The Rev. Heidi Thorsen | April 7, 2024

The Day After Easter

Sermon Preached: April 7, 2024 at Trinity on the Green

Easter 2, Year B: Acts 4:32-35 | 1 John 1:1-2:2 | John 20:19-31 | Psalm 133

May the words of my mouth and the meditations of all our hearts be pleasing to you, O God, our Rock and our Redeemer. Amen.

I remember the first time I felt the spirit of Easter in my bones. I was twenty two years old, and (in theory) I had been celebrating Easter since I was a baby. However, for many years, Easter was just another holiday, among many holidays in the secular year. It had its own unique accoutrements– the eggs, the basket, the poofy dresses that we wore to church. But other than that it was just Easter, on the same level in my mind as St. Patrick’s Day, Valentine’s Day, and Halloween.

Once I became an adult, I sought to learn more about faith on my own terms– visiting many different churches until I landed at one that spoke to me in a deeper way. That year I launched into Lent with renewed intention– giving up things not because I wanted to lose weight, or feel virtuous, but because I wanted to experience God in my life in a real way. I went to every possible service throughout Holy Week: Spy Wednesday (yes, that’s a thing), Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, a Holy Saturday morning prayer service, and finally we arrived at the Easter Vigil. The church I was attending at the time started the service in near darkness outside, with the lighting of the Paschal Candle, just like we do at Trinity. We spread that light to other wax candles that we were holding, and then processed in the church - which remained in darkness for the first hour of that service. We were in darkness, as we listened to the story of God’s saving acts throughout history, told throughout the Bible. We were in darkness, as we reaffirmed our baptismal vows. And then– suddenly!– the Easter Acclamation. Light flooded the church, bells were ringing, someone was launching holy water in my direction, and it was exuberant. I remember an overwhelming feeling of joy, believing that God had triumphed over death. Believing that throughout Christ’s resurrection and ascension, God has never left our side. Maybe it was the intensity of eating chocolate or meat (or whatever it was that year) for the first time in forty days. Or maybe it was simply that God was truly present in the celebration of Easter, and for the first time I felt it– not as a ritual that we performed but as a truth that we proclaim. Christ is Risen. The powers of death are vanquished. And the promise of new life is here, always and everywhere surrounding us.

I’ve described that overwhelming feeling of joy that comes with the Easter Acclamation - perhaps you have felt some version of that feeling too. But now, I want to talk about what comes next. I want to talk about the day after Easter.

On the day after Easter, you are more exhausted than you thought you would be, whether you work at a church or sit in pews.

On the day after Easter, you might have to go to work, even though you had Good Friday off and somehow had to find childcare for that day.

On the day after Easter, there are still people living without shelter in the city of New Haven. There is not enough affordable housing, and there are still pantries with record-long lines to feed people who are hungry.

On the day after Easter, it is still an election year in the United States of America.

On the day after Easter, friendships that are strained may still need healing. People who are sick may still be in the hospital. People who are lonely might still long for a friend to talk to. Relatives who are estranged will still be estranged. On the day after Easter, people are still planning funerals to mark the loss of people that they loved. On the day after Easter, people are still mourning the loss of a hope that they might not even be able to name for others.

On the day after Easter, there will still be people living on the edge of famine in Gaza. There will still be Israelis and Palestinians who are grieving their dead and missing. There will still be conflict in Haiti, and war in Ukraine, and uncertainty in our hearts about the future.

This year I’ve been asking myself: what difference does Easter make in our lives? What does it matter that we profess that Jesus Christ lived, died, and rose again? How is Easter Monday different because of the resurrection we celebrated the day before?

I believe these are the same questions that the disciples were struggling with, in the days following the death and resurrection of their friend and teacher, Jesus. They are scattered; uncertain. Some of them go back to work that sustained them before, as these “fishers of men” get back in their boats and become fishermen once again. Others hide in locked rooms and out-of-the-way places, fearing retribution from the powers that put Jesus on trial and crucified him.

Gradually, the news of the resurrection spreads— at first just a rumor from the women who saw the empty tomb. Then Jesus appears to the disciples, gradually. Meeting with some in a closed room. Walking with others on the road to Emmaus. But what difference does it make? Is Jesus truly resurrected from the tomb? And what difference does it make?

These are the questions that Thomas was asking, when he puts an ultimatum before the other disciples: "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."

Hidden within this statement of doubt is a statement of profound faith. Because, for all his doubt, Thomas doesn’t expect that Jesus would emerge from the tomb without scars. He wants to see Jesus’s wounds. Thomas firmly believes that if the resurrection is real, if the resurrection matters, then Jesus will still show the signs of his suffering. Jesus will still be healing.

What a profound statement of faith that is, and a profound reminder of what kind of difference the resurrection makes. The resurrection is not a perfect cure-all that fixes the problems of the world in an instant. The resurrection is not a snap, like in the Marvel comics, that undoes all the suffering and death that came before. Instead, the resurrection is a promise that we can find life after death. The resurrection is a promise that Jesus is that source of life.

Jesus does not emerge from the tomb perfectly pristine and unblemished. Instead, Jesus emerges from the tomb still bearing the wounds on his hands and feet. And we emerge from Easter, still bearing our wounds too.

Easter will not solve all our problems, at least not in the way that we expect— no matter how powerful  or blissful the Easter Acclamation may have felt for you this year. Instead, Easter assures us that life is not a problem to be fixed. Life is a gift. Life is grace. And in the midst of that life we human beings are wounded, and we would others too. But God does not abandon us. God feels with us. And in that coming-alongside-us, God gives us the best gift of all: the gift of salvation. The power to find healing through the wounds that Jesus felt. The power to find healing through our own wounds and brokenness.

Thank God that Jesus did not emerge from the tomb as if nothing had happened– because that isn’t how salvation works. Instead, salvation works through those wounds in Jesus’ hands and feet, and through the spear wound that marked his side. Salvation works when Jesus reaches out his hand to us and we reach back– becoming a part of God’s work of salvation in the world.

Hear these words of our Gospel passage again. Imagine this scene as if you are Thomas:
“A week later [Jesus’] disciples were again in the house, and Thomas was with them. Although the doors were shut, Jesus came and stood among them and said, "Peace be with you." Then he said to Thomas, "Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe." Amen.