If I went to pay respects to my grandmother, and found her burial site disturbed, the coffin flung open, and her body gone, I would be horrified. I'd be distraught that anyone could be so depraved as to violate her final resting place. But I wouldn't want the criminals to face the death sentence. Yet within a generation of Jesus' death, an inscription was placed in Nazareth, by order of Caesar, announcing that stealing dead bodies would be punished by death. Mary and the women with her panic. They run to their closest friends, Peter and John, and give a sincere report: they stole the body, and we don't know where to find him. The men race each other to the tomb. It reminds me of Chariots of Fire, but in their culture, it's an embarrassment. John gets there first and waits; Peter doesn't stop, But as these friends contemplate the tomb, it doesn't make sense. Thieves don't fold laundry. Lazarus took his clothes with him. Why is the face cloth folded, separate from the other linens? Looking back on this moment, John knows this is the moment he first believed. He acknowledges that he wasn't thinking about the Scriptures. He couldn't explain why. But he left the tomb a new man. In a culture where women couldn't give testimony and honorable men didn't run, John gives us multiple eyewitness reports of confused friends trying to make sense of an impossible situation. The tomb is empty, but the clothes remain. But where was Jesus? No one knew.