1 Corinthians 15:12-19
Now if Christ is proclaimed as raised from the dead, how can some of you say that there is no resurrection of the dead? But if there is no resurrection of the dead, then not even Christ has been raised. And if Christ has not been raised, then our preaching is in vain and your faith is in vain. We are even found to be misrepresenting God, because we testified about God that he raised Christ, whom he did not raise if it is true that the dead are not raised. For if the dead are not raised, not even Christ has been raised. And if Christ has not been raised, your faith is futile and you are still in your sins. Then those also who have fallen asleep in Christ have perished. If in Christ we have hope in this life only, we are of all people most to be pitied.
Heaven Isn’t the End: The True Christian Hope of Resurrection | 1 Corinthians 15:12–19 Sermon
Grace, mercy, and peace to you from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior, Jesus the Christ. Amen.
For today's sermon, I’m preaching on 1 Corinthians 15:12–19. We are still in the Easter season, and this is a passage about the resurrection.
"But if it is preached that Christ has been raised from the dead, how can some of you say that there is no resurrection of the dead?
If there is no resurrection of the dead, then not even Christ has been raised.
And if Christ has not been raised, our preaching is useless, and so is your faith.
More than that, we are then found to be false witnesses about God, for we have testified about God that He raised Christ from the dead.
But He did not raise Him if, in fact, the dead are not raised.
For if the dead are not raised, then Christ has not been raised either.
And if Christ has not been raised, your faith is futile; you are still in your sins.
Then those also who have fallen asleep in Christ are lost.
If only for this life we have hope in Christ, we are to be pitied more than all men."
When a loved one dies, most of us have heard—and perhaps even said—words like “She’s in heaven,” or “At least Grandpa is with the Lord.” These words are true and comforting, but they are not the whole story. Heaven is not the finish line. It is a waiting room before the opening of God’s new creation.
The Apostle Paul gently fills in that missing chapter—the rest of the story—for the church in Corinth and for us. Many of us have been in church all our lives and have not heard much talk about the resurrection. We’ve probably heard many stories and sermons about going to heaven, but we were not told a complete story.
Paul had an argument with the Corinthians who did not believe in the resurrection. Verse 12 of 1 Corinthians 15 says:
“Now if Christ is proclaimed as raised from the dead, how can some of you say that there is no resurrection of the dead?”
Paul starts with common ground: the unanimous testimony that Jesus really did walk out of the tomb. Yet in Corinth, many still thought bodily resurrection was repugnant or unnecessary. To them, salvation meant deliverance of the soul from the prison of the body.
Paul’s question, therefore, cuts two ways. It is rhetorical: “You already confess Christ’s resurrection. Why deny your own?” Any defense of the Gospel, your doubts about your future, expose doubts about His past. In one sentence, Paul confronts an entire worldview that belittles the body as insignificant. He invites the church to carry the hope of Easter forward from the empty tomb all the way to every believer’s grave on earth—confident that every one of them will stand empty.
Verses 13 and 14 say:
“But if there is no resurrection of the dead, then not even Christ has been raised.
And if Christ has not been raised, then our preaching is in vain and your faith is in vain.”
Paul’s argument is not abstract reasoning—it is a prioritization of theological and pastoral issues. The word vain means empty, hollow, without content. Preaching becomes motivational speaking. Faith becomes wishful thinking. The cross becomes a noble tragedy.
Paul is pressing the Corinthians to see that Easter is not one doctrine among many—it is the keel that keeps the ship of the Gospel from capsizing. Verses 15 and 16 say, partly toward the end:
“If the dead are not raised, not even Christ has been raised.”
Jewish law required two or three witnesses for a matter to be established. The Twelve and a wider circle of witnesses—many of whom the Corinthians could still interview—had staked their lives on what they saw. If resurrection is impossible, those witnesses become perjurers, and God Himself is painted as a deceiver. Christ’s resurrection and ours stand or fall together. Union with Christ is not a metaphor—it is a concrete sharing of our destinies.
Verse 17 says:
“And if Christ has not been raised, your faith is futile and you are still in your sins.”
A dead Messiah cannot pardon. The resurrection is God’s receipt—stamped “Paid in Full” across the ledger of sin. Without it, the guilt and power of sin remain unbroken, and the Spirit’s sanctifying work has no legal footing.
Paul is suddenly answering a lurking question: “Isn’t the cross enough?” The answer is no. Without Easter, the cross is a payment check that bounced.
Verse 18:
“Then those who have fallen asleep in Christ have perished.”
Paul turns this theology to pastoral reality. People we love have died. The gentle phrase “fallen asleep” echoes Jesus’ own words about Jairus’ daughter and Lazarus, hinting at a temporary condition that will end in awakening. But if resurrection is fiction, the sleeping are permanent. Grief would be final, and Christian funerals would offer nothing better than stoic resignation. Paul lets that bleak possibility hover so that the coming declaration of victory will break like dawn after a long night.
Verse 19:
“If in Christ we have hope in this life only, we are of all people most to be pitied.”
The Gospel is not a self-help program for coping with Monday mornings. Paul has endured beatings, shipwrecks, hunger, and imprisonment—precisely because he is convinced that death is a doorway, not a dead end. If that doorway is bricked shut, his sacrifices—and ours—are pathetic. Christianity then becomes nothing more than a bait-and-switch: “Give up everything now for benefits that will never come.”
Only a bodily, cosmic resurrection—of people and creation—justifies such costly discipleship.
We’ve talked through every verse. Paul has not yet introduced the next section; he wants the weight of the problem to sink in before he gives the solution.
Resurrection completes salvation. Good Friday answers the question: Can sin be paid for? Easter morning answers: Has the payment been accepted? When the Father raised Jesus, He publicly vindicated the cross, declaring once and for all: the debt is settled.
Justification is therefore more than a legal fiction—it is a living union with the risen Christ. Because He walked bodily out of the tomb, your own flesh is destined for the same outcome. Salvation is not complete until bodies, as well as souls, are made new—and Easter is God’s pledge that He will finish what He started.
Grief is refined. Tears at a funeral are still appropriate. Jesus Himself wept at Lazarus’ tomb. Yet believers do not sorrow as though they have no hope.
Every Christian internment, in Paul’s agricultural metaphor, is a sowing in hope. What is lowered in weakness will be raised in glory. What is buried perishable will emerge imperishable.
Easter, therefore, converts cemeteries into fields awaiting harvest. Grief remains real, but it is shot through with anticipation.
Our daily life is energized. If death—the ultimate enemy—has lost its dominion, then every lesser fear has been relativized. The resurrection empowers holy risk. You can give away time, treasures, even reputation, knowing nothing offered to Christ is really lost. Courage in injustice, perseverance in suffering, and extravagant love all flow from a settled confidence that our labor in the Lord participates in a kingdom that cannot be shaken.
The body is honored because God intends to rescue creation—not replace it. The material world, including your body, carries enduring significance. Caring for physical health, practicing sexual integrity, ministering to tangible needs, and stewarding the environment are not mere add-ons to spiritual life—they anticipate the resurrection order in which heaven and earth meet.
The body is not a disposable shell but a temple slated for glorification when Jesus Christ returns.
We often hear well-meaning phrases when someone dies—things like, “They’re in a better place,” “Mom’s watching over us,” or “He’s become an angel.” These words are offered out of love and a desire to comfort—and we understand the heart behind them. People reach for whatever words they can to help comfort others.
While these phrases are common, they unintentionally point us away from the glorious hope we have as Christians.
Let’s look at the idea that someone becomes an angel. Angels are a distinct order of creation. Our destiny is not to become something else entirely but to be fully restored—body and soul—as God created us to be. Christ rose as a human being glorified. That’s our hope.
Also, think about the phrase, “They’re watching over us.” Scripture says our hope is not in the dead being our guardians, but that we are held in God’s care. Our comfort comes from the truth that Christ intercedes for us, and the Holy Spirit dwells within us now.
When people say, “They’re in a better place,” there’s some truth in that. Paul did say that to be with Christ is far better. But our Christian hope is not simply that our soul floats off to heaven. That’s only the first part of the story. Our ultimate hope is resurrection—bodily resurrection, life made new.
Jesus walked out of the tomb and will raise us on the last day. Our bodies will be restored—not as ghosts or angels—but as redeemed human beings, glorified in Christ.
We confess this in the Apostles’ Creed when we say: “I believe in the resurrection of the body and the life everlasting.”
It is a promise sealed in Jesus’ empty tomb. We can face death with confidence, knowing that the One who died and rose again has gone ahead of us—and will return to raise us with Him.
Let us then gently correct our language—not to scold or belittle someone—but to proclaim something better, even better than heaven. The true Christian hope is not that our loved ones become angels, but that they are resting in Christ, and they will rise again.
As Job said:
“I know that my Redeemer lives, and that in the end He will stand upon the earth.
And after my skin has been destroyed, yet in my flesh I will see God.”
Fellow Christians, the Gospel does not end in the cemetery. Christ rose—and therefore, we will rise.
Heaven is wonderful, but it is only the waiting room of the Father’s house. The great room is still ahead—when Christ returns, the trumpet sounds, and every grave is empty by His command.
Christ is risen! He is risen indeed. Alleluia!
And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. Amen.
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