Welcome to Part 2 in our series running up to Easter, The Mysteries of the Resurrection.

It's an early morning Sunday, and four spectators cannot make sense of what their eyes are seeing.

They are Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of Jesus, Salome, and Joanna. They are shocked into silence in the pre-dawn light.

They are staring at a massive, two-ton stone that has been rolled up a hill. The barrier is gone. The Roman seal—the symbol of the authority and power—is broken. The guards have vanished. The grave of Jesus is opened.

But as they step past that stone and into the dim light of the tomb, the mystery takes another twist.

They came to pay their last respects and to anoint his body.

But they look at the limestone slab where the body of Jesus was placed just three days before... but the body is gone.

Panic seizes them by the throat.

Mary Magdalene doesn't immediately shout, "He is risen!" She doesn't fall to her knees in worship.

She runs.
She runs out of the tomb, past the stone, out of the garden, to the town, into the city, and back to the house where she finds Peter and John in their depressed and defeated state.

Mary bursts through the door and cries out, "They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we don't know where they have put him!"

Did you notice that?

Mary's first instinct isn't that a miracle has happened; it's that a crime has happened.

To her, this isn't a resurrection; it's a desecration.

This is where our investigation shifts gears. Last week, we asked, "Who moved the stone?"

But now we face a much more disturbing question: "The Mystery of the Missing Body"

So today, I want us to look the clues and render a verdict.

There are some here today who walked in the doors carrying heavy situations that make no sense. The doctor's report makes no sense. The bank account makes no sense. The way your family is falling apart makes no sense. The injury that sidelined you makes no sense. The way your prayers aren't getting answered makes no sense.

And you're burdened, and you're sad, and maybe even angry. And you're thinking, 'How am I supposed to have hope when my reality is hopeless?'

That's exactly why we're investigating the resurrection. Because... the great promise of the resurrection of Jesus that echoes throughout the Bible is this:
Because Jesus had life when life made no sense, you can have hope when hope makes no sense, peace when peace makes no sense, and joy when joy makes no sense.

I'm here to say, Because he lives I can face tomorrow.

Because here is the reality: if Jesus stayed dead, Christianity is nothing more than a nice philosophy. But if Jesus walked out of that grave, that changes everything. That demands our attention. It actually demands a response.

Here is my promise to you:
If you will honestly investigate the resurrection of Jesus with us, you will discover that His resurrection isn't just a fact to believe—it's a power you can rely on.

The same power that raised Jesus from the dead can raise hope in you. It can rebuild what's broken. It can steady you for whatever you're facing right now.

Let's consider now the Mystery of the Missing Body.

The Perplexing Evidence
Peter and John take off. It's a footrace fueled by adrenaline and fear. John gets there first, stops at the edge, and peers into the dark. Then Peter—impulsive, reckless Peter—barrels straight past him into the tomb.

And what they see stops them cold.

But before we look at what they saw, I'd like to pause and ask: Why was Mary so sure it was a robbery?

Why didn't she think, "Maybe He did it? Maybe He kept His promise?"

Because Mary has a theology that looks a lot like most people's.

It is the theology that says: "Too Good to Be True."
This is another way of saying: "Not True."

On one level, Mary believes that God is good... but on another level, she's convinced He's not that good.

She believes that God is powerful... but she also believes that the laws of nature—death, loss, finality—still trump the work of God in her life.

She has a low ceiling on her expectations from God. Why?

It's because the "Too-Good-to-Be-True Theology of God" goes hand in hand with the "Too-Unworthy-to-be-Blessed Psychology of Self."

The problem is not just that she's thinking, "God's not that good.

The problem is she's also thinking, "I'm not that worthy."

"I am not the kind of person who gets a miracle; I am the kind of person who gets her heart broken."

I'm just not the kind of person who experiences—who really feels—the love of God, the blessing of God, or the power of God.

And maybe that's you today. You've accepted that you can have survival, but not victory. You can have existence, but not abundant life. You can get through the day, but joy? Peace that surpasses understanding? Love that casts out fear? That's for other people. That's too good to be true for someone like you.

But the empty tomb is about to shatter that ceiling... if you will let it. If you will lean in. If you will believe that what God says is true enough to speak like it, choose like it, dream like it, pray like it, and act like it.

Having low expectations of God is a defense mechanism.

Mary assumed the worst—grave robbery—because her theology makes God distant and her psychology makes herself unworthy.

And here comes an empty tomb to pick a fight with both her theology and her psychology.

Peter looks at the empty slab where Jesus had been lain, and the evidence starts mounting.

Evidence #1: The Linen Wrappings.
They aren't scattered. They aren't ripped. They are lying there. Intact. The shape of a man, but flat. Like a cocoon after the butterfly has flown. If you steal a body, you take the clothes or you tear them off. You don't carefully extract a corpse out of 75 pounds of sticky, spice-laden linen without destroying the wrapping.

But it's the next clue that destroys Mary's theory that "God doesn't do good things for me."

Evidence #2: The Folded Headcloth.
The face cloth wasn't with the other linens. It was folded up in a place by itself.

I want you to feel the weight of that. Grave robbers are in a panic. They grab. They smash. They run. They do not fold napkins.

Folding is an act of leisure. It is an act of calm. It is an act of someone who woke up, took a breath, and tidied up before leaving.

This folded cloth says: "There was no panic here. I was not taken. I left."

The evidence in that dark room is fighting Mary's despair. It is telling her: This is not a crime scene. This is a changing room.

John sees it, and the text says he "believed." But what about the people who need more than a folded napkin to stake their life on?

Every good investigation needs a skeptic. Someone who demands to touch the wounds.