“A Tale of Four Gardens”
John 19:40-20:18
April 4, 2021
Faith Presbyterian Church – Morning Service
Pastor Nicoletti

Here at our church we have been going through the Gospel of John. John was one of Jesus’s closest followers during his earthly ministry. He knew Jesus personally. He followed Jesus closely. And then he wrote down his account of the life of Jesus in this Gospel which Christians still read today.

And this morning, we come to his account of some of the events that followed the death of Jesus. So at this point in his account, Jesus is dead. He has been severely beaten, crucified by Roman authorities, and he has died. His death has been confirmed by his Roman executioners, who pierced his side with a spear to be sure that he was dead. And then we come to our text.

With that in mind, please do listen carefully, for this is God’s word for us this morning.

19:40 So they took the body of Jesus and bound it in linen cloths with the spices, as is the burial custom of the Jews. 41 Now in the place where he was crucified there was a garden, and in the garden a new tomb in which no one had yet been laid. 42 So because of the Jewish day of Preparation, since the tomb was close at hand, they laid Jesus there.
20:1 Now on the first day of the week Mary Magdalene came to the tomb early, while it was still dark, and saw that the stone had been taken away from the tomb. 2 So she ran and went to Simon Peter and the other disciple, the one whom Jesus loved [which is John, the author’s way of referring to himself], and said to them, “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid him.” 3 So Peter went out with the other disciple, and they were going toward the tomb. 4 Both of them were running together, but the other disciple outran Peter and reached the tomb first. 5 And stooping to look in, he saw the linen cloths lying there, but he did not go in. 6 Then Simon Peter came, following him, and went into the tomb. He saw the linen cloths lying there, 7 and the face cloth, which had been on Jesus’ head, not lying with the linen cloths but folded up in a place by itself. 8 Then the other disciple, who had reached the tomb first, also went in, and he saw and believed; 9 for as yet they did not understand the Scripture, that he must rise from the dead. 10 Then the disciples went back to their homes.
11 But Mary stood weeping outside the tomb, and as she wept she stooped to look into the tomb. 12 And she saw two angels in white, sitting where the body of Jesus had lain, one at the head and one at the feet. 13 They said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping?” She said to them, “They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.” 14 Having said this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing, but she did not know that it was Jesus. 15 Jesus said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you seeking?” Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away.” 16 Jesus said to her, “Mary.” She turned and said to him in Aramaic, “Rabboni!” (which means Teacher). 17 Jesus said to her, “Do not cling to me, for I have not yet ascended to the Father; but go to my brothers and say to them, ‘I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’” 18 Mary Magdalene went and announced to the disciples, “I have seen the Lord”—and that he had said these things to her.

This is the word of the Lord. (Thanks be to God.)

“All people are like grass, and all their glory is like the flowers of the field; the grass withers and the flowers fall, but the word of the Lord endures forever.” [1 Peter 1:24-25]

Let’s pray …

The Stories We Tell

Why is Easter such an important day for Christians? Why is this day, and why is this story, so important to followers of Jesus?

Well, there are a number of reasons. But one important reason among them is that the account of Jesus’s resurrection confronts and disrupts all worldly paradigms.

We each approach the world and our own lives with a paradigm – with a set of assumptions, and a lens through which we view all things. And that set of assumptions usually takes the form of a story – a story we tell about our lives and about the world we live in.

But sometimes things happen that disrupt our paradigm – that contradict the story we tell about our lives and our world. These are paradigm disruptors.

Sometimes those paradigm disruptors turn out to be false alarms. Sometimes, we choose simply to ignore them. But other times they can change the way we view the world – or some part of the world – overturning what we used to believe and replacing it with something new.

Easter is such a paradigm-disruptor. It is a paradigm-disruptor on the level of our individual lives. It is a paradigm-disruptor on the level of how we view the world. It is a paradigm-disruptor on the level of how we view cosmic realities. Which is why Christians give so much attention to the resurrection of Jesus Christ.

But to see why the resurrection of Jesus Christ is such a paradigm-disruptor, we need to start by considering the paradigms we often begin with – the assumptions we tend to take for granted … the kind of stories we usually assume we are living in.

When you zoom out and look at things from 10,000 feet, a few common story lines emerge in our particular cultural setting.

One is the story of modernism. Modernism says that we are in a story of progress in which humanity is conquering and controlling the world for the greater good. [Leithart, 33]

Modernism tells a story that goes from wilderness to civilization. We once were weak and at the mercy of the natural world, but now we are learning to master the natural world. We once were small-minded and self-centered, but now we are becoming both intellectually and morally enlightened. Modernism is a story of progress through human achievement.

Of course, not everyone embraces that story line. And so other stories present themselves as rivals.

One such rival is romanticism.

Romanticism rejects the story of modernism and tells a counter-story. For romanticism, society is not the solution, but the problem. The story of the world is one in which nature has been corrupted by society, and the solution is a rejection of society and a return to nature. [Leithart, 33]

Romanticism therefore tells a story that begins in a pristine natural setting, is corrupted by the evils of human society, and finally calls us back to some form of our original natural place. Romanticism is a story of faith in the inherent good in the world and in human beings, when they are found in their truly natural state.

Modernism and romanticism tend to be more antithetical, but most people today view the world not from either extreme, but from a postmodern blend of the two – embracing some aspects of modernism while rejecting others. [Leithart, 35, 39]

And, in fact, many conflicts in our culture are really over what that blend should look like. At both ends of the political spectrum, though, and in many places in between, we often find people across the board who are hoping for a modernist means to pursue a romantic ends – they are hoping that some aspect of human ingenuity, achievement, or progress, will return human life to the rhythms of an earlier time – a time more consistent with our inherently good nature.

But what few of us do before engaging in the debates that follow is to ask whether the assumptions of either element are warranted. Should we really have such faith in human achievement or human nature? Do either of these perspectives really describe the world and the kind of story we actually live in?

Think about the modernist assumptions many of us have about human achievement. We tend to believe that whatever our goal may be, human ingenuity can get us there – we can control the forces of this world and the human story can be one of progress from chaos to control. And we don’t believe this just on a grand scale – we also tend to believe it in our own lives. If we use just the right tools, and just the right techniques, then we can have control of our hearts, of our lives, and of the immediate world around us.

But is that really true?

The past year is an interesting case study.

In the speed with which vaccines have been developed and rolled out, we have seen the impressive power of human ingenuity, and the gifts God has given humanity to understand and respond to the challenges of this world.

And yet … is the takeaway from this past year really a confirmed confidence in humanity’s ability to control life and the world through our own achievements?

Back in February a mathematical biologist in the UK was asked by the BBC to calculate the total volume of all the coronavirus in the world at a given moment.

He began with the number of people who tested positive for COVID globally every day, which at the time was half a million a day. He followed a statistical model that projected that that half a million actually indicated closer to three million people who were really being infected each day.

Then he calculated the viral load for those infected, distributed over each day of infection. Next, he took an estimate of the size of an actual coronavirus virus. And finally, he calculated how much empty space would occur between each virus if you packed them all together.

With all that done, he had a reasonable estimate for if you took every single coronavirus in the world at a given moment, and piled them all together, how big that pile would be.

The size of the pile, he calculated, would be 160 ml. About 2/3 of a cup. [Yates]

That’s it. For the entire world.

That is what has shut down the most technologically advanced societies that have ever existed on earth. That is what has fractured our cultures in disputes and disagreements. That is what has killed half a million Americans. That is what, according to Johns Hopkins University, has killed 2.8 million people globally.

Do we really have that much control in this world?

The technology in our world so far surpasses any other time in human history. And the powerful nations of our world boast in their power and their control over themselves and over creation. We each individually tell ourselves that we are in control over our lives.

And then, 2/3 of a cup of extremely tiny particles, were thinly spread around the world, and the most powerful countries in the world, the most technologically advanced societies in history, were brought to a halt. And soon almost three million people were dead. [Comp. with Augustine, Homily on John 1.15]

We, individually and collectively, have far less control over our lives than we like to imagine. For all our amazing advances – and so many of them truly are amazing – but for all the amazing advances, the story of modernism (of our control of this world through human achievement) doesn’t seem to fit with reality as much as we’d like to think.

Well … if that is the case, then maybe the romantics are right. Maybe our hope is not in our achievements, but in our inherent nature – in the human spirit found in its natural state.

And there are stories that seem to confirm this. In the early days of the pandemic, stories of the great heroism and sacrifice of frontline responders were heard and told.

And yet … is the natural good of the human spirit the main lesson we should take away from this past year?

The past few weeks, I have been thinking a lot about the effects of this past year. And I’ve started to realize that the past year has probably taken a bigger toll on me than I had previously realized. And I suspect I’m not alone in that.

And I was trying to identify the different ways in which this past year has affected me and others. And as I reflected on those things, I thought of an episode of The Twilight Zone.

It’s actually an episode I’ve talked about here before … over a year ago … on the very first Sunday morning we were livestream only in response to the pandemic.

And it’s worth coming back to it this morning. It’s titled “The Shelter.”

It takes place during the Cold War. A few families who live on the same street together are gathered for a party for Dr. Bill Stockton. One friend makes a speech on his appreciation and affection for Bill, while also throwing in a few jokes about Bill’s eccentricity in building a bomb shelter under his home.

As the party continues, a news report on the radio interrupts things, with an alert that unidentified objects have triggered the United States’ ballistic missile radar, and that everyone is encouraged to seek shelter in their basement or their bomb shelter if they have one. The party quickly disperses as everyone goes homes. Bill and his wife and son grab water, supplies, and then make their way down to the bomb shelter he had built.

And then, their neighbors start to show up. And they begin to beg Bill to let them in. But he says no. He explains that their supplies are limited, and that the air filter can only filter enough air for three people.

And soon all the neighbors are gathered there, outside the door of Bill’s bomb shelter, while Bill and his family are locked inside. And the neighbors start talking. And soon some of them begin to say that they should tear the door to the shelter open, so that they can get in. One man points out that there’s certainly not enough room in there for all of them, which then leads to arguments between the neighbors about why their family should be let in rather than another.

But then, as they hear noises in the sky, they set aside their arguments with one another and focus on getting into the bomb shelter itself. One man runs and gets a large pipe for a battering ram. The people grab hold of it, and they all begin to batter the door to the shelter over and over.

At that point, the camera goes to Bill and his family in the shelter, as they listen to the people outside. “Who are those people?” Bill’s wife asks. “Our neighbors,” Bill answers, “our friends.”

Finally, the door begins to break, and the neighbors begin to push their way into the shelter and just then … at that moment … the radio in the shelter comes to life again. And the announcer lets everyone know that the unidentified objects were actually just satellites. And there is no danger.

And everyone stops. And they start to look at each other … embarrassed, shocked, and ashamed at how they have acted. Neighbors who had argued with each other begin to apologize. And then they turn to Bill and his family. One neighbor quickly says that they will of course pay for the damages – and he suggests that they have a block party to celebrate their safety – “anything to get back to normal” he says – whatever it takes to pay for the damages.

And Bill looks at him. “Damages?” he asks, “I wonder. I wonder if anyone of us has any idea what those damages really are. Maybe one of them is finding out what we’re really like when we’re normal; the kind of people we are just underneath the skin. I mean all of us: a bunch of naked wild animals, who put such a price on staying alive that they’d claw their neighbors to death just for the privilege. We were spared a bomb tonight, but I wonder if we weren’t destroyed even without it.”

The episode is, of course, dramatic. But it struck me recently as a decent picture of the past year … and the difficult reality we will all need to process going forward about what people are really like when things get difficult.

Many of us have relationships that have been affected this past year – people we may never look at the same again after this year … people whom we may have known for years, and everything was great, but then, under the stress of the past year, things turned … whether it was out of fear of the virus, fear of the government, fear of the cultural right, fear of the cultural left, fear of a physical threat or fear of a human threat, this year repeatedly tore back the thin layer we usually put forward for others to see, and exposed a bit more what we are each like.

And so often it exposed that we are far more interested in our own welfare than in the welfare of others.

And that hasn’t just been the case for other people. It’s been true for us as well. No matter how right we may think we were about one thing or another, time and time again, when the pressure grew and the heat was turned up, we revealed – either in public or in private – the evil and selfishness that was dwelling in our own hearts.

And such self-exposure is not limited to the past year. Many of us have had similar revelations in other moments of life. Ian has spoken of the effects of war on his own heart. What has it been for you?

And if you have seen other people in such settings … and if you have ever honestly examined yourself in such settings … then how can you still place your trust in human nature? How can you go on with your faith in your or our inherent goodness? How can you believe such a story and accept such a paradigm?

If we are willing to see the world as it is, then neither our modernist impulses, nor our romantic impulses, nor our postmodern mixes of the two really fit with the world we actually live in – with the facts before our faces.

What then, are we to do?

Well, the Bible … and Easter … urge us to hear a different story. A story that does fit with the world we find ourselves in.

Because, the truth is, that as different as the stories of modernism, and romanticism, and their various combinations are, they share a fundamental assumption: They all assume that our ultimate hope is to be found in some aspect of humanity.

Whether the focus is on human ingenuity or on some kind of untarnished human nature, each story urges us, in one way or another, to put our hope in humanity.

But Easter tells us to place our hope somewhere else.

Easter tells us a different story.

The Story the Bible Tells

Instead of telling a story from wilderness to civilization, or from corrupt society back to nature – Easter points us to a story of four gardens.

The first garden comes at the beginning of creation. The Bible tells us that in the beginning God made all things. And when he was done, he planted a garden. And in that garden, he placed our first parents. And he made them upright and good – perfectly holy and loving. And he gave them free will, and called on them to obey him as their good and loving King. And everything was perfect. And there was no death or disease, there was no evil or sin in the world.

But then our first parents chose to resist God’s kingship. They chose to rebel against his rule, though he had only sought to bless them.

And with their rebellion – with their sin – they brought death, and disorder, evil and destruction not only into this world, but into every human heart. And thus, human nature was corrupted, and this word we live in was cursed with futility.

The first garden tells us why the world is as it is – a confusing combination of what is good, and right, and beautiful, along with what is twisted, and evil, and ugly. God made the world and human nature perfect. Humanity corrupted both.

But the story does not end there. For God did not abandon his world or his creatures to themselves. But instead, he decided to save them.

Which brings us to the second garden: The Garden of Gethsemane. There we find Jesus Christ preparing to complete his mission. And Jesus, we learn earlier in the Gospels, is no mere man, but he is God himself come in the flesh, to bear in himself the consequences of our sin and rebellion. And though he could have sought his own way, instead, he chose to love us. And he went to the cross. And there he bled and died for our sin – dying the death that we deserved to die.

Which brings us to the third garden. And that is the garden we find in verse forty-one of our text: the garden that held Jesus’s tomb. The garden where Jesus was resurrected.

In that garden the curse that came in the first garden was reversed: where human rebellion had brought about the invasion of sin and death into this world in the first garden, now, in this new garden, the love and obedience of Jesus brought about the invasion of life and righteousness into this world.

There Jesus rose from the dead. And it’s important to clarify what we mean by that. Jesus, as he is described in the Gospels after his resurrection, was not a mere ghost. He could be seen. He could be touched. He could break bread, and cook fish – he could eat real food with his disciples. Jesus was not just a spirit, but he had a true, solid, resurrected body.

But that body was also something special – something different. Because Jesus wasn’t merely resuscitated. His body wasn’t just healed, but it was transformed. He would never die again. His body was raised to everlasting life, no longer subject to sickness, pain, or death.

That is the fact of the resurrection.

But as we consider that we must also contemplate the meaning of the resurrection.

For one thing, the resurrection of Jesus meant that God the Father had vindicated Jesus Christ his Son. By raising him from the dead, God the Father testified that Jesus really was who he said he was – he was the eternal Son of God, he was the spotless lamb of God who had come to rescue the world from sin and death.

But then second, along with that, the resurrection of Jesus also meant that Jesus had successfully conquered death and hell – because neither one could hold him. Jesus bore the consequences of hell on the cross, and with that, he entered into death. And on the third day we walked free, leaving both of them conquered in his wake.

The third thing that the resurrection meant was that all who were united to Jesus would share in his relationship to God the Father and his victory over sin, death, and hell. And we see that point in verse seventeen of our text.

There Jesus describes God to his disciple as “my Father and your Father, […] my God and your God.” Though our first parents, and we ourselves, had earned God’s rejection, here Jesus says that in him we could have a right relationship with God – not because we merited it by our nature or our achievements, but because Christ had earned it for us, and would freely share it with all who placed their trust and allegiance in him. [Calvin, 262; Wright, 145]

Finally, the resurrection meant a paradigm shift for all who were confronted by it. Because the resurrection of Jesus was not an isolated event in history, but rather the hinge of all human history. As one author has put it: “The resurrection is not a stupendous magic trick but an invasion.” [Keller, xxi]

And no one expected it at the time. One scholar explains it like this – he writes: “Everybody in the ancient world knew that resurrection didn’t happen. More: they knew it couldn’t happen. They spoke of it, in the classical world of Greece and Rome, as something one might imagine but which never actually occurred, and never could or would.” Some Jews had come to believe in bodily resurrection, but for them it was a one-time event that would happen at the very end of history, and would then happen to all of God’s people at once. In their minds it was not something that would happen in the middle of history, and certainly not to just a single individual. To both the pagans and the Jews of the first century, the idea that Jesus would be resurrected was “an odd, outlandish event, unimagined, [and] unheard-of.” [Wright, 142]

It did not fit with anyone’s paradigm. And so it forced everyone who grappled with it to reassess how they viewed the world, and the story they believed they were living in.

We see that even this morning, in our text.

Consider Mary. Mary saw the empty tomb, and she assumed human causes, because that was the story she believed she was living in – a story where human evil had once again defeated the good. She saw that in the opposition of others to Jesus’s teaching. She saw it when the people united and killed Jesus. And now she was sure she was seeing it again, as someone had, for one malicious reason or another, stolen the body of Jesus.

But Mary was wrong. That was not the story she was in. For in truth, it was Jesus who had conquered evil … and not the other way around.

And Mary is gradually confronted by this fact. First there are the angels. Mary’s lack of a response at this point may indicate that in this moment the angels came to her in the appearance of human beings. They ask Mary why she is crying … and they ask not because they lack information, but because they know that her tears flow from a wrong view of what has happened – a false view of the world as it really is. [Carson 636, 640; Calvin 255; Augustine 121.1]

Next, Jesus himself, raised from the dead, appears to her. His questions once again nudge her to consider her assumptions – why she is crying and what kind of king she believes Jesus really is. [Carson, 641]

But then Jesus calls her by name, and she sees him – she recognizes him. And in that moment, her old paradigm – her old story of the world – falls away, and she embraces Jesus, and as she embraces him, she embraces a new way of viewing the world.

And with that new view of the world comes a new task. Jesus assures her that there is no need to cling to him, since he is not yet ascending to the Father. In other words, he will not disappear for good if she lets go of him. And then Jesus gives her a task to fulfill in light of his resurrection. Which she faithfully does. [Carson, 644]

She goes out in joy. Because now she knows she is not in a story where human evil has the final word, but one in which God has acted in time and space to save and to rescue. And she is among those he has redeemed.

John also has a paradigm shift – though a more subtle one. First, we see the discarding of his old paradigm.

John had come after being told that Jesus’s body had been stolen. But soon he saw that that didn’t fit with reality. No one who wanted to steal the body would first unwrap it, and no one who wanted to rob the grave would leave behind the valuable linens and spices. And yet such linens and spices were exactly what they found. [Carson, 637; Wright, 141-142; Calvin, 251]

Next, John believed that Jesus had risen. John gives us no details of what that meant in the moment. He simply tells us that he believed. [Carson, 632]

Third, John allowed that fact to overturn how he viewed the world, and to replace it with something new. John indicates this by telling us in verse nine that though it hadn’t happened yet, this new information would eventually transform his understanding of the Scriptures, and with it, his understanding of the world.

In these ways, Jesus confronted both Mary and John with the reality of his resurrection. And he continues to confront people today.

As one writer has put it: “Perhaps the most ordinary, daily benefit of the resurrection is this. To follow not a dead, revered teacher but rather a risen Lord is to have him actually with us.” [Keller, xxiii]

Jesus is not still on earth. He has ascended, body and soul, up to heaven, where he now reigns and sits at the right hand of God the Father. But he is alive. And by the Holy Spirit he continues to be active in the world. And he continues to confront us with what he has done to save us – to overturn our false paradigms with the reality of his resurrection.

He does this through the Scriptures, as we have heard this morning. He does this through the facts of history, as scholars continue to fail to provide a historically plausible explanation of the events following the death of Jesus and the birth of the Christian Church without the resurrection. And he continues to confront us personally, in the details of our own lives, as Ian has shared with us this morning, and as many other here could testify to as well.

And he may confront us with many things. But at the heart of it all, he confronts us with the story of four gardens.

He points us to the first garden, and to the good way that God had made us, but our rejection of him to seek our own way.

He points us to the second garden, of his suffering – where he agreed to go to the cross to bear the consequences of our selfish sin.

He points us to the third garden – the garden of the tomb, where he victoriously conquered sin and death, and offered to share with us the victory he had achieved and the peace he has with God the Father.

And then, he points us to the fourth garden. The garden that lies at the end of history.

For, as the Bible tells us, on that day, Jesus will return – body and soul – to reign on earth as king forever. And when he comes, he will make all things new. He will rid the world forever of sin and death. He will raise up all who have died – giving them new and eternal bodies. He will cast out of his kingdom all who have rejected him as king. And then, for all who have trusted in him – all who have declared him as their king – he will give them an eternal home, with him, in a new garden city. And God will dwell with them there. And we will be freed from sin, and death and destruction will be no more, and we will dwell with God, in his garden city, in love and joy for all eternity.

That is the final hope that Christ offers to all who trust in him.


It is a solid and sure hope, because Jesus’s resurrection was a solid and sure event in history. The Bible never presents Jesus’s resurrection as just a nice spiritual picture, but eyewitnesses like John describe it as a solid, concrete reality.

And so our hope in Christ can be solid and concrete as well.

John Updike captured this reality in his poem “Seven Stanzas as Easter.” he writes:

Make no mistake: if he rose at all
It was as His body;
If the cell’s dissolution did not reverse, the molecule reknit,
the amino acids rekindle,
the Church will fall.

It was not as the flowers,
each soft spring recurrent;
it was not as His Spirit in the mouths and fuddled eyes of the
eleven apostles;
it was as His flesh; ours.

The same hinged thumbs and toes
the same valved heart
that—pierced—died, withered, paused, and then regathered
out of enduring Might
new strength to enclose.

Let us not mock God with metaphor,
analogy, sidestepping, transcendence,
making of the event a parable, a sign painted in the faded
credulity of earlier ages:
let us walk through the door.

The stone is rolled back, not papier-mache,
not a stone in a story,
but the vast rock of materiality that in the slow grinding of
time will eclipse for each of us
the wide light of day.

And if we have an angel at the tomb,
make it a real angel,
weighty with Max Planck’s quanta, vivid with hair, opaque in
the dawn light, robed in real linen
spun on a definite loom.

Let us not seek to make it less monstrous,
for our own convenience, our own sense of beauty,
lest, awakened in one unthinkable hour, we are embarrassed
by the miracle,
and crushed by remonstrance.


This sermon draws on material from:

Augustine. Homilies on the Gospel of John 1-40. Translated by Edmund Hill. Edited by Allan D. Fitzgerald. The Works of Saint Augustine. Hyde Park, NY: New City Press, 2009.
Augustine. Homilies on the Gospel of John 41-124. Translated by Edmund Hill. Edited by Allan D. Fitzgerald. The Works of Saint Augustine. Hyde Park, NY: New City Press, 2020.
Calvin, John. Commentary on the Gospel According to John. Vol. 2. Translated by William Pringle. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Books, 1847 (2005 Reprint).
Carson, D.A. The Gospel According to John. PNTC. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1991.
Keller, Timothy. Hope in Times of Fear: The Resurrection and the Meaning of Easter. Viking, 2021.
Leithart, Peter J. Solomon Among the Postmoderns. Grand Rapids MI: Brazos Press, 2008.
Serling Rod. “The Shelter.” The Twilight Zone. Originally aired September 29, 1961.
Updike, John. “Seven Stanzas as Easter” 1960.
Wright, N. T. John for Everyone, Part 2: Chapters 11-21. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox, 2004.
Yates, Christian. “All the Coronavirus in the World Could Fit Inside a Coke Can, With Plenty of Room to Spare.” February 10, 2021. The Conversation. https://theconversation.com/all-the-coronavirus-in-the-world-could-fit-inside-a-coke-can-with-plenty-of-room-to-spare-154226

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