The Gospel today is very simple.

The tomb is empty.

That is the fact everything rests on.

Mary Magdalene goes early, while it is still dark. She is not expecting a miracle. She is not going in triumph. She is going because, as far as she understands it, the story has ended.

And that matters.

Because it tells us something very important.

The Resurrection was not invented by people who were expecting it. It surprised them. It interrupted them. It shattered what they thought was possible.

Mary sees the stone taken away and runs to Peter and John.

And notice her first thought.

Not, “He is risen.”
But, “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb.”

That is the natural explanation.

Then Peter and John run.

They do not stroll.
They run.

John gets there first.
He looks in.
Peter goes in.
He sees the linen cloths lying there, and the face cloth folded up in a place by itself.

And then the Gospel gives us one of its great quiet lines: “He saw and believed.”

Now stop there.

What did he see?

Not Jesus.
Not an apparition.
Not a vision.

He saw the empty tomb.
He saw the cloths.
He saw order, not chaos.
He saw signs that something had happened which no ordinary explanation could account for.

If a body is stolen, you do not leave the grave clothes carefully behind.
If a grave is violated, it looks violated.
But this is different.

Something has happened.

And that is the point.

The Resurrection is not a feeling.
It is not a symbol.
It is not the disciples deciding to keep Jesus’ memory alive.
It is not a poetic way of saying that goodness survives.

Something has happened.

The body that was dead is no longer there.
Christ is risen.

That is the Christian claim.

And if it is not true, then Christianity collapses.
If Christ is not raised, then death still rules.
Sin still wins.
The grave still has the last word.
And all our faith is reduced to noble sentiment.

But if it is true — and it is — then everything changes.

Because the Resurrection is not simply about Jesus coming back to life.
It is about what kind of life He now has.

He is not merely resuscitated.
Not returned to ordinary earthly life.
He has passed through death.
And death no longer has power over Him.

That is why Easter morning is so great.

Not because spring has come.
Not because the mood has lifted.
Not because sorrow has simply given way to joy.

But because the one enemy no man can conquer has been conquered.

Death is the one thing before which every human power fails.
Money fails.
Strength fails.
Intelligence fails.
Medicine delays it, but cannot abolish it.
Kings cannot command it.
Armies cannot defeat it.

And yet this morning the Church says:
Christ has gone into death and come out the other side.

Think of it simply.

If one man has gone through a locked door from the inside and opened it, then the door is no longer what it was.

That is what Christ has done.

And this is not only about Him.
It is about us.

This is why baptism matters.
This is why the sacraments matter.
Because they are not religious decorations attached to a philosophy.
They are how the life of the risen Christ reaches us.

The Resurrection is not only something to be admired from a distance.
It is something to be entered.
Something to be lived.

That is why the Catholic faith is so concrete.

We do not simply say, “Christ is risen,” and then leave things there.

We are baptised into His death and Resurrection.
We are absolved by His mercy.
We are fed with His Body and Blood.
Again and again, His risen life is given to His Church.

This is why Easter is not optimism.
It is not “things might get better.”
It is not “look on the bright side.”
It is not positive thinking in religious dress.

It is a claim about reality.

Christ is risen.
And because He is risen, grace is real.
Forgiveness is real.
New life is real.
Holiness is possible.
Change is possible.

And that is where Easter becomes searching.

Because most people do not struggle with the Resurrection in theory.
They struggle with it in practice.

We still live as though the stone were in place.

We say:
“This is just how I am.”
“This is just how things are.”
“This will never change.”

A sin that has gone on too long.
A resentment that has settled in.
A marriage or friendship gone cold.
A soul that has made peace with half-heartedness.
A life lived at a distance from God, but explained away as normal.

We live as though the tomb were still closed.

But Easter says something very direct:

The stone has been moved.

Which means this.

No sin is simply permanent.
No life is simply closed.
No situation is beyond the reach of grace.
No tomb gets the last word if Christ has risen.

Not because of self-improvement.
Not because of effort alone.
But because Christ is alive.

And if He is alive, then despair is a lie.

That does not mean suffering disappears.
It does not mean grief is unreal.
It does not mean the wounds of the world are imagined away.

Mary still weeps.
The apostles still have to run.
The Church still walks through time carrying crosses.

But now everything is different.

Because the Cross is no longer a defeat.
The grave is no longer final.
And death is no longer master.

So the question this morning is very simple.

Do we believe that the tomb is empty?

Not in words only.
In how we live.

Do we still live as though Christ were dead?
Do we still make our peace with sin?
Do we still carry ourselves as though nothing can change?
Do we still speak as though grace were weak and the world were strong?

Because Easter will not let us do that.

Easter says:
the tomb is empty.
Christ is risen.
And if that is true, then everything we thought was final is not final.
Everything we thought was fixed is not fixed.
Everything we thought was dead can live again.

That is why the Church does not stand here today offering a mood.
She stands here announcing a fact.

Christ is risen.

And because He is risen, life — real life — has begun again.

So do not stand at a distance from this mystery.
Do not admire it and remain unchanged.
Run, like Peter and John.
Go to where Christ is.
In the sacraments.
In prayer.
In truth.
In repentance.
In the life of His Church.

Because the Resurrection is not only to be believed.

It is to be lived.

And this morning the Church says it plainly, joyfully, and without embarrassment:

The tomb is empty.
Christ is risen.
And the world will never be the same again.