Easter Morning 2025

It was still dark.

That’s how Easter begins—not with bells and flowers, not with sunshine and singing, but with shadows. With Mary Magdalene, walking through the early morning gloom. Grief heavy in her heart. Eyes swollen from tears. She was walking toward the tomb, to anoint the body of her friend and teacher, to show honor and love the only way she knew how.

And that’s the thing about love—it shows up. Even when the sun hasn’t risen, even when everything feels broken and confused, love moves toward the hurt and the sorrow. 

Easter doesn’t begin with joy, but it does begin with love. 

And it’s in that love, that Jesus appears. No thunder or fireworks, just the soft, quiet of the garden. He speaks her name - Mary - and everything changes. Not because the pain disappears, but because the love Mary knew in him is again present for her.  Love is present, right there, in the middle of the grief and pain.

Resurrection means that Love doesn’t let death or suffering have the final word.

This is the heart of Easter. It’s not just for the triumphant, but for the searching. For those walking toward the tomb. Those whose hearts are still broken, the ones still wiping away tears. Resurrection isn’t just about life after death. It’s about life right now. It’s the courage to believe that love is stronger than fear, and stronger than despair. The courage to believe that even when everything seems lost, something new is always being born: Hope.

It’s not the kind of hope that pretends everything’s fine when it’s not. Not the kind that ignores the difficulties. But the kind of hope that believes, even in the deepest struggles, something new is coming. Joy WILL come. But Hope is what lets us hang on.

And this hope isn’t just for some—it’s for everyone.

• For those pushed to the margins, the ones told they don’t belong

• For queer teens who’ve been told love is conditional.

• For refugees still searching for a safe place.

• For Black and brown communities still crying out for justice.

• For anyone who’s been told they’re too much or not enough.

• For anyone waiting for the world to change.

Easter is about joy but it’s not just for those already feeling the joy. It’s also for those still walking through these dark places, still feeling the weight of grief, still searching for meaning. The truth is our hearts often ache for a world that can seem broken beyond repair. It would be surprising if you weren’t sometimes feeling the weight of grief, and searching for meaning.

But Resurrection isn’t just a one-time event; it’s the power of love still at work, still breathing life into the places we thought were beyond repair. The same resurrection that gave hope to Mary Magdalene in the garden is alive today.  In every broken system, in every act of hatred, in every moment of despair, love is still rising. It is still moving, still transforming, still bringing life from the places we thought were lost.

Resurrection shows up when a stranger offers kindness in a cruel world. When communities rebuild after disaster. When someone dares to forgive, or to speak truth to power, or keep going even after everything’s gone wrong.

Resurrection shows up when a teacher refuses to give up on a kid. When people take to the streets, refusing to accept injustice. It lives in every small act of mercy, in every stubborn refusal to let hate win.

Resurrection happens when people show up at the border with food and blankets, instead of fear. When survivors speak their truth, and are believed. When someone in recovery wakes up in the morning and says, "One day at a time." 

It happens in crowded shelters and the nursing stations of hospitals in the middle of the night - the quiet work of love, the steady presence of care. In courtrooms and classrooms and prison cells. Wherever dignity is defended and life is honored, resurrection is at work. Whenever we encounter deep pain and still hold tightly to the idea that love has the final word.

Every time someone believes that a better world is possible, and lives like it’s true, even if they can’t yet see it. 

Resurrection is not some shiny, untouchable miracle—it is gritty and real. It’s hope that keeps rising, again and again, no matter how many times it’s been buried. It’s the insistence that even here - even now - God is not finished. It’s love refusing to die. 

A friend sent me a photo this week of sidewalk chalk she saw out on a walk in her neighborhood. It said, “It WILL be Good Again”. That is Resurrection. It’s right there in your neighborhood. Whoever wrote that sidewalk message was practicing Resurrection. My friend sending me that text was practicing Resurrection.

So when we say Christ is risen, we’re not just reciting a line. We’re declaring a defiant kind of hope. A hope that looks at a hurting world and still dares to say: Life is possible here. Healing is possible here. Justice is possible here. Love is not done. God is not done.

If you are already feeling the joy this morning, then Alleluia! Ring your bells! But if you are still walking toward the tomb, early in the morning, do not fear. Bring your tears, your questions, your righteous anger. Bring your dreams of a better world. Bring your disappointments and your longing for justice. Bring your fear, your messy, beautiful, broken self to the garden and Love will meet you there.

Easter starts in the dark, but it doesn’t stay there. Because Love doesn’t stay buried. It rises from the ashes. It pushes through the darkness. It moves toward life. Just hold onto Hope until you hear your name called. 

Love is alive. Hope is real. And nothing—not doubt, not death, not despair—can stop it. 

The stone is rolled away.

The tomb is empty. 

Your name is on the lips of Love. 

The story is just beginning. 

Alleluia!