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They found the stone rolled away from the tomb, but when they went in, they did not find the body. - Luke 24:2-3  

Have you ever been in the church sanctuary when you were the only one in the building? Have you been there when it’s totally empty?  If not, I highly recommend it.  It’s best if you can catch it on a sunny evening as light streams in through the faceted glass from the south and west side of the building.  It lights up the altar with a soft colorful glow that seems like it comes from heaven.    

There’s a holiness in that empty space – a reverence that settles in the air.  I imagine that it’s always there, even on busy Sunday mornings, but evaporates like smoke as people pass through it.  It’s easier to notice when everything is still and quiet.  

It’s what I picture the empty tomb to be like.  Silent. Quiet. Holy.  

The image of the peaceful, holy and reverent empty tomb clashes with what Easter Sunday is for many of us.   Egg hunts, children’s baskets and busy kitchens.  Colorful dresses, button down shirts, Sunday best.  Brass music, fanfare and celebration.  And in it all, we miss the quiet hope and wonder of the empty tomb.   

 Our lives are often so busy, it’s easy to miss the holiness of empty spaces.  For some of us, that’s a luxury.  Others long for more fullness.    

But I hope that wherever you are, this Easter you can feel the holiness of the empty tomb.  I hope you can feel a bit of the quiet wonder and amazement of what that could mean.  I hope you feel that sense of peace wash over you.  

It’s a peace that only an empty tomb can give.  You may not be able to find it this weekend, but the next time you find that quiet space, remember that the tomb is empty.