"The Good News Is...Alive in the World" (April 5, 2026 Sermon)

Preaching: Rev. Dr. Stephen M. Fearing

Text: Matthew 28:1-10

Easter starts at a tomb, but it doesn’t stay there. We open with prayer and Matthew’s resurrection story, then sit with a line from Mary Oliver that changes the frame: Easter is not a day for answers, it is a day for astonishment. That single shift gives us permission to stop pretending we’re fine and to bring our whole selves, including fear, grief, and questions, into the light of resurrection hope.

We linger with the women who come to mourn and leave as witnesses. The angel’s commands are simple and urgent: do not be afraid, come and see, go quickly and tell. We talk about why “do not be afraid” doesn’t mean nothing scary has happened. It means fear is not the truest thing anymore. Death is real. Grief is real. Empire is real. But none of them are ultimate, and the risen Christ is already ahead of us.

From there, the story moves to Galilee, the ordinary place where life is messy and holy at the same time. Resurrection doesn’t offer an escape from the world; it sends us back into it, equipped to practice hope where love is needed most. We also connect this to the themes of our Tell Me Something Good series, learning to notice good news in unexpected places.

Finally, we share a personal story of loss and a quiet act of compassion: a hotel housekeeper who leaves a letter and a small gift basket for grieving children. It’s a reminder that the gospel sometimes arrives with an earthquake, and sometimes with tenderness that says you are not alone. If you’re looking for an Easter sermon about resurrection, Christian faith, grief, and hope that feels honest and lived, press play. Subscribe, share this with someone who needs it, and leave a review telling us where you’ve seen good news lately.

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Transcript

Prayer For Illumination

SPEAKER_00 0:00

Please join your hearts with mine in our prayer for illumination. Holy One, all over the world, people are gathering to hear the same story. All over the world, people are gathering to hear how death lost its sting. All over the world, people are gathering together, praying for a glimpse of you. So like our neighbors all over the world, we pray, be here, speak to us today, soften the callous parts of our hearts until we can sense your Holy Spirit in our midst once more. With eagerness and hope, we run to the tomb. We sing Alleluia. We bow our heads. We listen for you. Amen. Our scripture lesson today comes from Matthew's gospel, the twenty eighth chapter, verses one through ten. Listen for God's word as it comes to you now this Easter morning. After the Sabbath, as the first day of the week was dawning, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to see the tomb. And suddenly there was a great earthquake, for an angel of the Lord, descending from heaven, came and rolled back the stone and sat on it. His appearance was like lightning and his clothing white as snow. For fear of him, the guards shook and became like dead men. But the angel said to the women, Do not be afraid, for I know that you are looking for Jesus, who was crucified. He is not here, for he has been raised, as he said. Then go quickly and tell his disciples, he has been raised from the dead, and indeed he is going ahead of you to Galilee. There you will see him. This is my message for you. So they left the tomb quickly, with fear and great joy, and ran to tell his disciples. Suddenly, Jesus met them and said, Greetings. And they came to him, took hold of his feet, and worshipped him. Then Jesus said to them, Do not be afraid. Go and tell my brothers and sisters to go to Galilee. There they will see me. Holy wisdom, holy word. Thanks be to God.

Mary Oliver And Holy Mystery

Fear, Joy, And The Angel’s Call

Where Good News Breaks Out

Grief, Family, And A Stranger’s Kindness

Risen Hope And The Final Blessing

SPEAKER_01 2:54

Friends, let us pray. O Lord, may the words of my mouth and the meditations of all of our hearts be acceptable and pleasing in your sight, O Lord, our rock and our Redeemer. Amen. Neighbors, hear these words from the poet Mary Oliver. Truly, we live with mysteries too marvelous to be understood. How grass can be nourishing in the mouths of lambs. How rivers and stones are forever in allegiance with gravity while we ourselves dream of rising. How two hands touch and the bonds will never be broken. How people come from delight or the scars of damage to the comfort of a poem. Let me keep my distance always from those who think they have the answers. Let me keep company always with those who say, look, and laugh with astonishment and bow their heads. Easter is not a day for answers. It is a day for astonishment. It is a day to say, look, he is not here. It is a day to listen to an angel perched almost casually upon a stone that until recently seemed to seal off any hope of newness. The women came that Easter morning to keep watch, to love, to mourn, to stay near. In their minds, perhaps, death had answered the question of power once and for all. And they came expecting to keep company with their grief. But instead, they are met by a heavenly messenger whose very presence strikes fear into the hearts of the Roman guards who shake, and Matthew says, become like dead men. And while the guards lie sprawled on the ground, the women stand, trembling, trying to find their footing on resurrection ground. The guards have resigned themselves to death, while the women, startled, remain open to life. The guards are immobilized by fear. The women are afraid too, but fear does not keep them from hearing, from moving, and bearing witness. Easter does not wait for them to become fearless. It meets them in their trembling and sends them on their way. And so the women listen. The angel gives them their marching orders. Do not be afraid. Come and see. Go quickly and tell. Do not be afraid. Because Easter addresses frightened people, not fearless ones. Do not be afraid does not mean nothing scary has happened. It means what scares you is not the truest thing anymore. Death is real. Grief is real. Empire is real, but none of them are ultimate. Come and see. Look, Mary Oliver said, and laugh with astonishment and bow your head. Come and see, the messenger says, and look where he lay. All lent long we've been trying not to look away from suffering, betrayal, injustice, vulnerability, and yes, even death itself. And now Easter says, come and see, look honestly, and then look again. Because what we had seen is not the end of the story. Go quickly, because resurrection does not leave us standing still. The good news is too alive to remain at the tomb. It sends us back into the world, back into the places where fear still lingers, where grief still aches, where love is needed, where hope still must be practiced. Tell, because this good news cannot be kept to ourselves. The women came as mourners, but Easter makes them witnesses. To tell is not to solve the mystery, it is to say with astonishment, look, he is not here. Christ is alive and already ahead of us. The tomb is not where the story ends. Galilee is where resurrection starts traveling back into the ordinary places where we live and work and grieve and love and learn to follow Jesus all over again. And that matters because Galilee is where so much of this started. Galilee is where water turned into wine. Galilee is where ordinary lives were touched with abundance. Galilee is where the disciples first began to see who Jesus truly was. And now on Easter morning, the risen Christ is already ahead of them there. Resurrection sends them not away from the world, but back into it, back to the very places where good news first took shape and where it must be lived now. And y'all, that's what Easter does. It does not offer us an escape from the world, it sends us back out into it. Because death and violence and despair don't get the last word. And you and I get to go back out into the world, equipped as disciples, equipped by the training ground of this Lenten journey that we've been on. Today we conclude our Tell Me Something Good sermon series, where we have followed Mary Oliver's advice to look and laugh in astonishment at the places in the world where good news comes in unexpected ways. This Lint, we have seen the good news breaking out in a lot of different ways. At the table where everyone is invited and no one, no one is beyond the reach of grace. At a wedding in Cana, where joy overflowed and scarcity did not get the last word. In the tearful hospitality of a woman whose love flowed from her hair and her hands. In a hungry crowd, where Christ taught us that there is enough when a community puts what it has into God's hands. In the face of children and all the vulnerable whom Jesus reminds us are closest to the heart of the kingdom. In the expanding mercy of a Savior who invites us to lay down our stones. In the humble procession last week of Palm Sunday, where power arrived not through domination, but with borrowed cloaks and leafy branches and cries of Hosanna. And even at the basin on Monday, Thursday, where Jesus knelt to wash feet, even Judas's feet, and showed us that love is demonstrated not by what it says, but by what it does. And maybe that is what this whole Linton journey has been trying to teach us how to look for good news not only in Scripture, but in the ordinary, fragile, and holy moments of our own lives. And your pastor saw a glimpse of that good news this week. Many of you know that my wife, Trisha's grandmother, Myra, died last week at the age of 90. She had fallen recently, and Trisha's parents called us after we got home from worship last Sunday to let us know that she was dying and had entered hospice care. So with heavy hearts, we threw the girls in the car and drove the three and a half hours up to Richmond to say our goodbyes. Myra, or Gaga, as she was known to her family, or more specifically, Lady Gaga, as I lovingly called her, she died peacefully, surrounded by her loved ones. It was our two young girls' first experience with death, and somehow even in our grief, that moment felt sacred. Winnie held Gaga's hand, and we all told her how much we loved her. And I thanked her for all the many times she told me how proud she was of me. And after we said our goodbyes, Myra Dawn Garrett, child of the covenant, took her final breath, and we took the girls home to our hotel. As we checked into our room, one of the hotel's housekeepers noticed that the girls looked very sad. And Trisha explains the reason for our trip. The housekeeper then asked if she could give the girls a hug, and she embraced each of us. After a few hours of sleep, we woke the next morning, headed to Gaga's apartment to grieve as a family and to begin going through her things. It was a long day. Grief is exhausting. And when we returned back to the hotel that evening, we entered our hotel room to put the girls to sleep, and we found this letter waiting for us in our room. And it said this Dear Hazel Grace and Winnie, I know your hearts are heavy right now. It's hard not to wonder why your grandmother had to go. There may be days when you feel sad and miss her smile more than anything, but just remember, today you gained an angel. On the days that feel the hardest, hold on to all the joy and laughter you shared with her. Those memories don't go anywhere. They stay with you always. She'll always have a place in your hearts, and her love doesn't stop here. She loved you both so much more than words can say, and that love carries on now and beyond. And one day you will see her again. Keeping you all in my thoughts during this time, your housekeeper, Nora B. And next to that letter, as you can see there, was a gift basket of snacks for the girls and for us. In that moment, in the middle of our grief, I thought to myself, this is what it looks like when the good news is alive in the world. Sometimes that good news arrives with the shock of an earthquake, but other times it comes with the tenderness of a kind note from a complete stranger, accompanied by a sacrament of granola bars, apples, and blueberry muffins. Sometimes water turns into wine. Other times grief becomes a bond between complete strangers. Sometimes five loaves and two fish feed five thousand. And other times a small gift basket changes everything. So truly, friends, we live with mysteries too marvelous to be understood. And so, with Mary Oliver and Mary Magdalene and the other Mary, and with all those who have caught a glimpse of grace in the middle of grief, let us keep company with those who say, Look, and laugh in astonishment, and bow their heads. For Christ is risen. He is alive in the world. So look. In the name of God, the creator, redeemer, and sustainer, may all of us, God's beloved children, say Amen.