The Folded Napkin and the Unraveling of a World Text: John 20:1-10
Introduction: The Hinge of History
The Christian faith is not a collection of good ideas, a moral philosophy, or a set of spiritual platitudes that we find helpful. It is a historical faith, grounded in a set of audacious claims about things that happened in time and space, to a real person, in a real place. And at the absolute center of these claims, the load-bearing pillar upon which the entire structure rests, is the bodily resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead. As the apostle Paul states with brutal clarity, if Christ has not been raised, our preaching is useless and so is your faith. More than that, we are false witnesses, we are still in our sins, and we are, of all people, most to be pitied.
Everything hangs on this one event. If the tomb was not empty on that first day of the week, then our cathedrals are monuments to a lie, our hymns are empty noise, and our hope is a pathetic delusion. The world understands this, which is why it has spent two thousand years concocting alternative theories, no matter how ludicrous, to explain away the evidence. The body was stolen, the disciples hallucinated, Jesus just swooned and was revived by the cool air of the tomb. Any explanation will do, so long as it keeps the dead man dead.
But the apostle John, an eyewitness to the events, does not give us a myth. He gives us a crime scene investigation. He presents the evidence with the cool precision of a detective, inviting us to look at the clues, to follow the logic, and to arrive at the only conclusion that fits the facts. The story he tells is not one of immediate, triumphant faith. It is a story of confusion, panic, and grief colliding with a set of stubborn, inexplicable facts. It is the story of how an empty tomb, and more specifically, some strangely arranged linen, unraveled one worldview and established another.
The Text
Now on the first day of the week, Mary Magdalene came early to the tomb, while it was still dark, and saw the stone already taken away from the tomb. So she ran and came to Simon Peter and to the other disciple whom Jesus loved, and said to them, "They have taken away the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid Him." So Peter and the other disciple went forth, and they were going to the tomb. And the two were running together; and the other disciple ran ahead faster than Peter and came to the tomb first; and stooping and looking in, he saw the linen wrappings lying there; but he did not go in. And so Simon Peter also came, following him, and entered the tomb; and he saw the linen wrappings lying there, and the face-cloth which had been on His head, not lying with the linen wrappings, but folded up in a place by itself. So the other disciple who had first come to the tomb then also entered, and he saw and believed. For as yet they did not understand the Scripture, that He must rise again from the dead. So the disciples went away again to where they were staying.
(John 20:1-10 LSB)
Panic in the Dark (vv. 1-2)
The narrative begins in the pre-dawn gloom, both literal and spiritual.
"Now on the first day of the week, Mary Magdalene came early to the tomb, while it was still dark, and saw the stone already taken away from the tomb." (John 20:1)
John notes the timing with precision: "the first day of the week." This is not just a calendar entry; it is a theological declaration. This is the first day of the New Creation. The old week, which ended in death and burial on the Sabbath, is over. God is beginning His new work. Mary comes "while it was still dark," a perfect picture of the disciples' state of mind. They were utterly crushed. Their hope was dead and buried. She is not coming to witness a resurrection; she is coming to perform the sad, final duty of anointing a corpse. Her expectation is zero.
What she finds is not a risen Lord, but a disturbed grave. The stone is rolled away. Her immediate, logical, and entirely natural conclusion is not miraculous, but malicious. Grave robbery. Desecration. This is crucial. The first witness is not predisposed to believe in the resurrection. Her mind goes to the worst possible explanation, which sets the entire investigation in motion.
"So she ran and came to Simon Peter and to the other disciple whom Jesus loved, and said to them, 'They have taken away the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid Him.'" (John 20:2)
Her report is one of pure panic. Notice the pronouns. "They" have taken Him. Some hostile, unknown force. "We" do not know where they laid Him. Her grief is compounded by this final insult. Not only is her Lord dead, but His body has been stolen. She is not announcing the gospel; she is reporting a crime. This is the raw data, uninterpreted by faith, and it is bleak.
The Race for the Facts (vv. 3-5)
Mary's report launches the two chief apostles into a frantic race.
"So Peter and the other disciple went forth, and they were going to the tomb. And the two were running together; and the other disciple ran ahead faster than Peter and came to the tomb first;" (John 20:3-4)
This is not a casual stroll. This is a dead sprint. The urgency of the situation is palpable. And John, the author, includes a personal detail that has the undeniable ring of truth: "the other disciple ran ahead faster than Peter." Why is this here? A myth-maker would not include such a trivial, personal detail. An eyewitness does. John is telling us, "I was there. I remember the burning in my lungs, the pounding of my feet on the dirt path. I beat Peter to the tomb." It is a detail that grounds the narrative in the soil of actual, lived experience. It's a human touch that defies fabrication.
"and stooping and looking in, he saw the linen wrappings lying there; but he did not go in." (John 20:5)
John arrives first, but he hesitates. He stoops, peers into the darkness of the tomb, and sees the first piece of strange evidence. The linen wrappings, the "othonia," are lying there. This should have given him pause. If thieves had stolen the body, would they have taken the time to unwrap it? The wrappings themselves were valuable. More likely, they would have taken the body, linens and all. But John, perhaps out of respect for the dead or fear of ritual defilement, does not enter.
The Decisive Clue (vv. 6-7)
Peter, characteristically, does not share John's hesitation.
"And so Simon Peter also came, following him, and entered the tomb; and he saw the linen wrappings lying there," (John 20:6)
Peter, impetuous and bold, blows past John and goes right in. He confirms John's observation: the linen wrappings are present, but the body is not. But then he sees something more, the detail upon which the entire scene pivots.
"and the face-cloth which had been on His head, not lying with the linen wrappings, but folded up in a place by itself." (John 20:7)
This is the heart of the matter. This is the clue that unravels every naturalistic explanation. The face-cloth, the soudarion, was not tossed aside in a heap. It was not lying with the other linens. It was neatly folded and set in a place by itself. Stop and consider the implications. Who does this? Not panicked friends stealing a body in the middle of the night with a Roman guard posted nearby. Not frenzied grave robbers looking for a quick score. This is an act of deliberate, unhurried, meticulous order. This is the calling card of the Creator. The one who brought order out of the tohu wa-bohu in Genesis 1 now brings resurrection order to the chaos of the tomb. He takes the time to fold the napkin. It is a sign of a completed task. It is the quiet, dignified evidence that the Lord of life was here, and has left, but not in a hurry. He is not fleeing. He has conquered.
The Birth of Faith (vv. 8-10)
This final piece of evidence is what pushes John from observation to belief.
"So the other disciple who had first come to the tomb then also entered, and he saw and believed." (John 20:8)
What did he see that he had not seen from the doorway? He saw what Peter saw. He saw the empty space where the body was. He saw the collapsed cocoon of the linen wrappings. And he saw the folded face-cloth, separate from the rest. And in that moment, the evidence clicked into place. The sight of that impossible orderliness in the midst of death's domain was enough. He "saw and believed." This was not a resurrection of wishful thinking. It was a resurrection of forensic evidence. The scene did not shout "theft." It shouted "God."
But John immediately qualifies this nascent faith.
"For as yet they did not understand the Scripture, that He must rise again from the dead." (John 20:9)
This is a stunningly honest admission. John's belief at this moment was a raw conclusion from the physical evidence, but it was not yet moored to the prophetic promises of the Old Testament. They had heard Jesus say He would rise again, but it had not sunk in. They did not yet connect this empty tomb to Psalm 16, that God would not let His Holy One see corruption. Their theology was now in a frantic race to catch up with the facts on the ground. This is not how you write a myth. A myth-maker would have the disciples quoting Isaiah and striding confidently from the tomb. John tells us the truth: they were confused, ignorant, and only just beginning to grasp the reality that had overturned the world.
"So the disciples went away again to where they were staying." (John 20:10)
And what do you do when your entire universe has just been cracked open like an egg? You go home. You go somewhere quiet to think. This is not an anticlimax; it is a picture of profound, world-altering shock. They had just seen evidence that death itself had been undone. The only sane response is to retreat and try to process an impossible new reality.
Conclusion: The Case Is Closed
The empty tomb is not a story about the power of faith. It is a story about the evidence that creates faith. The disciples did not believe because they were gullible; they believed because they were confronted with a set of facts that allowed for no other reasonable conclusion.
The central fact is the folded napkin. It refutes every alternative theory. It refutes the theft theory, because no thief, friend or foe, behaves this way. It refutes the hallucination theory, because grave clothes are not a hallucination. It sits there in the historical record, a quiet and devastating testimony to the truth.
Christ's work of atonement was finished on the cross when He cried tetelestai. His work of conquering the grave was finished in that tomb. The folded napkin is a sign of this completion. It is like a man finishing a meal and folding his napkin to signal that he is done. Death has been swallowed up in victory. The King has finished His work in the underworld and has departed, leaving behind not chaos and disarray, but perfect, divine order.
This is the evidence presented to us. The case for the resurrection begins here, in a dark tomb, with some strangely tidy laundry. The world can offer its alternative theories, its scoffing, and its dismissal. But they have never, in two thousand years, accounted for the folded napkin. The evidence stands. The tomb is empty. He is risen. And because He is risen, our faith is not in vain. Because He is risen, we are not to be pitied. Because He is risen, death has lost its sting, and the new creation has begun.