The Empty Tomb and the Full Promise

The sun rises on Easter morning, and with it comes a truth that has echoed through centuries: He is not here, for He has been raised. The tomb is empty, but our hearts are full.

In today's Gospel from John (20:1–9), we find Mary of Magdala arriving at the tomb while it’s still dark—both literally and figuratively. She is grieving, disoriented by the trauma of Friday’s crucifixion, and all she finds is a stone rolled away and a body gone. She runs to tell Peter and the beloved disciple, and the three of them engage in this almost frantic search—not just for Jesus' body, but for meaning, for hope, for something solid in the swirl of loss.

What strikes me in this passage is the subtlety of the Resurrection moment. There are no trumpets, no dramatic theophany, no booming voice from heaven. Just folded burial cloths and an absence. And somehow, it’s enough. The beloved disciple sees the emptiness—and believes. What does he believe? The text doesn’t spell it out. But there’s a quiet shift in the heart. A dawning realization that maybe death didn’t get the final word after all.

Paul, in the second reading from Colossians (3:1–4), invites us into that shift. “Seek what is above, where Christ is seated at the right hand of God.” Easter is not just a past event to commemorate, but a present reality to live into. The Resurrection isn’t just Jesus’ story—it’s ours too. If we’ve died with Him in our small daily sacrifices, our letting go, our struggles to love—then we are also raised with Him into something new.

And let’s not forget the first reading from Acts (10:34a, 37–43), where Peter, once the frightened denier, is now the bold proclaimer: “We are witnesses.” He tells the story not from a distance, but as someone who has seen the wounds and the wonder. His courage reminds us that Resurrection faith isn’t private—it’s something we’re called to live out loud.

So this morning, whether we feel like Mary—confused and searching—or like the beloved disciple—quietly believing in what we don’t fully understand—we are invited into Resurrection. Into hope that endures even when the evidence is subtle. Into joy that doesn’t deny suffering, but transforms it.

The tomb is empty. But grace is everywhere.