"In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it." (John 1:1-5)

At Christmas time we associate this text with the smell of balsam fir, and candlelight, and Silent Night. This morning, our understanding of this text, of who God is, comes full circle and we hear words once associated with the Christ child, now applied to the resurrected Christ. At Christmas we hear the words and see a baby born who will save the world. This morning we hear the words in light of a death and a mysterious new life. What was begun one cold Bethlehem night is complete. "The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it."

We gather to celebrate the mystery of the risen Christ this morning. Many of us have walked the dark days of Holy Week … experienced the sound of nails driven into the cross … heard the anguish of betrayal, grief and doubt. But today is different – with the dawn of a new morning the pain of death is redefined and we proclaim Jesus risen from the dead. As we celebrate this ancient mystery, we also seek to find its meaning for our present reality. And in that quest, I don't know about you, but I am not always quite sure how to celebrate this resurrection reality and what it means for the living of our days. More often than not I suspect we find ourselves on the brink of comprehension – poised with the disciples in the moments before they encountered the risen Christ that long ago morning. We stand in the moment before the sun rose that morning, before they discovered the empty tomb, before they encountered the risen Christ walking and talking with them. For even as we celebrate the joy of this day, we remember and know all too well sorrow and loss. There are empty pews this morning that were occupied by loved ones just last Easter. We have traveled through difficult days since we last gathered for the resurrection celebration. At the very least we grasp that the resurrection has not brought about the end of all suffering and pain. The culmination of complete joy is still beyond our grasp. If we look to our Easter celebration as bringing about the end of immediate loss and pain, then we will find ourselves screaming with Lucy of Peanuts fame. In a cartoon strip Lucy asks, "Why do you think we're put on earth, Charlie Brown?" Charlie Brown replies, "To make others happy." Lucy says, "I don't think I'm making anyone very happy – of course, nobody's making me very happy either." Then in the final panel, Lucy screams at the top of her lungs: "SOMEBODY'S NOT DOING THEIR JOB!"

What we do celebrate in the resurrection is the new context in which we live – the risen Christ is the reality by which we shape our lives. No longer are we defined by pain and evil and suffering. We are defined totally and completely by God's love given for us in the example of Jesus Christ. Our lives are now lived knowing that when all is said and done, God's love is victorious. We may not be able to totally grasp what that means, but we know its truth – Jesus Christ is risen!

And every now and then we get marvelous glimpses of this mystery and how to wrap our minds around the resurrection. In a church kitchen discussion about a week while baking cinnamon rolls we talked about how to grasp the resurrection:

• Robin Foster likened it to thinking about the text in Corinthians where Paul talks of only being able to see in a mirror dimly. She remembers the light bulb going off one day about that text that had her wondering, thinking mirrors give us a clear reflection of ourselves – but in Paul's day the mirrors were probably nothing more than some sort of metal … think of the scouting mirrors you might have had, and how blurry your reflection looked in them. Paul was able to tell the Corinthians – you may not get it totally right now, but look in that mirror – the wavy image you see today will someday be very clear. And that is the promise you hold on to.
  
  
• My son Daniel got us thinking of seeing things in new ways and for me that became an image of the as-yet unknown possibilities present in the resurrection. For those of you whose eyes glaze over at the mere mention of math, you might want to check out for a minute here. Daniel posed a question a while back about what fractions looked like in base systems other than ten. In thinking it through we realized that while in a base ten system the fraction 1/3 is a repeating decimal, .333333333; in a base three system the fraction 1/3 simply becomes .1 … a much simpler number to deal with. Perhaps there is a base system in which "pi" becomes solvable. And there you have the unfolding of amazing possibilities of life defined in the resurrection reality. (Non math people can check back in now.)
  
  
• The book Flatland describes a people living in a two dimensional world. They see nothing beyond that until someone posits there is a third dimension. The suggestion is met with disbelief and even outrage. Few are able to see beyond their present reality and expand their known boundaries. For the few who do, life becomes much richer than they ever imagined possible. And there you have the ever expanding richness of God's promise of life unfolding and bringing you to places you never knew possible.

So we live … in the midst of the already but not yet. The already is the risen Christ whose love was so great that it could not be conquered by the powers of evil and death. The already gives us a place to live our "not yet" lives, reminding us that while we can't see clearly how God will bring everything together, we know that when all is said and done we are defined by the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. Mary and the others approached the tomb that long ago morning all ready to confront the smell of death, and to do the work of grieving. Their hearts were numb by now from all that had gone on. Imagine their confusion when they didn't see what they expected … I see them rubbing their eyes, trying to bring the scene into focus … trying to reconcile the emptiness of their hearts with the emptiness of the tomb. All of the sudden possibilities flood before them. In the empty tomb God declares that love with triumph, and indeed that love has triumphed. It is that emptiness that we proclaim this Easter Day: that the emptiness of the tomb was enough, is enough and will be enough. Hardly seems possible … but then, that is the mystery of the resurrection we glimpse now only in part, as in a mirror dimly – that somehow the light will not be overcome by darkness, that in the end cruelty and pain and death do not get the last word – and God's love and goodness will prevail, transforming the "nows" that often seem beyond redemption.

What does it mean to find the tomb empty? It is to declare to the world that we have thrown our lot into this mystery. Give thanks for the glimpses we get every now and then of the glorious tapestry God is weaving together that we will one day see in a blaze of glory:

"Christ is risen, Alleluia!" cries out the chorus of creation.
"Christ is risen, Alleluia!" sing the supple winds of spring.
"Christ is risen, Alleluia!" ring out lilies in silent splendour.
The feast of feasts, the festival of hope, the mother of all Sundays,
luminous in the full moon of spring, radiant in the rising of the sun,
Easter dances upon my rooftop and plays like a newborn child in the cradle of my heart.
I rejoice like all of creation, sailing on springtime's seed-bearing breezes,
and like the lily's trumpet, I open wide my throat and my heart
to join with all of heaven and earth in singing out the symphony of joy at Easter's annual return.
I take hope in Christ's victory over death, hope that, one with Jesus,
I will also have my Easter morning when I will be freed from the prison,
and decaying dusty tomb, of my narrow and stony spirit.
I trust that I too will spring-like arise to a fullness of living and loving,
to a life beyond all time and space, to a life one with you, my God.
"Christ is risen, Alleluia!"
I soon will be next,
Alleluia, Alleluia!
      – Edward Hays