I’ll admit - I am a spiritual person, and this is an important week for me, I filmed an amazing you woman’s sermon this week - Rev. Marcella Gillis - and going to break my short statement rule here. Here is the transcript:

For most of my life, Easter morning has arrived and brought with it light hearts, white

lilies, joyful alleluias, and chocolate for breakfast. This has most certainly been the case for

the past five Easters that I have spent with the Christ and Holy Trinity community, and I

have always loved waking up on this day to the deep organ rumble of Jesus Christ is Risen

Today . I have loved seeing your shining faces, your amazing hats, and I have (sort of) loved

spending coffee hour with the most terrifying Easter Bunny costume on the planet. And

this year, everything has changed (though I do hope you’re still eating chocolate for

breakfast.)

To proclaim the “Good News” of today feels close to impossible, and all of our traditional

Easter themes seem to fall short. To speak of unbridled joy in the midst of a pandemic

feels irresponsible. To speak about hope to those who have lost jobs and livelihoods feels

patronizing. To speak of victory over death to those who have lost loved ones feels

disrespectful.

In many ways, today feels like it might as well be the very first Easter. And instead of

showing up with our floral prints and handfuls of Peeps, we arrive here this morning more

like Mary Magdalene and the other Mary at dawn: grieving, exhausted, and afraid. To be

hopeful, joyful, and to proclaim the word “Alleluia” in this space is complicated… to say the

least.

The problem we face, which is really ‘the big problem’ with Christianity, is that the version

of hope and salvation offered to us in the Gospel is not at all what we’re looking for. It

most certainly wasn’t what the disciples were imagining. When God shows up to save me, I

want it to be a superhero rescue. I want deliverance and salvation on the correct timeline!

I want to be swept up right as the tsunami hits, right as the earthquake begins to rumble,

right as the crowd begins to chant, “Crucify him!” I want deliverance before the virus

spreads, before the hospitals fill up, before it’s too late. And in our particular story, the

deliverance comes too late. Three days too late.

If we take the long view of scripture, it’s apparent that our story rarely involves

deliverance according to our desires and our timelines. There is never easy victory or

long-term abundance and contentment. Our story has always been one that involves

suffering and injustice… and yet somehow God remains with us. Our story is one of

salvation amid despair, redemption amid disruption. Our story is one of creation emerging

from chaos, community emerging from exile, life emerging from death.

And yet it’s hard to truly wrap our hearts around this paradox of faith. I know I would

prefer our story to be systematic and predictable. I would love for faithfulness to be a

form of insurance, or a guaranteed defense against evil. But Christianity never promises

that nothing bad will ever happen. In fact, the greatest irony of discipleship is that the bad

thing does happen . The worst thing happens. And somehow, still, it’s not the end of the

story.

Yes, in our story, the worst imaginable thing happens. God dies. And in the midst of it,

truth is revealed, love is resurrected, and life is transformed.

What we are witness to on Easter is not a static or saccharine fairy tale. What we are

witness to is the mystery of resurrection, a mystery that is dynamic and crackling with

energy. Stones are being rolled away and messengers from God are appearing. What we

thought was a gaping black hole of grief instead is an earthquake, empty tomb, a question

mark, a site of divine revelation. It’s not a space absent of fear, but it’s a space that holds

possibility. It’s a space that promises a different ending.

Truth is revealed.

This year, we arrive on Easter morning with our eyes and our hearts opened in a new way.

The stone is rolled aside, and along with it, all of the illusions we had about the way the

world works. Some of the truths that are revealed are hard, some are beautiful, some are

both. The social divides and injustices that we were blinded to or didn’t want to see are

now painfully apparent. The failure of earthly powers and unjust systems is laid bare. The

parts of our own selves that are hard to face are bubbling to the surface. And the

connections between us, the bonds of love, solidarity and mutual aid are revealed, and it’s

gorgeous. The truths that have been revealed in this community alone are life-changing:

How much we mean to one another, how much we rely on each other, how much

emotional and spiritual sustenance this community provides.

Love is resurrected.

This year, we arrive on Easter morning falling at the feet of the Risen Christ; falling at the

feet of a love so great that it cannot be destroyed. Love gets humiliated, stepped on,

smashed into a million prices, and yet rises. The worst thing happens again and again

and somehow love emerges from the wreckage, burned and bent out of shape, but

present. Alive. Resurrected. And somehow now we are empowered to love one another

and love our neighbors in a way that is bolder, freer, and more intimate than before.

Somehow, Christ’s resurrection enables us to move into ways of being that are more

compassionate, more generous, more altruistic. Love resurrects and comes back stronger.

Life is transformed.

This year, we arrive on Easter morning with the sense that the world has fundamentally

changed. Jesus did not rise on this day to proclaim that everything is totally fine and

everything would go back to the way it was before. In fact the opposite happens. When

Christ was resurrected it became clear that nothing would ever be the same again. We

arrive at this Easter knowing that the world is forever changed. There is no such thing as

“back to normal” and this, in many ways, is a gift. It’s an opening and an opportunity. Easter

has always been a feast of change and renewal, a feast of becoming. Life is transformed

and we are given a chance to change along with it.

So this year, may we celebrate this Easter as though it were the first. Yes, we navigate this

day with fear and trepidation just like those first disciples, following in the tenacious

footsteps of the women at dawn. May we celebrate with ferocity, resilience, courage. May

we mourn the loss of what was, and celebrate the joy of what is becoming. This year, may

our Alleluias ring out like a wolf howl. The story does not end here, for truth is being

revealed, love is being resurrected, and life is being transformed.

Amen.