Come and See
Summary
The same empty tomb. Two groups of people running in opposite directions with completely different stories to tell. Working through Matthew 28, Dominic Jackson opens with a simple observation — that how we look at something often matters more than what we're actually looking at — and carries it all the way to the resurrection. Are we living in the best moment in human history or the worst? Is Easter the greatest hoax ever told or the beginning of everything? The answer, he argues, depends entirely on where you're standing. For skeptics and longtime believers alike, the invitation is the same one the angel gave the women at the tomb: come and see.
Questions for reflection
Dominic opens by noting that two people can look at the same thing and walk away with completely different interpretations. Where in your life right now might your perspective be shaping what you see more than the facts themselves?
The women head to a sealed tomb with no plan for how to get in. Have you ever found yourself doing something that didn't make logical sense simply because it was the only thing you could do? What does that kind of grief-driven faithfulness look like?
Dominic describes being "afraid yet filled with joy" — and connects it to holding his daughter for the first time. Can you think of a moment in your own life that held both of those things at once? What was that like?
The guards and the women witness the same event and run in opposite directions with two completely different stories. What does it look like when we encounter something true but find reasons to explain it away?
For those who believe the resurrection is true: Dominic asks not just what story we believe but what story we are living. How has the resurrection actually changed the way you live?
William Willimon is quoted saying the most compelling evidence for the resurrection is a community whose life together is so radically different that there's no other explanation. What would that kind of community look like in practice — and how close is your own community to that description?
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Lately I've been reflecting on perspective — on how two people can look at the exact same thing, whether it's a film, a piece of art, or a real-world event, and walk away with completely different interpretations.
Nowhere is this more obvious than with art. Do you remember the final scene of Inception? Spoiler alert — though it's been twenty years, so that's on you at this point. There's that spinning top, and whether it stops spinning tells you whether what you've been watching is a dream or reality. Half the theater walked out thinking it was real. The other half thought it was a dream. Same film. Completely different takeaways.
Or take any Jackson Pollock painting. Artistic genius, or an overrated paint-splasher whose work your kindergartner could replicate without supervision? Hard to say.
Or for the literary crowd: that final, cryptic, beautiful line at the end of Great Expectations. How you understand that line informs everything leading up to it — and in that moment between Pip and Estella, it reveals something not just about the characters, but about the person holding the book.
Sometimes how we look at something carries more weight than what we're actually looking at.
The Best and Worst of Times
Move beyond art to just life in general. Are we living in the greatest era in human history — or stuck in the lowest moment?
It depends on who you ask.
According to the nightly news, or your next-door neighbor, or some guy with a blog, you might get the impression that there has never been a worse moment than right now. And they aren't entirely wrong. Poverty, racism, corruption, broken systems, moral failure, cybercrimes, natural disasters, gun violence. In many ways, the world is on fire.
Happy Easter, everyone. Welcome to Gateway. Everything is terrible.
But seriously — that's one perspective. Here's another.
According to many cultural anthropologists and sociologists, there are roughly ten markers used to gauge the overall health of a culture: food, sanitation, life expectancy, literacy, poverty rates, and several others. When researchers compile all of that data, what they find is that — strictly by the numbers — we are living in the healthiest era in recorded human history.
So how can we feel both lost and thriving at the same time?
For years, one school of thought held that what was holding civilization back from true advancement was archaic worldviews — specifically religion. If we could only leave the dark ages behind, we would reach enlightenment, and with it, utopia. And as religious affiliation continues to decline alongside general improvements in material well-being, it's not hard for some to ask: are the two connected? Have we built paradise by removing God?
The problem is that when you look closer, other trends emerge. We are, as a society, more depressed, more improperly medicated, lonelier, more isolated, and more divided than perhaps ever before. British theologian and sociologist Lesslie Newbigin assessed this phenomenon and wrote that modern society has advanced materially and technologically while regressing relationally, psychologically, and spiritually.
He wrote that in 1993, by the way — before TikTok, before iPhones, before Crocs.
The point is this: in our post-Christian, increasingly secular society, we have in many ways built the kingdom. We just left out the king. And maybe that's the problem.
One of Two Things
Today we gather to mark an event that happened two thousand years ago. A man died. And on the third day, he came back from the dead.
That singular event can only be one of two things. There is no third option.
Either it's a myth — the greatest hoax ever pulled off, a far-fetched fairy tale invented to make people feel better about themselves and worse about others, an archaic superstition holding humanity back from real progress.
Or Easter is the beginning of the end of everything we thought we knew. Not only the end of death, but the beginning of true life — life found in Jesus, through Jesus, because of Jesus.
Whether it's the best or worst moment in history, whether this whole thing is true or not — I think it depends not just on where you're standing, but on where you're looking.
[Prayer]
The Women at the Tomb
Matthew 28:1 — After the Sabbath, at dawn on the first day of the week, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to look at the tomb.
Our story opens with the women on their way to a sealed tomb. To many of us, this might seem strange — even pointless. Mary herself acknowledges, in another gospel account, that she knows it's sealed shut. And yet she goes.
If you know anything about Mary Magdalene's story, you know she had been to the lowest places a person can go — demonized, tormented, hopeless. And then Jesus showed up and changed everything. Offered her freedom and meaning and purpose.
She's not the only one with a story like that. Throughout the gospels, people come into contact with Jesus at their absolute lowest — desperate, confused, out of options — and he changes everything. And sometimes it's the opposite: people who appear to be thriving, who think they have it all figured out, until they meet Jesus and realize how hollow the things they'd been investing in actually were.
Maybe you're here today with one of those stories.
Back to the text. These women had followed Jesus. They believed he was the Messiah. And then they watched him get murdered for no crime. Now it's the day after the Sabbath. Can you imagine what that Saturday felt like? The silence, the questions, the grief. And yet they're faithful. They observe the Sabbath. They honor the day. And then, the next morning, they gather burial supplies and head toward a tomb they can't open.
What else are they going to do? In their desperation, this is the only thing that feels like it's within their control.
I've had a friend pass away and found myself calling their number, knowing no one would pick up. Why? I don't know. Grief doesn't always follow logic. It reaches for whatever it can. And so Mary heads toward a sealed tomb because it's the only thing she has.
Also worth noting: the men have scattered. They're hiding somewhere, probably in fix-it mode — trying to figure out their next move rather than allowing themselves to simply sit in what just happened. I connect with that impulse more than I'd like to admit.
The Earthquake, the Angel, and the Guards
Verses 2–4 — There was a violent earthquake, for an angel of the Lord came down from heaven and, going to the tomb, rolled back the stone and sat on it. His appearance was like lightning, and his clothes were white as snow. The guards were so afraid of him that they shook and became like dead men.
The guards had been posted to watch over a dead man. And then they become like dead men. There's something quietly poetic about that.
And note: the stone isn't rolled away to let Jesus out. He didn't need that. The stone is rolled away to let the women in.
Verse 5 — The angel said to the women, "Do not be afraid, for I know that you are looking for Jesus, who was crucified. He is not here. He has risen, just as he said. Come and see the place where he lay."
Every time an angel appears in Scripture, the first thing out of their mouth is some version of do not be afraid. Which probably tells you something about what it's actually like to encounter one.
And then: Come and see. I believe that invitation is still open — to each one of us, today.
Afraid Yet Filled with Joy
Verse 8 — So the women hurried away from the tomb, afraid yet filled with joy, and ran to tell his disciples.
Afraid yet filled with joy. Both at the same time. What were they afraid of?
Maybe it was the angel — that's a reasonable thing to be afraid of. Maybe it was the logical side starting to creep in: don't get your hopes up. Nobody comes back from the dead. The tomb is empty, yes. The stone is rolled away, yes. We just talked to an angel, yes. But the more hope you allow yourself, the harder the fall if it turns out to be nothing.
Or maybe — and I think this is closer to it — it was the particular fear that comes with a moment you know is going to change everything. I remember the doctor placing my daughter Jolie in my arms for the first time. It was the most incredible moment of my life. And I was terrified. What if I do something wrong? What if I mess this up? Extraordinary joy and genuine fear, both present at once.
Whatever they were feeling, the women don't stop to sort it out. They run.
Verse 9 — Suddenly Jesus met them. "Greetings," he said. They came to him, clasped his feet, and worshipped him.
I cannot imagine what that worship looked like. The prayers, the tears, the songs — whatever it was, it must have been something.
Then Jesus said to them, "Do not be afraid. Go and tell my brothers to go to Galilee. There they will see me."
And they take off. I like to wonder: did they say anything to each other? Or did they just lock eyes and start running, without a word? However far it was to find the disciples, I'm guessing they didn't stop once.
They had news to share. The best news. The greatest news this world would ever hear.
Two Stories Running in Opposite Directions
Verse 11 — While the women were on their way, some of the guards went into the city and reported to the chief priests everything that had happened.
I picture this like a split-screen in a film. The women running one direction. The guards running the other. Both with something urgent to share.
Verses 12–15 — When the chief priests had met with the elders and devised a plan, they gave the soldiers a large sum of money, telling them, "You are to say, 'His disciples came during the night and stole him away while we were asleep.' If this report gets to the governor, we will satisfy him and keep you out of trouble." So the soldiers took the money and did as they were instructed. And this story has been widely circulated among the Jewish people to this very day.
And here is how Matthew closes his gospel. Not with one perspective, but with two. The same event. Two versions. Two directions. Two places to put your trust.
This is not accidental. Matthew is making a choice. He ends his biography of Jesus by laying both options in front of us.
Option B
For those in the room who find themselves drawn to the guards' version — who appreciate the community here, maybe even some of Jesus' teaching, but aren't sure about talking angels and physical resurrection — welcome. Genuinely. A large part of my own story is that I found a community where I belonged before I believed. No one checked my theology at the door.
For half of my life, option B was my story too. I was an atheist. And logically, it still kind of holds together: the disciples staged a heist, stole the body, invented a story, and the whole thing snowballed from there.
My problem with that version is what came after. Hundreds of people claimed to have encountered Jesus following his death. Almost every one of the disciples ultimately died for this story — many of them in terrible ways — when all they had to do to survive was deny it. Some people will live for a lie. But nobody dies for one. That's where option B starts to fall apart for me.
There's also my own history. I've seen too much I can't explain.
But if you're still in option B — skeptical, investigating, or just not sure — I'd invite you to do what I did twenty-plus years ago: ask what if it's true? And follow that thread. Because if it is true, it can hold your questions, your doubts, your disappointments, your wonder. If it's not, you've lost a little time investigating. Go live your life.
But before you walk away, sit for a moment with the questions. What if there's more to this life than you can currently see? What if the invitation being offered is bigger than anything you'd reach for on your own? What if instead of nothing creating everything, someone was behind it — a God who not only spoke the cosmos into being but also desires a relationship with you specifically?
According to the Easter story, the veil in the temple tore on Good Friday. Before the cross, the belief was that only the holiest, most blameless person could approach God — once a year, in the innermost room of the temple. When that veil tore, it signified that the barrier was gone. Not only can any of us approach God; according to the New Testament, you and I are now the temples where he dwells.
So come and see. With an open heart and an open mind. We'd love to walk alongside you.
If the Tomb Is Empty
For those of us who are already here — who believe the Easter story, who have met Jesus and been changed by him — I want to ask a different question.
If this is true, what are we doing with it?
It's not enough to simply hold the right belief. William Willimon put it well: the most eloquent testimony to the reality of the resurrection is not an empty tomb or a well-orchestrated pageant on Easter Sunday, but a group of people whose life together is so radically different, so completely unlike the way the world builds community, that there's no explanation other than that something decisive happened in history.
Brothers and sisters, that is what we're here to live out. To be a light in a dark world. To offer hope — not pointing toward ourselves, but toward Christ. To tell the world that resurrection is not only a better way to die. It's a better way to live.
I've seen marriages restored. Lives turned around. People healed. Addictions broken. People at the scariest rock bottom imaginable who are now completely unrecognizable.
If the tomb is empty, anything is possible.