Alive To Rise

Where in life do you need God's help to rise again? 

Haggai 1:15b-2:9
Psalm 145:1-5, 18-22
 2 Thessalonians 2:1-5, 13-17
Luke 20:27-38

 

© 2025 The Rev. Seth Olson

 

This sermon was preached on the 22nd Sunday after Pentecost (November 9, 2025) at the Episcopal Church of the Holy Apostles in Hoover, AL. A video of the sermon may be found here. 

Holy God, let my words be your words, and when they are not your words, let your people be wise enough to know the same. Amen.

 

“He is not God of the dead, but of the living; for to him all of them are alive.”

 

There are moments in scripture where someone asks Jesus a question that sounds religious but really isn’t. The inquiry that kicks off today’s Gospel is one of those moments.

 

A group of Sadducees—religious leaders known for their wealth, influence, and skepticism—approach Jesus with a story they’ve carefully crafted to make resurrection seem as ridiculous as possible. My friend, the Rev. Charles Youngson, likes to say, “The Sadducees were ‘Sad, you see’ because they didn’t believe in the Resurrection.” They didn’t believe in it because they were the biblical literalists of their day, accepting only the first five books of Moses as authoritative. And, those books don’t explicitly mention resurrection, so they reasoned it couldn’t possibly be true.

 

And if you’ve ever read this exchange, you know—it’s kind of absurd. They present Jesus with this long hypothetical: “A woman marries one brother, he dies. Then she marries the next one, he dies. Then the next, and the next, until she’s married seven brothers. In the resurrection, whose wife will she be?”

 

It’s not a question of faith; it’s a trap. (And yes, Star Wars fans, I can’t read this passage without hearing Admiral Ackbar shout, “It’s a trap!”) The Sadducees’ question is less theology and more theater. They’re performing their cleverness, hoping to make Jesus look foolish. Thank goodness, we never do that to one another (he says with sarcasm dripping from his words).

 

But Jesus doesn’t take the bait, y’all. He doesn’t argue the logic or try to outwit them. Instead, he reframes the entire conversation. He refuses to play by their categories of ownership, possession, or legal status. He says, in effect, You’re missing the point.

The resurrection isn’t about whose wife someone is—it’s about whose life we all belong to. “Those who belong to this age marry and are given in marriage,” Jesus says, “but those who are considered worthy of that age and the resurrection… cannot die anymore, because they are like angels and are children of God.”

 

And then he quotes the very scripture the Sadducees claim to honor: Exodus 3:6. God says to Moses, “I am the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob.” Notice the verb tense here—am, not was. God is—present tense—the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. Which means that even though they died long ago, they still live in God.

 

And then Jesus delivers one of the most remarkable lines in all of Holy Scripture: “He is not God of the dead, but of the living; for to him all of them are alive.”

 

Friends, that is resurrection. It’s not about biology—it’s about belonging. It’s not about life after death—it’s about life beyond fear. Resurrection means that life in God is never over, never lost, never gone. To God, all are alive.

 

That’s good news for those who grieve—but it’s also good news for those who live. Because if resurrection is real, then it’s not something we simply wait for—it’s something we participate in now. And on this Consecration Sunday, that’s exactly what we are doing: participating in the living work of God. 

 

This morning, we’ll ask God’s blessing upon our 2026 pledge commitments—our Tell Out My Soul campaign. These estimates of giving aren’t just about maintaining the institution or paying the bills; they’re acts of resurrection faith.

 

The Greek word for resurrection literally translates “to stand up again. Resurrection is standing up again. After grief. After exhaustion. After doubt. After years when hope feels too costly or faith feels too fragile.

 

Every pledge, every act of generosity, every prayer for the future of this church—each is a form of rising again. A standing up again in faith. We stand up again as people of the living God, declaring that this community is vibrant. That Christ’s ministry with us is growing. That the Spirit still moves through us to bring healing, justice, compassion, and joy into a world that often feels like it’s dying of cynicism, apathy, and despair.

 

I think about this sanctuary—this holy space filled each week with the living presence of God and the living faith of God’s people. When a child splashes at the baptismal font or a choir anthem rises to the rafters, when bread is broken and wine is poured, when hands are held and prayers are whispered—these are not signs of a church that once was. No, you are the living, breathing Body of Christ here and now.

 

And our giving—our stewardship—is not a transaction. It’s an act of resurrection. It says, We believe in life. We believe in love that outlasts death. We believe in the God of the living.

 

The Sadducees’ mistake was assuming that death has the last word. Jesus’ answer tells us that the last word belongs to God—and God’s word is life. That truth is not abstract. It’s not only about heaven someday. It’s as close and as tangible as this moment—where we, the living, gather to commit ourselves again to the life of God in this place.

 

So let me offer you a question—not a trick one, but a real one: Where in your life do you need to “stand up again”? Where have fear, regret, or weariness kept you sitting down, holding back, staying small? Where do you need God’s resurrecting power to lift you up once more?

 

Because the God of the living invites us to rise—to trust that we are not done, that the story of Holy Apostles is not finished, that the story of your soul is not done. When we rise in generosity, in faith, in love, we proclaim resurrection in the here and now.

 

Years ago at my first parish, a parishioner on a fixed income confided in me, “I’m not sure my pledge will make much difference.” My response was, “You have no idea how much it will.” Because the miracle of resurrection is that even the smallest seed of faith can grow into something beautiful—much like the mustard seed Jesus spoke of earlier in Luke.

Even the smallest act of generosity can change a life. Even the faintest prayer of hope can ripple through this community and raise someone else up. That’s what the Church is meant to be: a gathering of people who stand up again and again, trusting that God’s life flows through us, through our giving, through our love.

 

So today, as we offer our 2026 pledges, as we tell out our souls, we do so not as people trying to prove something to God, but as people already held in the life of God. We give because we are alive. We serve because God’s Spirit breathes in us. We hope because resurrection is real.

 

The same God who raised Jesus from the dead raises us still—raises our courage, our compassion, our commitment—to build up the ministry of Christ Jesus in this place. We are, all of us, standing up again. And when we do, the world catches a glimpse of what resurrection looks like: not only life after death, but life before death. Not only heaven to come, but heaven breaking in—right here, right now.

 

“He is not God of the dead, but of the living; for to him all of them are alive.”

That means Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob are alive.
That means Mary and Elizabeth are alive.
That means the Holy Apostles and all beloveds who have gone before us—their love, their faith, their generosity—are alive.
And that means you and I are alive too.

Alive to give.
Alive to love.
Alive to rise...

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.

Amen.

 

Still Wounded, Still Risen

 

The strangeness of Easter Evening gives me hope that even with all our scars God is still resurrecting us.

Acts 5:27-32

Psalm 118:14-29

Revelation 1:4-8

John 20:19-31

 

©2025 The Rev. Seth Olson

This sermon was preached on the Second Sunday of Easter at the Episcopal Church of the Holy Apostles, Hoover, AL. A video of the message may be found 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. 

 

In today’s Gospel lesson, it’s the evening of the very first Easter day, and the disciples are hiding behind locked doors. They’ve heard the rumors from Mary. Some have seen the empty tomb. But they’re not shouting alleluias or organizing a celebratory, Paschal potluck just yet.

 

They are afraid. The world remains dangerous. Jesus may be risen, but Rome is still in charge. The pain is fresh. The wounds of crucifixion aren’t just his—they are theirs as well.

 

And then, Jesus shows up. He doesn’t knock. He doesn’t scold. He doesn’t wait for them to muster up more faith or get it together.

 

He just… comes. Through locked doors. Through fear. Through confusion. And what does he say? 

 

“Peace be with you.” We love to exchange the peace of Christ at Holy Apostles—it’s long, luxurious, and extensive enough to greet lots of neighbors, but this peace of Christ from today’s Gospel account is on another level of magnitude. 

 

Soon after sharing peace, Jesus does something even stranger. And, if we weren’t so used to hearing this story, every year on the Second Sunday of Easter, this detail would startle us: Jesus shows them his hands and his side. He doesn’t hide the wounds. He doesn’t erase the evidence. He leads with his scars.

 

It’s the wounded Jesus who brings peace. It’s the scarred Savior who breathes new life. And I wonder—if this is what resurrection looks like for Jesus, might it look this way for us too?

 

Because here’s the truth we often miss in our pastel-hued, chocolate-covered, alleluia-infused Easter celebrations: Resurrection doesn’t mean pretending the pain never happened. It simply means that the pain does NOT get the final word.

 

We get another glimpse of this in our reading from Revelation, where from the Island of Patmos, John writes to seven struggling churches. You may recall, John is not writing from a mountaintop retreat, he’s having an often-misinterpreted heavenly vision while being banished for his beliefs. He’s writing in exile, as he endures isolation on this isle, all because he believed in Christ. And yet, from these mystical margins, he gives us this breathtaking proclamation from God:

 

“I am the Alpha and the Omega… who is and who was and who is to come.”

 

In other words:
God was not just in the beginning.
God is not just waiting until the end.
God is right here in the middle with us.

 

Right here in the mess. In the wounds. In the doubts. In the uncertain future.

 

Right here in the lives of people like Thomas, who need to touch the pain in order to believe the promise.

 

Right here in communities like ours, who are trying to figure out what it means to be resurrection people in a Good Friday world. Which may lead us to wonder, where does faith meet practice? Because being a resurrection person doesn’t mean pretending everything’s fine or turning away from grief, fear, or burnout. 

 

In the world of behavioral health, there’s a concept called post-traumatic growth. It’s the idea that while trauma can shake us, it also can open us. That we don’t just bounce back—we bounce forward. With deeper empathy. With clearer priorities. With renewed purpose.

 

Now, this doesn’t happen instantly, and it is in no way guaranteed. But when people reflect, stay connected in community, and let themselves be transformed—not by the trauma itself, but by their response to it—growth becomes possible. As strange as it sounds, our woundings have the power to bless us with new gifts, skills, and perspectives. 

 

Sounds a lot like Easter, doesn’t it?

 

Jesus didn’t rise with a brand-new body. He rose with wounds still visible. And yet, something in him—and in those around him—had changed. We, too, are invited to be people of growth. Not by avoiding our pain, but by abiding in the One who still shows up in the middle of it.

 

The question for us, my beloved, Holy Apostles, is: where do we go from here? Or perhaps, where do we grow from here?

 

Easter is not a one-day celebration. It’s a 50 day season—and more than that, it’s a way of life.

 

But it’s a strange way of life. Because it asks us to trust a God who still bears wounds. The Resurrection invites us to grow—even when we’re afraid. It calls us to serve—even when we feel unqualified. It beckons us to believe—not in certainty, but in God’s presence, for the One who was and is to come… is with us now.

 

So maybe our job this Easter season isn’t to have the answers. Maybe our job is to breathe deeply of the Spirit Jesus gives us. To be honest about our wounds and the wounds of the world. To show up behind locked doors and whisper peace. To walk with each other into a future we can’t see but believe is held by God.

 

Because, friends, Christ is still wounded… but he is also still risen. And so are we.

Amen.

 

 

FOMO Thomas

 

FOMO is nothing new, as evidenced by our yearly reading of Thomas' missing the Risen Christ.

Acts 5:27-32

Psalm 150

Revelation 1:4-8

John 20:19-31

The Rev. Seth Olson © 2022

 

Holy God, let my words be your words and when my words are not your words, let your people be wise enough to know the same. Amen.

FOMO—have you heard of this? Fear Of Missing Out

Maybe you are rolling your eyes at such a funny sounding ailment, but it is a real thing. This pervasive anxiety particularly haunts those younger generations living among us. A rock concert sounds awesome, but what if an even more awesome comedian comes to town the same night? Sure, dinner with a friend is cool, but what if another friend is throwing an even cooler party at the same time? Going to church on the Second Sunday of Easter is great, but what about brunch?

All joking aside, fear can be so crippling that it paralyzes our decision-making abilities. If you think taking a walk down the cereal aisle causes mild paralysis by analysis, a younger generation raised on technology feels this whenever they are seemingly disconnected. If we polled all our Millennials and generation Z members about their feelings when they are away from their phones or tablets, I imagine they would name fear as one of the primary emotions and particularly a fear of missing out without these connecting devices. FOMO is real, and it is not anything new.

In today’s Gospel, Thomas had FOMO, but he came by it honestly! Thomas missed the Resurrected Jesus. He had a legitimate case of FOMO. If everyone here but you met Dolly Parton, wouldn’t you be upset? Now imagine it’s not Dolly Parton, but instead the Resurrected Christ! Would you not also have FOMO? And, in this sadness of missing such a profound encounter, would you not ask for proof of what your friends were telling you?

Now Thomas had a track record of asking probing questions. On the night before Jesus died, the teacher assured his disciples that they knew the way to the Father’s house. Thomas wondered what everyone else was thinking, “How can we know the way?” Jesus responded with a beautiful, enigmatic challenge: “I am the way, the truth, and the life.” Jesus’ words hearken back to when God, from the burning bush, said to Moses, “I AM who I AM.” Meaning: God is presence itself. God who was with us, is with us, will always “be” with us. Jesus subtly dropped this into his response to Thomas’ question, I am the way, the truth, and the life.

In this exchange it was not that Thomas was doubting Jesus, he was curious, like the rest of the disciples, but he was courageous (or foolish) enough to verbalize what they could not. The same thing happened in today’s Gospel story. Thomas voiced something important, not for those disciples, but for all of us who did not see the Risen Lord on that Easter evening. He was wondering something we wonder in our own day, “Is this fake news? Is it real? Can I trust this?”

“Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe,” Thomas exclaimed upon missing Jesus. Thomas was not going to give himself over to the idle tales he was hearing. He wanted to experience this for himself. We may think of this as doubting, but it was more than that.

Thomas appeared unable to give himself fully over to what the others had felt in this Sunday evening communion with the Risen Christ. Unlike the other disciples, Thomas had been by himself during this Resurrection encounter. As Brad reminded us on Easter Day, the Resurrection is something we experience not in isolation, but in communion with one another. So, Thomas spent an entire week in community with the others, and remarkably Jesus showed up.

A week later, that is on another Sunday, another First Day of the Week, another Resurrection Day, Jesus returned. This time the disciples were not locked in fear, even if the doors were shut. Jesus showed himself to all the disciples, and to Thomas in particular. Thomas’ response to seeing the Risen Lord demands our attention.

Thomas had yearned to put his hand in Jesus’ wounds, to touch the marks of these scars, but as soon as he witnessed the Risen Lord that was more than enough. This curious disciple identified who Jesus was, “My Lord and my God.” Since we hear this passage every year and since you faithful ones have showed up on the Second Sunday of Easter (kudos) you may have heard this passage so often that it has lost its provocative impact. Thomas’ words serve as the climax of the entire Good News of Jesus Christ.

If we rewind back to the beginning of John, we will remember that this account begins with a cosmic hymn about who Jesus was. The word who was with God, the word who was God, the word through whom all things came into being. This word that the world did not accept, did not know, did not behold. This one who was the light of the world that came into the world, but was not accepted by the world. These huge claims about who Jesus was were made at the very beginning of the Gospel, they unfold throughout John’s telling, and here at the end of the story they point towards the great hope of this Good News. What is that hope? That someone who was curious about this Jesus person would express the truth of who he was, who he is!

Thomas exclaimed this truth and not because he put his hands in Jesus’ side, but because he beheld the Risen Christ in community. He never got his hand into the side of Jesus, nor did he touch Jesus’ wounds. Instead, Thomas recognized the truth. Jesus is “my Lord and my God.” Thomas was the one who articulated the hope of the entire Gospel account in this simple, provocative, and powerful phrase. To this day, some people even remind themselves of this paramount truth as they receive communion—taking hold of the body of Christ while saying, “My Lord and my God.”

The realization that Thomas had though was not simply for himself. Thomas after all is not this disciple’s real name. His true name was Judas, and no not that Judas. Like how Jesus gave Simon the nickname of Peter, he also gave this Judas the nickname of Thomas. Peter, as you may know means Rock. What does Thomas mean?

Thomas is a nickname, which means the Twin. Some scholars wonder if Thomas was literally a twin and perhaps, he got this nickname as a result. Others wonder if because Judas Iscariot and he shared the same name, maybe Jesus gave this Judas the name Twin to distinguish between the two. There is a more mystic understanding though.

I wonder if Thomas’ twin might not be someone inside the Gospel account, but instead someone outside of it. Someone who is looking into the Good News of Christ Jesus, even someone who is hearing these words two thousand years later, in a completely different language, and halfway across the globe. I wonder if you might be Thomas’ twin. I wonder what you share in common with this disciple.

Thomas was fearful of missing out.

Thomas wanted to see the evidence before he believed.

Thomas was curious.

Does this sound familiar? Does this sound like you?

Thomas’ understanding that Jesus was Lord and God served as the climax of the whole Gospel—and you having this insight yourself is the whole point of this story. "These are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name."

You are—we are the other half of this twinship. Whether you are being baptized this morning, like Rowan or you are being welcomed as a new member, like so many wonderful folks during our New Member Recognition; whether you are brand new to All Saints or you have been here your whole life—all of us are part of this story. 

We yearn to be witnesses of Resurrection in our lives. When we are not part of this community of the Risen Lord we may have FOMO, but for good reason. Thomas doubted in fearful isolation, but he believed in beloved community. He is an inquisitive example for us—we who yearn to take hold of the Risen Christ not in our hands, but in our hearts. Our reception of Jesus as Lord and God is the climax of the good news. May we behold Jesus in beloved community, just like Thomas did. Amen.

Expect Resurrection

You are made of bones, sinews, flesh, skin, and... 

Homily audio can be found here. This homily is based on Genesis 1:1-2:4a; Genesis 22:1-18; Exodus 14:10-31; 15:20-21; Ezekiel 37:1-14; Romans 6:3-11 ; Matthew 28:1-10

We have made our way through Holy Week. We have walked the streets of Jerusalem waving palms. We have had our feet washed by Jesus and washed one another’s feet. We have witnessed the betrayal, denial, and sentencing of Jesus. We have journeyed to the Cross to behold the pain of Jesus and the glory of God’s self-sacrificing love. Now after a day of rest we are at the tomb.

“Suddenly there was a noise, a rattling, and the bones came together, bone to its bone. I looked, and there were sinews on them, and flesh had come upon them, and skin had covered them; but there was no breath in them” (Ezekiel 37:7-8).

You are made of bones and sinews and flesh and skin. You are also made of atoms, a lot of atoms! Rob Bell, who is a Christian thinker and author, said on a recent podcast that we are made up of 7 billion, billion, billion atoms. Some of the atoms in our bodies date back over a billion years. That is right, you are made of atoms that previously constituted something else. The heavier atoms actually come from star dust. So you are made of bones, sinews, flesh, skin, atoms, and stars!

What is more parts of you are constantly dying away. Every week you regenerate new skin cells. More amazingly every seven years or so your entire body will be reconstituted by new cells. Hundreds of millions of cells die within you and hundreds of millions more come to life. You are ever dying and you are ever coming to life. You are not just made of bones and sinews and flesh and skin and atoms and stardust. You are made of death and rebirth! The you that you are today is not the you that you once were, nor is it the you that you will become. You are made of death and rebirth. You are death and resurrection.

If this is who you are, which I believe is the case for all of us, spotting death and resurrection would seem an easy task, but somehow we miss it or part of it. We easily observe death, just turn on CNN, open your paper, or check out a news website. Death drives sales! Yet, all this death tends to dry us out. We end up like the bones from Ezekiel’s valley. We are breathless. So what do we do? How can we mere mortals catch God’s breath? We can’t. Not because we are unworthy or bad or wrong, but because God’s Spirit already resides within us. Yet, if this breath is in us how can we get so lifeless? We need Resurrection.

A long time ago there were two women. Although they did not appear in the foreground of Matthew’s account of the Good News about Jesus of Nazareth until the very end, they had been with him since the beginning at Galilee. They have provided for him Matthew tells us. This is an interesting word for it is not used all that often except to describe angels, Peter’s mother-in-law, and Jesus himself. They provided Jesus with comfort, food, and fellowship. They gave life, but how?

Now on the first day of the week after the day when Jesus was crucified and after the Sabbath when Mary and Mary had been starring at the place where Jesus rest, they decided to go see the tomb. These women act strangely at first glance, why would you sit and stare or go to look at a sealed grave? Recall that Jesus foretold of his Resurrection, well these two actually heard it and remembered it. They were not going to look at an enclosed cavern they were coming to see the Resurrection. They were on the hunt for Resurrection. They understood that they were not going out to look at death for they brought no spices to adorn the dead. They went out actually looking for Jesus to be raised from the dead.

To be here at the Easter Vigil I imagine that you are pretty serious or pretty curious. You are either pretty serious about following Jesus or you are pretty curious about what following Jesus actually means. Following Jesus means recognizing the substance of your being comes from death and resurrection. Following Jesus means being like these women who provided for Jesus, except that when we provide for Jesus now that means we provide for everyone who makes up his body now (i.e. the least among us). Following Jesus means that we do not remain dry and breathless in the face of death, but in the face of death we expect God’s resurrecting power.

On this most Holy night remember that you are made of bones, sinews, flesh, skin, atoms, stardust, death, God’s breath, and Resurrection. Know that your call in this new glow of Easter is to be like Mary and Mary. Go out and provide for Jesus wherever you meet Him. And, most importantly expect Resurrection! Expect to find Resurrection wherever you may see death! Be Resurrection, provide for the Resurrected Lord, and expect Resurrection!

In the name of the Resurrected Lord who is Father, Son, and Spirit! Amen.

God's Multiplication

From left to right: Dean Cynthia Kittredge, Clay Towles, Seth Olson (me), James Franklin, Jared Houze, Michael Carriccino, CJ Meaders, and Jeremiah Griffin

Yesterday I had the distinct pleasure of substituting for one of the regulars at our Banks-Caddell Homework Helpers program. If you have not had an opportunity to volunteer in that ministry, I highly recommend it. For most of the hour and a half I worked with four boys who were doing their math homework.

I quickly remembered some aspects of elementary mathematics. My multiplication table easily popped back into my mind (thank you Mrs. Albritton), but I struggled to distinguish between the distributive property and the communicative property. Do not even ask me what chunking is, for I still do not understand that demonic art! Yet what struck me more than my inability to remember mathematics was the spirit of the boys with whom I worked.

They were chipper and happy with just a pinch of rebelliousness. As I worked through their math worksheets with them I could see through some of their mischief, as one child in particular attempted to trick me into doing all of his work for him. After I convinced him that he should do his own work we worked together on a question asking another way of writing 8x5. The answer was clearly 5+5+5+5+5+5+5+5, but when I asked how he would write out 8x5 the boy answered, “50,000! NO! 50 thousand, hundred!” Maybe he was happy to get his homework completed, or perhaps it was working with friends, or even it might have been an adult sitting with him, but this child’s shear positivity overcame both his horrendous math skills and his inability to choose one of the four choices on the page. While I corrected him, I could not help but feel that his positive energy was hinting at a larger truth about God.

Sometimes in our world we can believe that the answer to our problems is one of four multiple choice answers. We might believe that we only have a few possible solutions to our challenges:

A. Make more money
B. Buy more things
C. Go it alone
D. Ignore the problem altogether

Yet, what this child of God reminded me is that God’s ability to multiply our time, talent, and treasure, our gifts, our prayers, and our lives themselves cannot easily be understood. 5x8 might as well be 50 thousand, hundred when God is at work! However, life soon challenged my new understanding of God’s greatness.

When I arrived home last night I discovered that Clay Towles, one of my best friends from seminary, had tragically died. The good feelings from Banks-Caddell melted away and I began struggling with all of the questions swirling around in my mind: Why did this happen? What could I have done to prevent his death? How could the church let one of its leaders suffer all alone? Why did Clay not reach out to others?

I fought hard all night with these questions desperately and irrationally hoping that by answering them Clay would return. He sadly will not. Instead I am left in a numb, heartbroken, and enraged mess. Somewhere buried in the tomb alongside our Savior Jesus Christ rests every bit of my grief, guilt, pain, fear, doubt, shame, anger, and confusion in the face of Clay’s death. Clay too is buried within that tomb.I do not know when or how or where it will happen, but Christ will raise all that is buried with him. One day the tomb, Clay’s tomb, will be empty. One day all those who believe will be resurrected to new life. One day all that we give over to God will be transformed in the mystery of God’s love. This is how God multiplies our lives: the pain of the Cross and death is transformed into the joy of the Resurrection.