Singing in the Dark

 

What can the Exsultet (an ancient hymn that we sing at the Easter Vigil) teach us about the Resurrection?

At The Eucharist

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

Romans 6:3-11 
Psalm 114
Luke 24:1-12

 

©2025 The Rev. Seth Olson

This sermon was preached during the Easter Vigil at the Episcopal Church of the Holy Apostles. A video of the sermon 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. Amen.

Alleluia! Christ is risen! The Lord is risen, indeed! Alleluia! 

 

Friends, there are few things in the Church’s life more haunting—or more hopeful—than the Exsultet. The song, I sang at the beginning of our liturgy.

 

You heard it while still shrouded in shadows, just after the Paschal Candle had found its stand in our darkened church. Everything quietened except the flame and my trembling voice, which sang:

 

“Rejoice now, heavenly hosts and choirs of angels…” and later…
“This is the night.”

 

It’s eerie. And yet—utterly beautiful.

 

The Exsultet remains one of the oldest pieces of liturgical poetry we still sing. Its roots stretch back to the 5th century. Some scholars trace it to St. Ambrose or St. Augustine—others to the dawn of the Western Church itself.

 

It has been sung through plagues and wars, in hushed cathedrals and rowdy prison chapels, accompanied with trembling and with trumpet. And every year as we return to it, we hear again: This is the night.

 

This is the night when death and life collided.
This is the night when God’s mercy broke like a tidal wave upon our sinful shores.
This is the night when light dared to shine in the darkness—and the darkness comprehended it not (to borrow the King James Bible’s language).

 

We gather tonight not because everything is already bright and beautiful, but precisely because it’s not—because… wouldn’t you know it… resurrection begins in the dark. Sure, our forebears, the disciples did not behold it until Easter morn, but it’s here in the darkened soil of the vigil that resurrection starts blooming! However, truth be told, the history of our salvation weaves way back to the foundation of the Universe.

 

It all began—like our readings tonight—with the story of creation—the voice of God shaping order out of chaos, light called forth from deep darkness, and God called everything not very bad, but very good! 

Then, when God’s People were locked in Pharoh’s Land God’s liberating love provided an Exodus out of Egypt. In our Second Vigil lesson we heard the haunting tale of Moses and Miriam and the sea that split just in time.

Next, in Isaiah, God called the weary, including us to: Come, eat, drink. You don’t even need money. Just return to the Lord, who will abundantly pardon.

And yet, even after these inspiring stories of our salvation history—our voices were not yet fully triumphant, were they? Sure, we have been singing throughout the night, but the Easter acclimation didn’t arrive right at the start. Did you notice that? Perhaps, that’s what makes the Exsultet so provocative and powerful. It is a song of joy sung in the dark. A trembling candlelit cry that grace is greater than grief, that mercy outlasts sin, that God has already rolled the stone away, even if we haven’t seen it yet.

 

Some years, the soaring theological phrases of the Exultet may accurately represent our internal, joy-filled reality. Other years, it takes everything to whisper the words in our hearts alongside the cantor. Regardless of how you are feeling though—the song continues.

 

Like back in 2020 when Holy Week services happened entirely via livestream. It was such a disconcerting time, wasn’t it? At All Saints, where I was serving at the time, I remember pre-recording our services. We filmed them out of sequence. When we recorded the Vigil, the Paschal Candle stood solitary in a silent sanctuary while COVID crept outside our doors, forcing us into a strange isolation.

 

Even then: This is the night.

Even then: Christ broke the chains of death.

Even then: Love rose victorious from the grave.

 

Friends, as beautiful as this song and service are, I know that some of you may have come here tonight stuck in the Good Friday part of your soul. Isolated not by disease like in 2020, but by fear or hurt or failure. And, if you are still in the shadows, still in the sealed-off tomb, or still waiting for the dawn, that’s okay. That’s part of the journey. Sadly, what I just described is an all too real byproduct of our volatile and broken world. 

 

But hear this: Easter does not require your certainty. You don’t have to be happy. This night asks only your presence. Think about it this way: we do not wait to sing the Exsultet until sunrise. It begins while it’s still dark. The Exsultet reverberates in the darkness because God is here too. It’s not unlike the God character Aslan the Lion in C.S. Lewis’ The Chronicles of Narnia. Even in the dark, God is on the move!

 

And that, I believe, is why we still sing this ancient song—why it still matters. Because God is still at work in us. Because the Exsultet reminds us that resurrection does not erase suffering, but it does transform it. Joy is not the absence of pain, but it’s holy companion. And, hope is not naive optimism, but the stubborn song that refuses to go silent, even when the night is long.

 

Now friends, I know not everyone loves crooning. We’re not all Frank Sinatra, Celine Deon, or Michael Bubble. Nor do we have a chanting role in the service or a spot in the choir. But, witnessing the profundity of this night invites us to reply, and I’ve been assured that when we sing, we pray twice! So sing out! Make a joyful noise or at least some noise to the Lord!

 

If you’re here tonight with joy—sing.

If you’re here tonight with grief—sing.

If you’re here tonight with nothing but doubt or exhaustion—sing.

 

Sing because this is the night.
This is the night that shattered sin and separation.
This is the night when heaven eternally embraced earth.
This is the night when Christ Jesus rose from the grave.

 

And even now, though the sun has set; even now, though the world appears as dark as midnight; even now, as we experience our own shadowy challenges, Christ’s light will not be extinguished. Like the beauty of the paschal candle, God’s light shines in the darkness and the darkness does not overcome it; it doesn’t even comprehend it! So, this night and always, may we sing of the resurrecting love of Our God who even now is on the move in us, in our community, and in the world!

 

Alleluia, alleluia, Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen, indeed! Alleluia, alleluia!

 

Amen.