Empty is awesome.
Maybe not so much as a balance in your bank account or as pinging from your gas gauge, but on that spring Sunday morning when Mary Magdalene and company set foot into the vacant tomb, empty was absolutely awesome. And it still is.
Empty means that we can be full—full of joy, full of hope, full of life. Empty means that we can have no fear, for our dread that death is final and that life is futile has been wondrously obliterated by the stunning triumph of the Risen Christ. Empty means that the worst of this world cannot touch the truth of God’s love, for Jesus lived a perfect life, died a painful death, paid the price of sin, and conquered the grave with a power so potent that history and the hereafter will never be the same.
Why do I say this today? Wasn’t Easter yesterday? Yes, but an empty grave on Sunday means the most on Monday. An empty grave on Sunday means that Monday has lasting meaning and definite purpose. It means that the ordinary stuff of this week matters forever. It means that meeting with clients, doing the laundry, signing a contract, and rocking the baby are crowned with the glory of a God who triumphed over death and who delights in giving life—all of our days.
An empty tomb on Sunday means that in the ups and downs and all arounds of life, our relationship with God is bound securely by a power so infinite and eternal that our missteps and mishaps can never cause us to fall from His grace. Without an empty tomb, the promise of the cross would be incomplete, and we would have no hope. Without an empty tomb, life and death would make no sense, and we would be left to fill our days with the little we could selfishly grab and hoard for these few, fleeting moments. But an empty tomb on Sunday means that eternity is changed, and every day is changed.
Praise God that Easter’s early risers didn’t find what they were looking for—but instead what they were longing for.
Empty is awesome.
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