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    Jesus: Dead or Alive?: Evidence for the Resurrection
    Jesus: Dead or Alive?: Evidence for the Resurrection
    Jesus: Dead or Alive?: Evidence for the Resurrection
    Ebook146 pages2 hours

    Jesus: Dead or Alive?: Evidence for the Resurrection

    By Josh McDowell and Sean McDowell

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    About this ebook

    Skeptical teens are the beating heart of Josh McDowell Ministires, and in this specially designed resource for youth, bestselling author Josh McDowell and his son, Sean, look at the claims of the Gospel writers and examine the compelling evidence for Jesus Christ's resurrection. Writing in a language that will resonate with 21st-century youth and in chapters that correspond to the adult and children's editions of the book, Josh and Sean invite skeptical teens to discover the proof of Christ's resurrection and what it means for them today.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBaker Publishing Group
    Release dateFeb 2, 2009
    ISBN9781441224187
    Jesus: Dead or Alive?: Evidence for the Resurrection
    Author

    Josh McDowell

    For over 60 years Josh McDowell has provided breakthrough moments for more than 45 million people in 139 countries about the evidence for Christianity and the difference the Christian faith makes in the world. Through his work with Cru and the global outreach of Josh McDowell Ministry, millions of people worldwide have been exposed to the love of Christ. He is the author or coauthor of more than 150 books, including such classics as More Than a Carpenter and Evidence That Demands a Verdict.

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      Jesus - Josh McDowell

      Endnotes

      1

      SO WHAT?

      Mary hurried through the silvery darkness as the first glimmers of dawn began to stretch across the sky. Her face was down, the hood of her robe shielding her flushed cheeks and pained expression. Under one arm was tucked a bundle of neatly folded cloth strips and under the other, a clay pot filled with thick, waxy perfume. She knew this task would turn her stomach and trouble her nostrils. His body had been in the cave for three days.

      Mary left the narrow alleys of the city and made her way into quieter residential areas where wealthy families still slumbered. She soon spilled out the open gate and made her way along the road that led from Jerusalem. Her sandals slapped against her bare feet as she rushed along the hard packed soil. Thwap, thwap, thwap. After walking a short distance, Mary veered off into an olive vineyard, the broad flat leaves pungent in the crisp air.

      As she approached her destination, her pace slowed and her will faltered. There was no joy in the task that lay before her, only a crippling sorrow that threatened to suck the marrow from her bones.

      Give me courage, Lord, she whispered through parted lips.

      Nearing her destination, Mary stopped on the path and took a deep breath, a shudder running through her body.

      Anywhere but here. Not now. Surely I can’t do this. I can’t see his face again … the pain … the sorrow.

      Yet the thought of leaving his body in the cave, bloodied and bruised, was more unbearable than the burial dressing she was about to perform. Mary took a step forward, and then another. She continued slowly, until she rounded the curve and beheld the grave where they laid the crucified body of her Lord. Until then it had not occurred to her how she would move the massive round stone that blocked the entrance to the tomb. But it didn’t matter. Someone had already rolled the stone away. It sat to the side of the dark entrance. Like a missing tooth in a perfect smile, the black hole gaped at Mary as she stood dumbfounded on the path.

      Please let him be in there, she gasped, picking up the hem of her robes and running to the cave. It was empty, robbed of even the smell of death.

      A small cry escaped her lips and she turned helplessly in the cave, searching for a body that wasn’t there.

      They have taken him.

      Mary set the cloth strips and clay pot down gently, careful not to spill its contents, and then she bolted from the cave. There was no gentle flapping of her sandals as she ran back to the city, just the urgent pounding of her feet as desperation drove her forward. Her robe trailed behind her, and the waist-length braid she’d tucked inside her garments thumped against her back as she went in search of the only two men who could help: Peter and John, beloved friends of Jesus.

      As Mary ran, lungs burning and tears pressing at the corners of her eyes, memories flooded her mind. A life spent used and abused by men seeking their own gratification. Years as an outcast, forced away from the company of women. Meeting the man called Jesus, and the day he cast seven demons from her. Devotion to this God-man, now dead, and the agony that washed over her as she sat beneath the cross, with his mother, weeping as his life drained away. Watching his limp body lowered to the ground and the kindness of a stranger who offered a new tomb.

      These things seeped through Mary’s mind as she rushed through the city gates and into the narrow streets. She wound her way upward by memory, her breath coming in wheezing gasps, until she reached the small home with a low wooden mantel. Mary charged through the door without knocking, and came to a stop in the middle of a low-ceilinged room crowded with sleeping men.

      Two words made it through her lips as she gasped for air and held a hand against her chest, He’s gone!

      Merriam Webster’s Dictionary defines the word hinge as a determining factor or turning point. The death of Jesus Christ was the point upon which human history turned. For thousands of years, even our calendars were regulated by his life: B.C., Before Christ, and A.D., anno domini, or the year of our Lord. Never before, or since, has the death of a single human being affected the world so dramatically.

      The death of Jesus Christ was the point upon which human history turned.

      But why? More than two thousand years later, why are we still talking about one dead Jewish man? After all, we live in troubling times. Two million people die of AIDS every year, over half of whom live in Africa. Babies are orphaned as their parents succumb to the disease. Women are widowed and forced to watch their children starve because they cannot feed them. Millions more suffer with the virus and wait their turn to die.

      In the Middle East, war rages and threatens to unleash global violence. Countries debate the use of oil while the blood of terrorists and innocents alike is shed on sandy soil. Thousands of soldiers leave their families and many never return. Widows and orphans. Again. And, of course, our planet itself groans beneath the weight of human choices. We pollute. We destroy. We use and do not replenish.

      The truth is that we don’t have to list any of the above issues to demonstrate the hopelessness of our planet all these years after the death of Christ. We could look at the world through the eyes of the many unbelievers who also see the hurt, destruction and tragedies of life on earth as a meaningless existence. For example, consider the following comment posted on an Internet atheist website:

      I’m confused … I always believed science would be the cure-all for my problems, but I don’t know if I can keep living without eternal life. I guess I’ll just have to find a way myself to make it through this meaningless existence. I just wish I knew of someone who could show me the path to eternal life. If science can’t provide the answers, though, then who or what can!? *sigh* Doesn’t it seem like there is a higher power that gives our lives purpose? Well, science says there isn’t, so there isn’t.¹

      With our world like this, the turmoil and human anguish, why is the death of Jesus Christ even an issue? Why should we care that a 33-year-old man was tortured and murdered in ancient Palestine when such violence is a daily occurrence in our country, our states, and our home towns?

      Everyone dies, whether a peasant in Africa or a millionaire on Wall Street. There is no way around our common fate. And the certainty of death is perhaps the greatest fear of mankind. It is fair to ask why his death was so special.

      Far more than the fate of his disciples or even the fate of ancient Israel hung on the cross that day. The fate of the entire human race and their hope of life after death hung there with Christ. He was humanity’s last hope. But with his death, hope was destroyed. Eternal life became a mere dream. Death would reign forever. The supposed Savior was dead, and any hope of deliverance would be buried with him. Yet it was not just his death that caused all of history to pivot in a new direction. It was what happened next …

      Mary stood in the small room, still trying to catch her breath.

      What do you mean he’s gone? Peter asked, rising from the floor. His hair was disheveled and he looked as though he had slept where he had fallen the night before.

      I went to dress his body, she said, choking on her own words. But the stone was moved and the tomb empty.

      At this news a murmur ran through the room, and a second disciple, John, also rose to put on his sandals. These men were two of Jesus’ closest friends and after his death, grief hit them the hardest.

      What are we going to do, Peter? They have taken his body! Lines of worry streaked across her forehead and her mouth drew tight in concern.

      Take us to the tomb, he said, looking older and more sorrowful than she’d ever seen him. For the first time she noticed gray hairs embedded deep in his long beard and his dark brown eyes were sunken, tired.

      The three heartbroken disciples left the house and meandered through the city. They neither spoke nor looked one another in the eyes, their thoughts on the empty tomb. With this turn of events all they hoped for as Christ-followers was destroyed. They and the small band of believers had believed Jesus would change the world for good.

      But they soon found themselves in a state of mental and emotional anguish as they stood watching Jesus breathe his last on a Roman cross. He was the miracle worker who could command nature, heal sickness, raise the dead, and produce food with a word or gesture. They had given up everything to follow him. But now they were headed to a tomb that held his lifeless body. He was dead. And with him died all the hopes they placed in him.

      Mary led them to the cave, darkness looming from within. Peter stood at the entrance, head down, resting a hand on the massive round stone. He and John slowly made their way into the tomb and looked around. The collapsed shell of the grave clothes was still intact, lying on the rock ledge, but the body was nowhere to be found. Peter shook his head and blinked back tears. Frightened and confused, he and John turned toward home without a word.

      But Mary lingered behind. The emptiness in her heart was matched only by that of the tomb. Silent. Lonely. Comfortless. She gathered the strips of cloth and perfume she had left earlier. Mary turned her back to the darkness as tears began to slide down her cheeks. She stepped into the morning sunlight and allowed herself to weep without abandon. Before walking away, she peered back in the tomb for one last look, and what she saw startled her: two men, robed in bright white, sat inside the tomb.

      She blinked, fearing the bright sunlight caused spots to float before her eyes. But the men remained.

      Why are you crying? the angels asked.

      She stood silent for a moment, unsure what to say. Seconds earlier she was in the tomb by herself and now she found herself trying to answer these strangers. Because they have taken away my Lord, she replied, swallowing a gulp. And I don’t know where they have put him.

      They

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