Easter Sunday

April 5, 2026

Easter Sunday – The Resurrection of the Lord

Acts 10:34a, 37–43

Psalm 118:1–2, 16–17, 22–23

Colossians 3:1–4 or 1 Corinthians 5:6b–8

John 20:1–9

Hello and Happy Easter! I ran my first half marathon about 20 years ago. Though I’d trained for months, somewhere around mile 11, everything in my body was screaming at me to stop. My lungs burned, my legs felt like concrete, and the voice in my head kept saying, This was a terrible idea. You are not gonna’ make it. When I came around a bend and saw the finish line in the distance, something shifted. The pain didn’t go away, but suddenly it didn’t matter. I wasn’t limping toward an ending — I was sprinting toward a beginning. I think about that feeling a lot. I think Peter and John knew that feeling on the first Easter morning.

I need you to go on a journey with me today. I want you to picture yourselves with Mary Magdalene, Peter, and John on this first Easter morning. Start with Mary. I love that she is the first to discover the empty tomb in the early morning darkness. If you think about her character arc across the gospels, it is as beautiful and redemptive as anyone’s in all of Scripture. A woman who was broken and cast aside by the world, healed and restored by Jesus, and transformed into one of his most devoted followers. While the apostles were hiding behind locked doors, she was the one walking to that tomb before dawn, ever faithful to her Lord. She didn’t know what she would find, but she knew she had to go. When she sees the stone rolled away, she doesn’t freeze. She doesn’t sit down and try to figure it out. She acts. She runs. She runs to tell Peter and John.

Now, picture Peter and John hearing this news and taking off at a full sprint toward the tomb. John, the younger man, gets there first — but it’s Peter, being Peter, who barges right in. Peter, the guy who leapt out of a boat to walk on water, who drew a sword in the garden, who swore he’d never deny Jesus and then did exactly that three times before the rooster crowed. Peter doesn’t peek in. He walks straight into that tomb and sees the burial cloths folded neatly, but no body. No Jesus.

Now, imagine the flood of thoughts and emotions crashing through all three of them in this moment: Jesus’ words about destroying the temple and rebuilding it in three days; his predictions of his death and resurrection; the agony of watching him tortured and killed; the shame of their scattering, their hiding, their denials. On the other hand, their thoughts no doubt turned to the power they witnessed with their own eyes: the healings, the miracles, the raising of Lazarus from the dead. Now, this — an empty tomb!? Imagine how your heart and mind would be racing. I picture a combination of joy, fear, confusion, and that very human question: “Ok…what now?”

In our first reading today from Acts, we get to hear what “What now?” looked like. We hear Peter — the same Peter who denied Jesus, the same Peter who barged into that tomb — now preaching boldly, trying to come to grips with the reality of it all and its implications for everyone who would listen. He summarizes Jesus’ extraordinary life: his teachings, his miracles, his death on the cross, and his resurrection by the power of God. He concludes with this: Jesus was all foretold by the prophets, and that everyone who believes in him will receive forgiveness of sins. Peter went from walking out of that tomb in confusion to standing before crowds proclaiming the greatest news in human history. That is quite a character arc of his own.

Paul today helps to translate what all of this means for our lives. In First Corinthians, he uses a wonderful image of yeast. He urges us to clear out the old yeast of malice and wickedness and take on the new yeast of sincerity and truth. Anyone who’s ever baked bread (or in my case, watched someone else bake bread) knows that yeast works slowly, invisibly, and from the inside out. You can’t see it happening, but you come back an hour later and the whole loaf has risen. That’s exactly how conversion works in our lives. It’s not a lightning bolt. It’s not a single dramatic moment for most of us. It’s a slow, steady rise.

Then in Colossians, Paul takes it even further: he tells us that we have been raised with Christ, and I want you to notice the present tense there. Not “will be raised.” Not “might be raised someday if we get our act together.” Have been raised, right now, already. Because of that, he urges us to seek what is above, to set our minds on the things of Heaven, not the things of Earth.

None of us will experience the dramatic scene of that first Easter morning. None of us will sprint to an empty tomb or touch folded burial cloths. But, that doesn’t make our potential faith any less real or any less powerful. Think about it: we experience the pain of losing loved ones, and in that pain, we understand what the disciples felt on Good Friday. We experience the breathtaking joy of the miracle of birth — our children, our grandchildren — and in that joy, we catch a glimpse of what Easter morning must have felt like. We see the renewal of springtime, the trees budding and flowers blooming after a long winter, and therefore witness a quiet resurrection happening right outside our windows.

We experience God’s power in the oceans, the mountains, and the nighttime sky. We experience His love through our families, our friends, and even through a simple smile and nod from someone we pass on the street. God’s voice is present to us through Scripture, and if we take the time to be quiet and listen, through prayer as well. He is especially present and available to us, as often as we choose, through the beautiful sacrament of the Eucharist. Make no mistake: Jesus is as present and alive in the world today as he was over 2,000 years ago. The tomb is still empty. The promise still holds.

So, here’s what I’m asking of all of us (myself very much included) as we leave here today. Namely, three things:

1. First, be still. Find five minutes this week — just five — to sit in silence with God. No phone, no TV, no podcast. Just you and Him. Open Scripture if you want, or simply be quiet and listen. You might be surprised by what you hear when you stop talking long enough to let God get a word in.

2. Second, show up. Receive the Eucharist. Not just today, but make it a habit. Jesus made himself available to us in this extraordinary sacrament as often as we’re willing to come to the table. Take him up on that invitation.

3. Third, be the love. This week, find one person who is struggling — a neighbor, a coworker, a family member, a stranger — and do something concrete for them. Not a vague “I’ll pray for you” from across the room, but something real. A meal, a phone call, a visit, a hand on the shoulder. Be the hands and feet of the risen Christ in someone’s life. That’s how we carry the Resurrection forward — not just as something we believe, but as something we live.

I started today by telling you about rounding that bend at mile 11 and catching sight of the finish line. The pain didn’t disappear, but it was suddenly swallowed up by something bigger. That’s what Easter is. Life is hard. We carry heavy burdens. We stumble, we deny, we scatter, we hide behind our own locked doors just like Peter, just like all of them.

But the Resurrection tells us that none of that is the end of the story. Every one of us has been at mile 11 in some way. Every one of us has had that moment where our legs are giving out and the voice in our head says, “Just stop. It’s too much.” Easter is God’s answer to that voice. We’re not limping toward an ending. We’re sprinting toward a beginning.

May we carry forward with us the power of his Resurrection, and bring love to a world in desperate need of it. Peace be with you, and Happy Easter!