The Blessedness of an Empty Tomb

The saying goes, “Seeing is believing”. That’s the rallying cry of the realist, the credo of all down-to-earth people. We are followers of the disciple Thomas who vowed unless he saw with his own eyes and felt with his own hands the risen Christ, he would not believe. And that’s what makes the Easter story so incredibly hard to swallow. It isn’t what we see that makes the difference - it’s what we don’t see.




Think about it. We are here today celebrating a non-sight, an empty tomb. Now we may go on and on about the implications of that empty tomb. We may protest and say “But that only proves Christ rose from the dead.” Not necessarily so. Even the disciples were unconvinced, and dismissed the words of the women as an “idle tale.”



In this, Luke tells a different story from the other Gospel writers. We have no Jesus in the garden, who confronts Mary. Nor do the disciples get to visit with the angelic messengers. No. We are left with an empty space - and a sense of wonder.



Very unscientific - and very un-American I might add. We are the “Show me” people. Unless we see for ourselves, we will not believe.

But how much we miss for all our scientific approach to things. In my experience, when I am on familiar ground, when I have all the facts in hand, when I know what I am talking about - then I am least able to recognize God.



It is in the empty places I am forced to start searching. Who seeks food when he or she is already full? Who seeks enlightenment when he or she already knows? Who explores new territory when he or she is content at home?



In the book of Revelation, the Church in Laodicea is chided for being “lukewarm.” They think they are rich, they think they are well dressed, they think they are healthy. Laodicea was known throughout the whole Roman Empire for its fine wool, for an eye salve that was produced there from minerals found in the area, and for the mint that produced coins for Rome. Yet, the author says they are “poor, blind and naked.” The implication is clear - how much better off you would be if you were poor, blind and naked - then perhaps you would recognize your true need. You would hear me knocking at the door, and you would invite me in so we could sit down and dine together.



The empty places, they are the blessed places - and they are the very places we strive the hardest to avoid. I invite you to contemplate this empty tomb - think not about where Jesus is, think only about where he is not. We cannot keep him in a dusty tomb. He will not be confined in our churches. He will burst out of our theological formulae. It’s rather like Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn attending their own funeral, watching the people grieve over the poor dead angels. Jesus peeks over our shoulders, looks into the empty grave and says “It is empty, isn’t it. Surprise!”





The life of faith, unlike the life of the pragmatist, is lived in an empty space where the unexpected can take place. Only in the empty place can God come tapping at our door, and we will hear and invite him in.



It’s an old legend, but still powerful - about the tailor in a small Russian village, who is told in a dream that he will be visited by God the next day. He is overjoyed at such an honor, and sets out to prepare for the great visitor. But hard as he tries to prepare he keeps getting interrupted. He prepares a feast, and then a beggar comes needing food. The only food in the house sits on the table waiting for the divine guest, he has nothing to give the beggar. But he can’t turn the poor fellow out. Especially when he learns the man has a sick wife and small children at home, all starving. He packs up the meal and sends it off with the poor man. He has stayed up all night sewing a handsome robe for his guest - only to have another beggar come tapping at the door. It is winter and cold and the poor man is in rags and freezing. The tailor can find nothing to help the cold man, all he has left in his shop is this splendid robe. But he can’t turn the fellow out either. He gives him the cloak, and rues the fact there is nothing left in his house for his divine guest. He has a few pennies left, which he decides to use to go get some bread - but on the way he meets still another beggar, and can’t find it in his heart to refuse the outstretched hand. The pennies are given, and the tailor goes home cold and hungry to wait for God. When God does not come, he is shattered. He tells his disappointment to his neighbor. The neighbor, wisely, remembers something he had read, and turning in the Gospels, he finds Jesus saying “I was hungry and you fed me, I was naked and you clothed me - for in as much as you did it onto the least of these, my brothers, you did it onto me.”



Who knows when we have played host to the Spirit of God - in disguise? Our humble tailor could have missed his divine guest. In all the excitement of getting ready for God; in the egotism that surely must come from the thought the he would be host to the Almighty; how disappointed he was. It took a neighbor to challenge him and help him see the real truth.



Luke will do much the same thing with his story. Rather than making a grand entrance and dazzling the disciples, the next thing we read is of two men on their way to Emmaus where a stranger joins them on the road. They are so caught up in their own grief they don’t recognize the stranger. Jesus even explains the situation to them and they still don’t know who he is. Only when they sit down to eat at the inn are their eyes opened. Only in the common time, the ordinary time, the everyday moment we all share as human beings, do they become aware of who their guest really is.



And once they do recognize him, Jesus vanishes from their sight.



There, in a nutshell, is the formula for the life of faith in Christ. We worship a God we cannot see, a God who refuses to be pinned down, a God who joins us when we least expect it, and most often in the common and ordinary places of our lives where we are doing the common and ordinary things of life.



I can repeat the good news - Christ is risen. But more important than the good news is my willingness to live it in the everyday places of my life. Thank God for this empty tomb that prompts us to be on our way. Happy reunions on your journey. Amen.