Readings: Acts 10:34-43; Psalm 118:14-24; 1 Corinthians 15:19-26; Luke 24:1-9 

Several years ago I visited the Holy Land. It was not during Holy Week, but it was a holy week journey.  In Jerusalem we followed the Via Doloroso, the way of the cross. We walked through narrow streets and alleys stopping to pray along the way at each of the Stations of the Cross.  One of the Stations is the Garden Tomb.  Although it in no way resembles a garden – it is in fact, inside a church – the tomb is there.   Its emptiness is what most vividly stands out in my mind.   

We also went to the Garden Tomb. Some people think that it is the more likely burial place of Jesus.  Its position close to Golgotha makes it a possibility.  While I did not get the sense that it is the place of burial, it is certainly very much like the scene the holy women would have encountered as they came with their spices to prepare Jesus' body for burial. It is a lovely garden filled with colour. There at the end of the garden is the tomb. There is a huge stone rolled back from the entrance. You stoop to enter. Inside are two cave like rooms. Once again it is the emptiness of the tomb that is so vividly etched in my mind.  

Early in the morning on the first day of the week the holy women went to the tomb.  They were carrying spices that were used for embalming.  Because of the Sabbath preparations, they had been unable to properly prepare Jesus' body for burial.  They were going back to finish the task.  They knew what to expect.  They had seen his battered and wounded body removed from the cross.  They had helped to place him lovingly in the tomb.  They had watched in horror as the stone had been rolled across the entrance. 

Many had run away in fear during the events of the past few days.  But these faithful women had remained through it all.  They had heard the stories told about how Jesus would not die.  But they had seen his death with their own eyes.  They had stood at the foot of the cross.  They had heard him breathe his last breath.  And they knew that the body decays and that no power of nature can change that. 

They were silent as they approached the tomb, each mourning in their own way.  They were intent on doing what had to be done.  They didn’t notice the garden with its beautiful flowers.  They didn’t notice the joyful chorus of the birds singing in the trees.  They felt only that terrible, lonely emptiness that sets in when one you love has died. 

And then suddenly nothing made sense.  They came to the tomb; the stone was rolled away.  They stooped and entered the narrow doorway expecting to find the body lying in the chamber, wrapped in linen cloths.  But once again they did not find what they expected.  There was no body.  Instead, two men in dazzling clothes said to them, "Why are you looking for the living among the dead?"  The words cut through to their very soul.  Had they not thought as they watched him being carried to the tomb that this dead man was more alive than all of them put together? 

We do not always see what is real.  Have you ever experienced seeing someone in the distance, being absolutely certain that it is your friend, only to find when you get closer that it does not even look remotely like the person? 

Mirrors reflect what they see.  They only reflect what they see.  Some of us do not like to admit that.  But you know, what a mirror sees is the reverse of what is really happening.  Think about it.  If you stand in front of a mirror and wave your right hand, which hand waves back?  It is your left hand waving at you, isn't it? 

That becomes really confusing if you go into a house of mirrors.  There the image is reversed, or distorted in some way.  There are so many mirrors angled at one another that we become unclear about what we are really seeing.  That is where the difficulty lies.  We begin to lose what is real and what is just an image.  We lose our own sense of reality.  There we stand, lost, bumping into what seems real only to discover that it is only a reflection.  We do not know where to turn.  We keep wondering which image is real.  We almost panic until we begin to move slowly enough to sort out the reality.  Life is backward.  Nothing can be presumed.  Every direction needs to be tested.  Left will probably be right.  We may have to go backward in order to go forward.  At any rate, we must never presume that anything is as it appears.  Only when we do that, when we begin to trust our instincts, do we find our way out of the maze.