staying buried under the lies, because stepping out feels too uncertain. Maybe you’ve believed for too long that your story is finished, that hope has run out, that the weight is too heavy to ever be lifted.

But hear this: Jesus is calling. And when He calls, nothing can stay dead.

The grave is not your home. The darkness is not your destiny. The lies are not your truth. You are alive in Him. You are brand new.

So take that first breath. Step forward, even if it’s shaky at first. Let the grave clothes fall away. Let the light touch your face. Because you were never meant to stay in the tomb.

Jesus is still saying it—“Come out.”

And when you do, when you rise in the power of His name, you’ll discover what I did: the tomb was never the end. It was only the place where He would show His glory.