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| God's self-emptying love is on full display in the empty tomb when we realize that nothing—not sin, not suffering, not even death—nothing can separate us from God. |
At The Liturgy of the Word
Genesis 1:1-2:4a [The Story of Creation]
Exodus 14:10-31; 15:20-21 [Israel's deliverance at the Red Sea]
Isaiah 55:1-11 [Salvation offered freely to all]
At The Eucharist
©2026 The Rev. Seth Olson
This sermon was not preached at the Easter Vigil at the Episcopal Church of the Holy Apostles in Hoover, AL because I left my manuscript in my office. A video of another message that I did preach may be found by clicking HERE.
Holy God, may my words be your words and when my words are not your
words, may your people be wise enough to know the same. Amen.
We began tonight in the dark.
Not as a gimmick.
Not as a dramatic flourish.
But because the darkness tells the truth.
Because there are places in our lives—and in this world—that feel like tombs.
Places where hope feels buried.
Where meaning feels unclear.
Where God feels absent.
Tonight, after starting the first fire of Easter—thank you, Pierce for your help—we lit the LIGHT OF CHRIST
And into that darkness, the flame proceeded.
A single candle at first.
Not enough to light everything all at once.
But enough to wander to our places.
And then we listened.
To story after story after story.
Creation.
Exodus.
Prophecy.
And if we’re honest, part of us might wonder:
“What do these ancient stories have to do with me?”
Because we know what science says about creation.
We know history is complicated.
We know the world doesn’t always look like Isaiah’s vision.
And yet…
if we stay long enough…
if we sit in the darkness instead of rushing past it…
something begins to happen.
We begin to see.
That God has never been absent.
Not in creation.
Not in chaos.
Not in exile.
Not in suffering.
God has always been on the move.
Always creating.
Always liberating.
Always loving.
And most clearly—yes—in Jesus.
But not only there.
Because tonight reveals something deeper:
God’s love is not limited to one moment in history.
It is woven through all of it.
And that means God’s love is woven into our lives, too.
Even the parts we don’t understand.
For if God is the Great Mystery and we are made in God’s image…
We too are made of mystery, so we’re always learning more about who we are and whose we are.
God’s love is woven into the parts that feel broken.
For God in Christ Jesus did not come to earth in search of the 99, but the 1 lost one…
We know that the liberating salvation Christ brings means that He enters our messiness not to sterilize it, but to call new life into being.
Even in the parts of us that feel like tombs, God’s love comes.
For the Spirit of God continually breathes new life—not as the world sees it—but as God sees resurrected life…
We discover that the whole shape of our lives is life, death, and resurrection—order, disorder, and reorientation.
And then—after all the stories—comes not only the Gospel meaning Good News, but the Bestspel meaning Best News!
The stone is rolled away.
The tomb is empty.
Christ is risen.
Alleluia.
And while this truly is the best news, I want you to notice this:
The resurrection is not magic.
It is mystery.
It is not a trick.
It is transformation.
It does not erase what came before.
It reveals that nothing—not sin, not suffering, not even death—
has the final word.
Because this is what love looks like.
Love that creates.
Love that liberates.
Love that suffers.
Love that endures.
Love that rises.
And now…
that love is not just something we observe.
It is something we are invited into.
To become.
To embody.
To live.
So that our lives—
in all their imperfection and all their beauty—
become signs of resurrection.
Places where eternal light breaks in.
Places where earth-shaking hope returns.
Places where self-emptying love refuses to die.
Alleluia.
Christ is risen.
And we are being raised with him.
Amen.
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