The Empty Tomb: The Hope You Can’t Ignore

Good morning, and happy Easter.

If we haven’t met, my name is Matt. I’m the teaching pastor here at Blue Oaks, and I’m really glad you chose to spend part of your day with us.

What’s happening here this morning isn’t just happening here.

All over the world — across different cultures, languages, and time zones — millions of people are gathering in spaces like this one, all centered around the same claim.

Not just an idea. Not just a tradition. Not just something we revisit once a year and think, “I should probably look into that more at some point.”

A claim.

That three days after Jesus was crucified… the stone was rolled away, the tomb was empty, and he was not there. That he rose from the dead.

And whether you’ve been around church for a long time, or you’re just exploring what you believe, that claim sits at the center of everything we’re doing here today.

Because if it’s not true, then at best, we’re remembering a meaningful story from the past.

And honestly, there are plenty of meaningful stories we could gather around that don’t require this level of commitment on a Sunday morning.

But if it is true… then we’re dealing with something that doesn’t just belong to history —
it reaches into the present.

Last week in this series, we stood at the cross. And we talked about the kind of king Jesus turned out to be — not one who used power the way the world uses power, but one who moved toward suffering rather than away from it… and who loved without turning away.

And now we come to The Empty Tomb.

Which, when you really think about it, is where the whole thing either comes together…
or quietly falls apart.

Because if Jesus died and stayed dead, then you can admire him, you can quote him, you can even be moved by him — but at the end of the day, he becomes one more inspiring figure from history who said some powerful things and lost.

But if the tomb is empty — if Jesus really rose from the dead — then we’re not just dealing with a teacher or a martyr or even a religious founder. We’re dealing with someone who has altered reality itself.

That’s why the resurrection has always been the hinge point of the Christian faith.

If it didn’t happen, Christianity would collapse under its own claims.

But if it did happen, then it has implications for everything — for hope, for suffering, for forgiveness, for death, for the future, for what it means to trust God with your actual life.

And one of the things I appreciate about the resurrection accounts in the Gospels is that they don’t read like people expecting this to happen.

The first witnesses don’t show up confident and triumphant, saying, “Well, of course, this is resurrection morning.”

They come carrying spices. They come expecting death. They come sad, confused, and trying to do the next faithful thing in front of them.

Which means Easter begins, not with certainty, but with grief.

It begins with people who are not unlike us —

People living inside their assumptions about how the world works.
People who know what death does.
People who know what disappointment feels like.
People who have seen hope collapse before.

And then they arrive at a tomb… and everything changes.

So today I want us to sit with this story. I want us to look carefully at what happened at the tomb, what it meant for the first witnesses, and what it means for us.

Because Easter is not just the claim that something amazing happened once. It’s the claim that Jesus is alive now, and that Christianity is, at its core, a relationship with the living God.

So let’s step into the moment itself.

If you have a Bible, you can turn to Luke chapter 24. We’re going to begin in verse 1, and I want to read this slowly, because the details matter more than we sometimes realize.

On the first day of the week, very early in the morning, the women took the spices they had prepared and went to the tomb.

They found the stone rolled away from the tomb, but when they entered, they did not find the body of the Lord Jesus.

While they were wondering about this, suddenly two men in clothes that gleamed like lightning stood beside them. In their fright the women bowed down with their faces to the ground…” (Luke 24:1–5)

What I want you to notice first is not what they found… but what they brought with them.

They brought spices.

Which tells us everything we need to know about what they were expecting.

They were not going to celebrate.
They were not going with anticipation.
They were not going with some quiet confidence that Jesus had predicted this and now it’s finally happening.

They were going to finish a burial.

In that culture, burial didn’t always happen all at once. A body would be wrapped, placed in a tomb, and then family or close followers would return to complete the process — anointing the body with spices as a final act of care and honor.

So what these women are doing is part of the grieving process. They’re showing up to do what love does in the face of loss. They’re caring for someone they believe is gone.

And that matters, because it reminds us that the first people at the tomb are not people of extraordinary faith in that moment.

They’re grieving.
They’re disoriented.
They’re doing the next small, faithful thing they know how to do.

They’re not theologizing the moment.
They’re not debating resurrection.
They’re not forming a small group to process what Jesus meant when he said, “I am the resurrection and the life.”

They’re just… carrying spices.

And then they arrive… and something is immediately wrong.

The stone is rolled away.

Which, by the way, is not what they were concerned about on the way there.

Mark tells us they were actually asking each other, “Who’s going to move the stone for us?”

Which is another interesting detail. They’re trying to solve a practical problem… while carrying grief they don’t yet know how to process.

It’s interesting how often we focus on manageable problems… when we’re actually facing something much deeper.

But when they arrive, the problem they were worried about is no longer the problem.

The stone is already moved.

And when they step inside… the body is gone.

And at that point, they’re not thinking, “This must be the resurrection.”

They’re thinking, “Something is wrong.”

Luke says they were “wondering about this.”

That word carries the sense of confusion… disorientation… trying to make sense of something that doesn’t fit any category they have.

This is not clarity.
This is not confidence.
This is the beginning of disruption.

And then suddenly, these two figures appear — clothes gleaming, unmistakably not ordinary — and the women are overwhelmed. They bow down. They’re afraid.

Because whatever is happening here… it’s not what they came for.

So this situation is not becoming more clear for these women — it’s becoming more and more confusing.

What they encounter at the tomb doesn’t immediately resolve anything for them. In fact, it creates a new problem, because now the categories they were relying on no longer work.

They understood death. They knew what had happened on Friday. They watched Jesus suffer, watched him die, watched his body be taken down and placed in a tomb.

That was tragic, but it was not unfamiliar. It fit within their understanding of how the world works.

People die. Even good people. Even people you believed in. Even people you hoped might change everything.

What they were not prepared for was this — a missing body, an open tomb, a reality that didn’t line up with anything they had experienced before.

And that’s important, because one of the things the resurrection does — both then and now — is it confronts the assumptions we build our lives on.

Most of us move through life with a fairly settled sense of how things work.

We may not say it out loud, but we carry quiet expectations about what leads to a good life, what gives us a sense of security, what we can ultimately rely on.

We assume that if we make good decisions, things will generally go well.
We assume that if we work hard enough, we can create a life that feels stable.
We assume that if we can maintain a certain level of control, we can keep things from falling apart.

And underneath all of that is an even deeper assumption — that death is final, that loss is permanent, that what is gone is gone.

And for the most part, those assumptions hold… until they don’t.

Because at some point, everyone runs into moments where life does not cooperate with those expectations.

A relationship breaks down that you thought would last.
A plan that felt solid begins to unravel.
Something you were counting on disappears.

And you’re left trying to make sense of a reality that doesn’t fit the framework you were using to understand it.

That’s where these women are standing.

They’ve come to the tomb with a set of assumptions about what is true, what is possible, and what happens next.

And the empty tomb quietly, but decisively, begins to dismantle those assumptions.

But here’s what’s so interesting: the resurrection does not immediately replace those assumptions with clarity. It doesn’t instantly give them a new, fully formed understanding of what God is doing.

It begins with disorientation. It begins with the unsettling realization that what they thought was final… might not be final after all.

And that can feel uncomfortable, because we tend to prefer explanations that stabilize us. We want things to make sense quickly. We want resolution. We want something we can hold onto that restores our sense of control.

We’re not opposed to mystery… we just prefer it to resolve itself within a reasonable timeframe.

But the resurrection doesn’t do that for us.

It loosens our grip on the assumptions we thought we could trust.

It introduces the possibility that reality is larger than we thought. That God is not confined to the patterns we’ve observed. That what looks like an ending might not actually be an ending.

And if that’s true, then it doesn’t just change how we read this story — it changes how we read our own lives.

Because now the question becomes: where have we quietly accepted something as final that God may not be finished with?

Where have we drawn conclusions about what’s possible, what’s repairable, what’s redeemable… that might not actually be the last word?

The women don’t have answers yet. But they’re standing in a moment that’s about to redefine everything they thought they knew.

If we go back to the text, the moment that reframes everything doesn’t come from the women — it actually comes from the question they’re asked.

Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here; he has risen. (Luke 24:5–6)

What’s striking is that they’re not immediately given an explanation.

They’re given a question.

And not just any question — a question that gently exposes the assumption they walked in with.

Because from their perspective, what they were doing made complete sense.

Of course you go to a tomb to find someone who has died. That’s not confusion — that’s rational. That’s how the world works.

Which is what makes the question so disruptive. Why are you looking for the living… in a place defined by death?

That question is doing more than correcting a misunderstanding about one moment. It’s introducing an entirely different way of seeing reality.

In the ancient world, the boundary between life and death was absolute. There was no category for someone stepping out of death and returning in a transformed, embodied way.

Even within Jewish thought, while there was hope for a future resurrection at the end of time, no one was expecting it to happen in the middle of history… to one person… ahead of everyone else.

Which means this is not just surprising — it’s category-breaking.

It’s not, “We misplaced the body.” It’s, “Something has happened that requires a new understanding of what is possible.”

And one of the reasons this account carries so much weight historically is that it doesn’t read like a story shaped to convince skeptics.

If you were trying to invent a persuasive narrative in the first century, you wouldn’t center the testimony around women, whose witness at the time wasn’t even considered legally reliable in many settings.

And yet the Gospels do exactly that.

Not because it strengthens the argument in that culture… but because that’s what actually happened.

But the real weight of this moment is not just historical — it’s personal. Because that question doesn’t stay in the first century. It has a way of traveling.

“Why do you look for the living among the dead?”

It’s a question about location… but it’s really a question about expectation.

It’s asking, “Where are you going to find life?”

In a place like the Bay Area — where people are thoughtful, driven, capable — it’s not that we don’t look for life.

It’s that we tend to look for it in places that can’t ultimately sustain it.

We look for it in achievement. In building something meaningful. In creating a life that feels stable, and successful, and secure.
We look for it in relationships. In being known, and being valued, and being chosen.
We look for it in experiences. In staying engaged, and stimulated, and moving forward.

We even look for it in things that promise just enough transformation to feel hopeful —
another book, another system, another way to optimize your life so that this version finally works.

And none of those things are wrong in themselves. They matter. They have value.

But what this question begins to expose is that when we ask those things to carry more than they were designed to carry… they eventually collapse under the weight of that expectation.

Because anything that is ultimately subject to decay, loss, or change cannot bear the full weight of your hope.

So the resurrection is not just telling us that Jesus is alive. It’s telling us that life — real life, lasting life — is found in a place we would not have thought to look.

So the question becomes less abstract.

Where are you looking for life right now?
What are you depending on to give you a sense that things are okay… that you’re okay?
And is it something that can actually hold that weight?

Because if the cross showed us a kind of love that doesn’t turn away… the resurrection shows us a kind of life that cannot be taken away.

And the invitation of Easter is not just to believe that something happened… it’s to reconsider where we’ve been looking for life.

As we sit with this moment — the empty tomb, the question, the confusion beginning to give way to clarity — there’s a larger implication that starts to come into view.

Because the resurrection is not just an isolated event. It’s not just something remarkable that happened once. It functions as a kind of confirmation… a validation… a vindication of everything Jesus had been saying and doing all along.

Throughout his life, Jesus made claims that, if we’re honest, are difficult to categorize.

He didn’t just teach moral principles. He didn’t just offer spiritual insight. He spoke about himself in ways that placed him at the center of the story.

He forgave sins — something that, within Jewish thought, was understood to be something only God can do.

He redefined identity — not around performance, but around a relationship with him.

He spoke about God not just as a distant authority, but as Father… and invited people into that same relationship.

And perhaps most strikingly, he repeatedly told his followers that he would suffer, that he would be killed… and that he would rise again.

Now, it’s one thing to make those kinds of claims. History is not short on people who have made bold spiritual assertions.

It’s another thing entirely for those claims to be validated in a way that cannot be easily dismissed.

And this is where the resurrection matters so much.

Because if Jesus stays in the tomb, then his words become interesting, maybe even inspiring — but ultimately uncertain.

But if the tomb is empty… then his words take on a different kind of weight.

In a sense, the resurrection becomes the lens through with we see everything.

It’s the moment that forces you to go back and reconsider everything that came before it.

It’s the difference between reading someone’s ideas as thoughtful… and realizing you may have underestimated who you were listening to.

Because if Jesus has authority over death itself… then that changes how we understand everything he said about life.

If he can step out of a tomb… then his claims about forgiveness, about grace, about the kingdom of God, about what ultimately matters — those are no longer just philosophical ideas. They become the most significant truths in history.

And I think for many people today, the hesitation to follow Jesus is not always emotional — it’s often intellectual.

We live in a world shaped by scientific thinking, by observable patterns, by what can be measured and tested.

And in that kind of environment, something like the resurrection can feel… difficult to place.

Not necessarily impossible. But outside the categories we’re used to working with.

But what’s worth considering is that the earliest followers of Jesus were not predisposed to believe this either.

They weren’t waiting at the tomb saying, “This is exactly what we expected.”

They were confused. They were skeptical. In some cases, they were resistant.

Thomas, one of the disciples, famously said he wouldn’t believe unless he could see and touch the wounds himself.

Which, if we’re honest, feels like a pretty reasonable standard.

And yet something happened. Not just to the tomb — but to them.

These same individuals who were hiding, uncertain, and afraid became people who were willing to publicly stake their lives on the claim that Jesus was alive.

Not because it was convenient. Not because it advanced their status. But because they were convinced it was true.

And at the center of their message was not simply, “Jesus taught something helpful.”
It was, “Jesus is alive.”

Which brings the question a little closer to home.

Because at some point, the resurrection moves from being a historical claim… to being a personal one.

If Jesus is alive… then he’s not just a figure to be studied. He’s someone to be responded to.

And that doesn’t mean having every question answered. It doesn’t mean resolving every tension.

But it does mean taking seriously the possibility that what happened at that tomb is not just something to be observed from a distance… but something that has implications for how we understand God, and ourselves, and the direction of our lives.

Because if the question was, “Why do you look for the living among the dead?” this movement begins to answer it.

Life is not found in what cannot last. It’s found in the one who has overcome death itself.

And if that’s true… then Jesus was not just right about what he said. He was revealing what is ultimately real.

As all of this begins to come into focus — the empty tomb, the question, the implications of what it means that Jesus is alive — it eventually leads to something that is both very simple and very personal.

Because the resurrection is not just something to be understood. It’s something to be responded to.

And one of the places where I think there’s often confusion — especially in a culture like ours — is around what Christianity actually is.

For some people, it’s primarily a set of beliefs.
For others, it’s a moral framework — a way of trying to live a good life.
For others, it’s a tradition — something familiar, something they grew up around, something they return to occasionally.

But at its core, Christianity is not primarily about rules or rituals or even ideas.

It is about a relationship.

It is about the possibility of knowing and being known by the living God.

And that’s only possible because of the resurrection.

Because if Jesus were still in the tomb, then everything we’ve talked about would remain in the past — something meaningful, maybe even inspiring, but ultimately distant.

But if he’s alive… then this is not about looking back.

It’s about being invited in.

Invited into a relationship that’s not based on performance. Not based on getting everything right. Not based on having your life fully together.

But based on what he’s already done.

Which means the same pattern we’ve been seeing throughout this series continues here.

At the beginning, in the Triumphal Entry, we saw a king who didn’t arrive the way anyone expected — not with force or spectacle, but with a kind of humility that was easy to misunderstand.

Then at the cross, we saw what that kind of kingship actually looks like when it’s fully revealed — a love that does not turn away, even in the face of suffering.

And now at the empty tomb, we see something else entirely — not just love on display, but power redefined. A life that cannot be taken away.

And when you hold all three together —

the kind of king he is
the kind of love he shows
and the kind of life he carries

You begin to realize this is not just something to observe. It’s an invitation.

An invitation to trust.
An invitation to turn toward God, maybe for the first time… or maybe in a way that’s more honest than it’s been in a long time.
An invitation to stop carrying things on your own that you were never meant carry.

And I know that for many people, especially in a room like this, that step is not always easy.

It can feel uncertain.
There are questions.
There are doubts.
There are things that don’t fully resolve.

Most of us would prefer a version of faith where everything is explained in advance…
and then we decide whether we want to participate.

But the resurrection doesn’t work that way.

It invites us to respond before everything is fully resolved.

And that response is not complicated.

It’s not about saying the right words. It’s not about reaching some level of certainty.

It’s about trust.

Trusting that what Jesus did on the cross was enough.
Trusting that his life now makes a relationship with God possible.
Trusting that what he offers is actually better than what we’ve been trying to build on our own.

And for some of you, that may be a first step. A moment where you realize, maybe for the first time, that this is not just a story… it’s an invitation to you.

For others of you, it may be a return. A recognition that somewhere along the way, your attention drifted… your trust shifted… and today is a moment to come back.

Because the empty tomb is not just proof that Jesus was right. It’s an open door.

I came across a story recently that I haven’t been able to shake. It comes out of World War II.

There was a father whose son had gone missing in the war. No confirmation. No body. Just… gone.

And for years, the family lived in that space that’s incredibly difficult to live in — not knowing whether to grieve… or to keep hoping.

At one point, the father was walking through a museum that had photographs from the war — rows and rows of images of soldiers and prisoners.

As he was walking through, something made him stop.

There was a photograph… and in the background, barely noticeable, was a man.

Not centered. Not highlighted. Just… there.

And the father leaned in closer.

Because he thought — that looks like my son.

But it couldn’t be. Because as far as he knew… the story was already over.

And yet the more he looked… the more convinced he became.

That’s him. He’s alive.

And what changed in that moment wasn’t just what he saw. It was what he thought was final.

Because something he had already grieved… something he had already accepted as finished… suddenly wasn’t finished anymore.

And in a very real way, that’s what the resurrection does.

It confronts the places where we’ve quietly concluded…

“That’s over.”
“That part of my life is done.”
“That can’t be restored.”

And it introduces a possibility we wouldn’t have allowed ourselves to believe.

What if it’s not over?
What if what you thought was final… isn’t final?

And the question is simply: What will you do with it?

Because at some point, this moves from being a story you understand… to a decision you make.

And I want to be really clear about what that decision is… and what it isn’t.

This is not about becoming more religious. It’s not about trying harder or getting your life together first.

It’s about responding to a person. It’s about responding to Jesus — who stepped into our world, carried our sin, walked through death… and then walked out of it.

And now, offers you a relationship with God that is not based on your performance… but on what he has already done.

And for some of you, if you’re honest, you’ve been circling this for a while.

You’ve had questions. You’ve been thinking. You’ve been exploring.

But you’ve never actually taken a step.

Not because you’re opposed… but because you’re waiting for everything to feel completely settled first.

And the reality is — it may never feel completely settled.

But there can still be a moment where you say, “I don’t have everything figured out… but I’m ready to trust.”

So what I’d like to do is just create a moment for that.

And if you’re here today, and you would say, “I don’t have a relationship with God…
but I want one.”

or

“I’ve drifted… and I want to come back.” Then I’m going to invite you to respond.

And I’m going to lead you in a simple prayer.

Not because there’s anything magical about the words… but because sometimes it helps to have language for something you’re already sensing.

You can pray this quietly, in your own heart. You don’t have to say it out loud.

But if this reflects what you want to say to God… then just make these words your own.

God,

I don’t have everything figured out… but I believe I’m not here by accident.

And I believe you’re real.

I know that I’ve tried to build my life on my own terms. I’ve made decisions that I regret. I’ve carried things I wasn’t meant to carry.

And today, I’m choosing to trust you.

I believe that Jesus died for me. That he carried my sin… and my failure… and my brokenness. And I believe that he rose again.

And so today, I’m turning toward you. I’m asking you to forgive me. To make me new. To lead my life from this point forward.

I don’t know what this will look like yet… but I trust you with it.

Thank you for not giving up on me. Thank you for loving me.

In Jesus’ name, Amen.

And if you prayed that today — even with uncertainty — that’s a real important moment.

Not because of the words… but because of what they represent — the beginning of a relationship with the living God.

Because Easter is not just the celebration of something that happened… It’s the beginning of something that can happen in you.

Stand with me and lets join the worship team as they lead us in a closing song.