One of my favourite jewelry pieces is a cross pendant my parents gifted me for my 21st birthday. More than two decades later, I still treasure the gift. It's delicate and pretty, but I love it because it represents something intrinsically central to my faith—the cross of Calvary.
As Christians, our church services and our meditations often focus on the sufferings of our Saviour on the cross. And rightly so. Without the cross, our faith would have no anchor. Without the cross, the birth of Christ would just be another moment in history.
But this season, I’ve been pausing and pondering the empty tomb with unabandoned wonder.
Without the empty tomb, the cross would be a heart-wrenching moment in history—but it wouldn’t be significant to our faith.
In the words of John Calvin: “The cross of Christ only triumphs in the breast of believers over the devil and the flesh, sin, and sinners, when their eyes are directed to the power of His Resurrection.”
Are your eyes directed toward the resurrection?
When Mary Magdalene and the other Mary visit the tomb early in the morning after the Sabbath, the angel of God says to them: “He is not here; he has risen, just as he said.” (Matthew 28:5)
But the angel doesn’t stop with that declaration. He invites the women to “come, see the place where he lay.” (Matthew 28:6)
Yes, of course, the empty tomb provided proof that the Saviour had risen. But for the Christian, it isn’t merely about proof.
For the Christian, the empty tomb is a place of death-defying rejoicing.
It is the place where we encounter the stunning power of God.
It is the place where a glorious living hope is birthed in us.
The empty tomb is sacred ground.
As someone once said, “The stone wasn’t rolled away so Jesus could get out. It was rolled away so we could go in.”
We don’t go in as spectators looking for proof.
We go in as worshippers marvelling at a God who is faithful in keeping His promises, powerful in accomplishing the impossible, and gracious in giving us new birth into an indestructible hope.
When my kids were little, they attended a Christian preschool in Portland, Oregon, where, during Holy Week, there would be a version of the “stations of the cross” walk-through. Although it’s been over a decade since then, I distinctly remember the solemn walk through the school’s auditorium with squirmy pre-schoolers in tow. The Principal of the preschool would wash their feet, they would taste the sour vinegar on a small cotton ball, they would nail a piece of paper to a wooden beam (with parental supervision). But the last station was the most memorable: they would peek into a small netted cage with butterflies. In the weeks prior, the kids had watched the caterpillar spinning a cocoon around itself. And now they got to see the butterfly emerge from its chrysalis. For little kids, looking into that cage and seeing new life in the butterfly was jaw-dropping and, vivid and stunning.
May we experience that awestruck wonder as we behold the empty tomb. May the familiarity of the miracle not dull our hearts into indifference. May we once again be stunned by the new life we have in Jesus.
Without a doubt, we need to kneel before the cross and bow in reverence before a God who became man with the mission to suffer and die for us. But, in our journey as Christians, we also need to behold the empty tomb and stand in awe before the Son of Man who conquered the grave and showed us that He is God.
This Easter, may I invite you to “come, see the place where he lay” (Matthew 28:6)
Photo by Benjamin Smith on Unsplash
