April 5, 2026 Reflection

Well… here we are. We made it.

Through Lent. Through the wilderness. Through all those Lenten Sundays of our pilgrimage series “The Way” the way back, the wandering way, the high way, the way home, the free way.

And now… The Way Ahead.  Easter.

Which, if we’re honest, is a bit of a strange day. It’s the one Sunday where we’re kind of expected to feel joy on command… like someone flipped a switch between Friday, where everything in the sanctuary was draped in black cloth and the candle was extinguished…and Sunday morning – suddenly transformed with Easter lilies and golden drapery.

Because we come to Easter expecting joy, but the story we just heard doesn’t start there.

It starts in the dark. It starts with two women, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary, walking toward a tomb. Not with hope. Not with expectation. But with grief.

And I don’t know about you, but that part feels real. Because we know what it is to walk toward the tomb. We’ve done that walk. Some of us have done it this year. Some of us are doing it right now. Standing at hospital beds. Saying goodbye to people we love. Living with difficult diagnoses. Carrying the quiet weight of things that didn’t turn out the way we prayed they would. Some of us are still carrying Good Friday. And not just personally.

We look at the world, and it feels like there are tombs everywhere. War continues in Iran and Ukraine. Violence and devastation in Gaza. The suffering in Sudan, Myanmar, places where fear and loss seem to have the loudest voice.

And even here, closer to home, we see the tent encampments, people without adequate food or shelter. We hear the stories of loneliness. We feel the strain of a world that doesn’t always feel safe or whole.

So yes, Easter morning begins in the dark. With people like us.

But then…Everything changes. There’s an earthquake. An angel. A stone rolled away, not so Jesus can get out, but so they can see in. And the angel says something that is both simple and completely unsettling: “Do not be afraid.” Which is almost funny, isn’t it? Because if there were ever a moment to be afraid… this would be it. Earthquake. Angel. Guards passed out on the ground. This is not a calm, peaceful, spa-like spiritual experience.

And yet, that’s where Easter begins. Not with certainty. Not with everything neatly explained. But with this invitation: Do not be afraid. And then comes the part that flips everything upside down: “He is not here… for he has been raised.” Jesus is not where they expected him to be. The tomb is empty. And if we’re honest, that’s not immediately comforting. Because at least a body in a tomb is predictable.

We know where to go. We know how to grieve. But an empty tomb? That’s disorienting. Did someone steal the body?  But the angel’s message tells them otherwise… that the story isn’t over… that God is doing something new, and we’re not entirely in control of it.

And then comes the message that sits at the heart of everything this morning: “He is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him.” Ahead of you. Not behind you. Not stuck in the past. Not confined to the places where everything fell apart. Jesus is already ahead. And that’s the turning point.

Because Easter is not just about what happened back then. It’s about where Christ is now. Already ahead of us. Already in the places we haven’t reached yet. Already in the conversations we’re afraid to have. Already in the healing we don’t quite believe is possible. Already in the life that is waiting for us.

And I love what happens next. The women leave the tomb “with fear and great joy.” Fear and joy. Not one replacing the other. Both, at the same time. Which, again, feels real. Because that’s often how resurrection shows up, not as pure, uncomplicated happiness, but as something deeper and more complex. A trembling kind of hope. A joy that still has tears in it. But also, real joy. The kind that catches you off guard. The kind that makes you laugh when you didn’t think you would again. The kind that rises up, even in the middle of everything, and reminds you: something new is actually possible. Not because everything is fixed. But because God is not finished. A sense that something new is beginning… even if we’re not entirely sure what it will cost us.

And then, just when the story couldn’t get any more unexpected…Jesus meets them. Right there on the road. Not in the temple. Not in some grand, holy moment. But on the way. And his first words? “Greetings.” Which is almost comically ordinary. After everything that’s happened… death, empty tombs, resurrection, angels… Jesus basically says… “oh hey!” Which has to be one of the most understated moments in the entire Bible. It’s so human. So grounded. And maybe that’s the point.

Resurrection doesn’t just happen in dramatic, once-in-a-lifetime moments. It happens in ordinary encounters. On ordinary roads. In the middle of our lives. And then he says it again: “Do not be afraid.” And he sends them: “Go and tell my brothers to go to Galilee; there they will see me.” Go.  Not stay. Not sit with this miracle and keep it to yourself. Go. Because resurrection is not something we just believe. It’s something we live. And this is where the story meets us. Because we, too, are on the way.

We’ve been walking this Lenten path together, through wilderness and reflection and questioning. And now we arrive at this moment, not as the end of the journey, but as a turning point. This moment is where we leave our wilderness wandering and turn toward what is opening before us. Carrying the hope and truth we have found along the way: We are not alone. And I think that’s the heart of Easter. Not just that Jesus is risen, but that he is with us. And not only with us, but ahead of us. Calling us forward. And here’s where it gets a little uncomfortable. Because if Jesus is ahead of us…then we can’t stay where we are. We can’t stay in the tombs we’ve grown used to. We can’t stay in the patterns that keep us stuck. We can’t stay in a faith that is only about remembering the past. Easter calls us forward.

So what does that look like? Let’s bring it home. Right here, at Mount Seymour United. It looks like continuing to show up for one another, not just on Sundays, but in the in-between moments. It looks like the way this community has held people in grief this year, meals delivered, prayers offered, quiet presence given when words weren’t enough. That’s resurrection.

It looks like the sacred garden and labyrinth, spaces where people can come and breathe and remember who they are. That’s resurrection.

It looks like the conversations we’re having about how to live our faith outside of these walls, how to be church in a changing world, not clinging to what used to be, but continuing to ask what new things God keeps doing among us and what new things God is calling us to do and be in this community. That’s resurrection.

And beyond these walls? It looks like choosing compassion in a world that often rewards indifference. It looks like paying attention to the places of suffering, not turning away, but allowing our hearts to be moved. It looks like small, everyday acts of courage: Reaching out to someone you’ve lost touch with.
Standing up for someone who is being overlooked. Listening, really listening, to someone whose experience is different from your own.

Because here’s the thing: Resurrection is not just something God does. It’s something we participate in. We become part of how new life enters the world.

So let me give you a little Easter “homework.” (You knew it was coming. But don’t worry, it won’t be graded.)

Three simple things for this week:

First: You’re going to Go to Galilee. (I’ll explain!) Second: You are going to look for where Christ is already ahead of you. And third, you’re going to be part of someone else’s resurrection.

So to explain – Going to Galilee… Not literally… but spiritually. Go back in your mind’s eye to the places where your faith first came alive. Go back, not to stay there, but to remember what was true.

Maybe it’s a spiritual practice, prayer, music, time in nature. Maybe it’s a sense of calling you’ve drifted away from. Maybe it’s a relationship that once grounded you.

Go there. Not to relive the past, but to rediscover what is still life giving about it. Because Galilee is both familiar and transformed.

Second: Look for where Christ is already ahead of you.

In the situation you’re worried about. In the conversation you’re avoiding. In the place that feels uncertain. Ask yourself: What if Jesus is already there? Perhaps imagine Jesus is on the other side of your difficulty, coaxing you forward?  And what might it mean to take one small step forward?

Third: Be part of someone else’s resurrection.

One act. One gesture. One moment of kindness or courage. Not something huge. Just something real. Because you never know, what feels small to you might be life-changing or even life-saving for someone else.

And finally, remember this: The women didn’t have everything figured out when they left the tomb.

They were still afraid. Still uncertain. Still trying to make sense of it all. But they went anyway. They moved. They trusted the message. And maybe that’s enough for us, too.

We don’t have to have perfect faith. We don’t have to have all the answers. We just have to be willing to take the next step.

Because Easter is not the end of the story. It is the reminder that tomorrow is always a new day. Easter reminds us that it is the beginning of a new way of living.

A way marked by hope in the face of despair. By courage in the face of fear. By love that refuses to give up.

And this is the good news of Easter, not that life goes back to the way it was, but that something new is already beginning.

So this morning, whatever tomb you’ve been standing at… Whatever grief you’re carrying… Whatever uncertainty lies ahead…

Hear this: Do not be afraid. He is not here. He is risen. And he is already ahead of you. So go. Go to Galilee. Go into your life. Go into this world that is still unfolding, into a new day. And there, in the most ordinary and unexpected places, you will see him.

Amen and Happy Easter.