Intentional FaithWhen Truth Walks the Streets and Lies Hide in the Shadows
A Day in the Life of Jesus
There are moments in the life of Jesus that feel triumphant and radiant, and then there are moments like this one—quiet, unsettling, and revealing of the human heart. Matthew 28:11–15 does not describe a miracle performed by Jesus, nor a sermon preached to the crowds. Instead, it pulls back the curtain on what happens when undeniable truth collides with entrenched power. As I sit with this passage, I am struck by how quickly the resurrection of Jesus creates motion in two very different directions. On one side, a group of women hurry through Jerusalem with hearts pounding, carrying astonishing news that death has been defeated. On the other, religious leaders gather behind closed doors, crafting a narrative meant to suppress that same truth. Both groups are responding to the same event, yet their responses could not be more different.
Matthew tells us that some of the guards who had been posted at the tomb went directly to the chief priests and reported “everything that had happened.” The Greek text implies completeness—they did not withhold details. These were not sympathetic witnesses trying to promote a movement; they were professional guards whose very failure could cost them their lives. Their testimony is striking precisely because it comes from reluctant mouths.
Yet rather than leading the religious leaders to repentance or awe, the report triggers fear and calculation. A council is called, money is produced, and a lie is carefully constructed. As one commentator observes, “The leaders do not attempt to disprove the resurrection; they attempt to explain it away” (R.T. France, The Gospel of Matthew). That distinction matters. The resurrection was not dismissed as impossible; it was treated as dangerous.
What unfolds next reveals the moral cost of denying truth. The guards are bribed to say they fell asleep, an explanation that collapses under its own weight. Roman discipline would not tolerate sleeping on duty, and a story involving multiple guards asleep simultaneously strains credibility. Matthew does not belabor the logic because he does not need to. The lie survives not because it is convincing, but because it is convenient. The leaders even promise protection—“If the governor hears about it, we’ll stand up for you.” Power shields falsehood, at least for a time. This is one of the most sobering realities in Scripture: lies often persist not because they are true, but because they are useful.
As I reflect on this, I cannot ignore the courage of the disciples that follows in the pages of Acts and church history. These same disciples who are accused of stealing a body go on to endure imprisonment, beatings, exile, and martyrdom. People may die for what they believe is true, but no one willingly dies for what they know is a fabrication. N.T. Wright makes this point plainly, noting that the resurrection faith of the early church is historically unintelligible without a genuine encounter with the risen Christ. The lie told by the council spreads, Matthew says, “to this very day,” but it does not generate transformed lives. The truth of the resurrection does.
What moves me most in this passage is how Jesus Himself is absent from the scene—and yet entirely central to it. He does not confront the council. He does not expose the lie publicly. He allows truth and falsehood to reveal their own fruit over time. This is deeply instructive for discipleship. Jesus does not force belief; He invites it. The resurrection creates a dividing line, and every generation must decide how it will respond. Even now, the world still buzzes with explanations, denials, distractions, and alternative narratives. Yet the choice remains essentially the same as it was that morning in Jerusalem: to receive the risen Christ or to find a way to keep Him at a distance.
Walking with Jesus today means recognizing that belief is not merely intellectual assent; it is moral and relational commitment. To believe in the resurrection is to allow it to reorder our loyalties, our fears, and our hopes. It means choosing truth even when it is inconvenient, costly, or disruptive. I often ask myself, as gently as I ask you now: where do I rush like the women, eager to tell the good news, and where do I retreat like the council, tempted to manage the truth rather than surrender to it? The resurrection does not leave us neutral. It invites us into life.
May you walk today with confidence that the risen Jesus is not threatened by denial, nor diminished by lies. His life continues to speak, to transform, and to call hearts toward truth.
Grace and peace to you as you seek to walk more closely with Jesus and allow His resurrection life to shape your own.
For further reflection, see “Why the Resurrection Matters” from Christianity Today:
https://www.christianitytoday.com/ct/2020/april-web-only/why-resurrection-matters.html
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Pastor Baldwin