Easter Day 2026, Penelope Bridges
Alleluia, Christ is risen! The Lord is risen indeed, Alleluia!
It feels like a long time ago now, but do you remember back at Christmas, when we read the first verses of John’s Gospel, and we heard that the light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it? The events of Holy Week have ended in darkness, and that’s where today’s story begins, in the darkness that descended after Judas left the community disciples to betray Jesus and John wrote, “And it was night.” The story begins in the dark.
In the beginning, there was only darkness, but God created light with a word; light was the foundation of everything else that was created. And now God’s Word, the Word made flesh, returns to the light as the dawn breaks over Jerusalem. Mary comes to the tomb in darkness and, in her grief, cannot see more than the bare fact of the stone rolled away. By the time the male disciples arrive, there is enough light to see into the grave and verify that the body is gone. It’s gone, and apparently they accept that this means it’s all over, because they simply go home. But not Mary. In the third act of this story, Mary, who stays when others have gone, who refuses to accept the simple explanation, eventually sees clearly enough to recognize the risen Christ as her Lord, and she is privileged to proclaim the good news to the other disciples: I have seen the Lord. Alleluia, Christ is risen! Mary, the first Christian, the apostle to the apostles.
Mary Magdalene appears only briefly in John’s Gospel, supporting the mother of Jesus at the foot of the cross and now coming to grieve at the tomb. But without this Mary, there would be no Easter proclamation; just, as without the other Mary, there would be no Word Incarnate. This Mary shares the good news. It is this Mary who evangelizes the heartbroken community of disciples, who dares to say out loud that the impossible has come to pass, that the Word of God made flesh has indeed beaten back the darkness of death in the light of a new day, a new creation.
This is the day the Lord has made: let us rejoice and be glad in it (Psalm 118). Today we celebrate the good news of resurrection and the triumph of love over hate, life over death, light over darkness. But, just as reconciliation doesn’t erase the memory of conflict or abuse, so the resurrection doesn’t wipe away the reality of what happened before Easter. And we are pointed to that truth in the question that we hear twice in this Gospel: woman, why are you weeping?
It’s a question that should haunt us today. Because there is a lot of weeping in our world. Weeping for lives lost in Gaza, Iran, Sudan, Ukraine. Weeping for families and communities broken by toxic political discourse. Weeping for those who have lost their jobs, who have been bankrupted by medical bills, who have become homeless. Weeping for loved ones sent to fight in a war far away. Weeping for all those who live in fear, despair, or pain. Weeping for the American dream of equal opportunity that has been disfigured and twisted by corrupt and ruthless men. Weeping for the consequences of war, trafficking, addiction, greed, and ambition. Why would we not weep?
The story of Easter is full of mystery: resurrection is by definition beyond our understanding. But the risen Lord stands before us today, his wounds clearly visible, proclaiming to us that love wins, even though we are still weeping, even though the struggle continues.
Even through her tears, Mary recognizes Jesus when he calls her by name. This is how the good shepherd cares for his lambs: he knows us; he calls each of us by name, and he calls us now to share in Mary’s task: to go and tell the world that something unprecedented has happened, and (for once) this is a good thing: hope has been reborn in the midst of this war-torn, weary world. Because Jesus lives.
Because Jesus lives, we can gather together around the sacred table and form his body in the world.
Because Jesus lives, we can move confidently through the world, freed from the fear of death.
Because Jesus lives, we can reach out to our neighbors and offer them new life.
Because Jesus lives, we can be a place of refuge for those who are beaten down by life, a center for community, a chosen family for those in need of family.
We come to church for a myriad of reasons. We seek an ethical foundation in a world that has lost its bearings. We seek friendship. We seek truth. We seek something to fill the empty places in our lives. And we can find what we seek here, in this welcoming, loving, caring community that we call St. Paul’s Cathedral.
Jesus Christ is risen today. He has defeated death and the grave for ever. He has forged a path through the suffering of the Cross and the darkness of the tomb to the bright light of redemption and the promise of eternal life. He has shown the way for each of us: to turn, as Mary turned, to follow him, to offer ourselves to a new path, a new way, a way that leads us into light, that unites us with God through the mystical body of Christ as we experience it in the Eucharistic community of the church.
Each time we proclaim the good news, we push back the darkness. Each time we reaffirm the hope of new life for all, we bring the Kingdom of God a step closer. By telling the world this stupendously good news of resurrection, we remind the world and ourselves that the groaning of the created order that we still hear and feel is no less than the cosmic labor of a new world being born. Surely, as the Psalmist sings, this is the Lord’s doing, and it is marvelous in our eyes.
Alleluia, Christ is risen. The Lord is risen indeed, Alleluia.
