If Tombs Could Talk

I’m sure that many of you have had the occasion to stand at a gravesite. Perhaps it was at the burial of a loved one, with flowers and casket, minister and mourners. Or perhaps you visited the tomb of some famous historical figure just to pay your respects.

You have all, at one time or another, been around graves or tombs—but how many of you have actually been in one? I have, and I’d like to tell you about it.

In 1993, my wife and I went to Israel and while we were there, we visited many fascinating archaeological sites. One in particular stands out. It was located in the northern suburbs of the city of Jerusalem.

They call it the Tomb of the Kings, but it was actually built by a Queen. Her name was Helen and she was the Queen of a region of Upper Mesopotamia called Adiabene. It seems that this Queen Helen became a convert to Judaism sometime in the first century A.D., shortly after the time of Christ. The historian Josephus records how she went out of her way to help the Jewish people by sending generous gifts of food to the city of Jerusalem during times of famine.

Toward the end of her life, Queen Helen arranged for the construction of an elaborate tomb for her burial. She wanted to be buried near Jerusalem. The tomb was carved into the foot of a limestone cliff that you approach by going down a steep flight of stairs. You pass through a garden-like area and down a further slope until you arrive at the front of the tomb itself. The facade of the tomb is quite impressive—it is about thirty feet high, carved out of the living rock, with Doric columns and capitals—clearly the work of skilled craftsmen. This was the tomb of no ordinary family.

You enter the tomb through a low doorway to the left. Running along the outside of that door is a channel cut into the floor of the rock. It’s not for drainage—that channel was built there to hold a great round millstone that could be rolled across the entrance to the tomb, sealing it. The millstone is gone now, but there are other tombs from the same period in Jerusalem which still have them in place.

You see, this tomb is typical of the kinds of tombs built by wealthy people at the time of Jesus. And it is typical of the kind of tomb in which Jesus himself was buried. Matthew tells us in his Gospel…

As evening approached, there came a rich man from Arimathea, named Joseph, who had himself become a disciple of Jesus. Going to Pilate, he asked for Jesus’ body, and Pilate ordered that it be given to him. Joseph took the body, wrapped it in a clean linen cloth, and placed it in his own new tomb that he had cut out of the rock. He rolled a big stone in front of the entrance to the tomb and went away.

Queen Helen’s tomb is a lot like Joseph’s tomb in that:

1. It belonged to a rich family.

2. It was cut right out of the living rock.

3. It had a rolling stone entryway.

Now I don’t know how you would feel about actually entering a tomb, but I have to confess that I hesitated a little bit. As I knelt down and peered inside that low door, I couldn’t see a thing—it was pitch black inside. The rock was cold and dark and damp.

But our guide handed us a couple of candles, so in we went. It was very, very quiet in there as we groped our way along. In the dim flickering light we could see that we had arrived in a large anteroom. This place was called the Chamber of Mourning. It was where the burial party would stop and make final preparations for the interment. There was a low bench cut out of the rock where the mourners would have laid the body as they gathered themselves for the final task.

I walked carefully around that dark chamber, holding my candle in front of me. Suddenly, I came upon a yawning opening in the floor on the far side of the room. Looking closer, I could see that there were steps going down into the hole.

Now, if you are in any way claustrophobic, you’re probably already breaking out in a cold sweat at the thought of this. Here you are in a pitch black tomb, cold and damp, underneath tons of rock at the bottom of a cliff. You had to practically crawl through a tiny, narrow opening to get in here, and you can hardly see where you are, let alone where you are going. You’re just praying that your candle doesn’t go out.

Then you discover a hole in the floor inviting you to go in even deeper!

Carefully holding onto the wall, I started down the steps. I was squeezing my candle so tightly that I’m sure I left my finger marks in it. Down, down… four steps, five steps, six. Carolyn and the others were behind me, telling me to be careful. They didn’t need to!

With my heart thumping, I arrived in a room that was much smaller than the first one. It was empty, except for some odd openings cut into the wall about waist high. These smooth, shelf-like openings were roughly six feet wide and three feet deep. Immediately, I knew what they were.

This was what they called a burial niche—the place where they laid the linen-wrapped body of the deceased. They would lay the body here, seal up the tomb, and then wait for about three years for the body to decompose. When three years had passed, the family would re-enter the tomb and carefully unwrap the body, which would by now be only a skeleton.

They would then take the bones and place them in an ornate carved box, which was called an ossuary. The ossuary would then be placed back in the burial niche to serve as the final resting place of the deceased.

The richer the family, the more elaborate the ossuary would be. A few years ago, a very ornate ossuary was discovered near Jerusalem which bore the family name Caiaphas. Archaeologists believe that it may well have belonged to the family of the high priest who condemned Jesus.

There were several more rooms even deeper in Queen Helen’s tomb which we explored. All of them had burial niches—she must have had quite a large family!

As I think back to that experience—that brief time I spent in a rich person’s tomb in the bowels of the earth in the land of Israel, my heart is moved that God would allow himself to be brought that low.

For it was in the same sort of place that Jesus was buried – deep in the rock, deep in the stillness of death, deep in the darkness. The King of Kings—the one who made the rock—now lay entombed in it. The Lord of life and light and glory now lay cold and dark and still.

And I was moved to think that he would be willing to go to a place like that for me.

But the story does not end in the tomb. Some time early Sunday morning, before the sun kissed the Eastern sky, a blinding ray of light penetrated the blackness of that tomb. And a heart started beating, and a pulse started throbbing, and a body started warming. And the shell of the linen burial shroud was suddenly left empty like a cocoon at the birth of a butterfly.

The napkin wrapped round his head, which was placed there to keep his dead jaw from dropping open, he unwound, folded up, and placed aside. That was a nice touch! After all, when you borrow a tomb, you want to give it back to the owner neat when you’re finished with it.

The earth began to tremble—tremble in excitement, tremble in awe. On Friday, the earth trembled in sorrow; but on Sunday it leapt with joy. And that big strong millstone at the entrance started rocking and rolling in its channel, until it just plain rolled away. Not to let Jesus out—but to let the disciples in.

And the guards became like dead men. And the disciples became like new men.

And the grave is empty, and our hearts are full because…

He is risen! He is risen indeed!

There’s an empty tomb in Judea – empty not because the body was stolen, or the grave was robbed. It’s empty because Jesus rose from the dead. He didn’t need it anymore.

He had conquered death and brings life and immortality to all those who believe in him.

Jesus said “I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in me will live, even though he dies; whoever lives and believes in me will never die.”