Peter and John ran like children, all sense of decorum left behind. They also left Mary Magdalene behind, who was still recovering from her own sprint. Panting from exhaustion, Mary told them that the stone was rolled away and the tomb was empty.
Not willing to believe what she said, but hoping against hope, the two crazy disciples ran.
John got there first, a detail he made sure to record for the sake of posterity. Schoolchildren race, and they brag about their victories. When the stakes are high, disciples brag too. John got there first, and he made sure everybody remembered.
Good news makes you run. Good news makes you abandon the propriety and pretense. Even the hope of really good news makes grownups sprint like fools, because there isn’t enough time to take it all in and there isn’t enough time to tell everybody you know.
So good news makes you run. When you see that the tomb is empty, when you learn that death is dead, that sin is defeated, and that eternal hope has arrived, you just might feel like racing. Joy might get the better of you, and even though you know you shouldn’t sprint around town in your good church robes, you might do it anyway.
Nobody runs around like crazy when they’re told to try harder. Nobody veers toward the cliffs of crazy because of a self-help book or a moral improvement program.
Only really good news can make you run like that. When was the last time you ran to the empty tomb? When was the last time you remembered that you possess the best news in the history of the universe? Does the good news make you yawn, or does it make you run?
Are you astounded and amazed by the empty tomb, the promise of life forever, the reality that God lives in you and with you? Do you run to rejoice, to proclaim, to worship the risen Savior?
When you absorb the good news, you might just feel like sprinting to the empty tomb. And you might even brag just a little about what you see there.
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