"The Good News Is...Alive in the World" (April 5, 2026 Sermon)
/The Good News Is...Alive in the World
Rev. Stephen M. Fearing
Guilford Park Presbyterian Church
Easter Sunday — Sunday, April 5, 2026
Text: Matthew 28:1-10
An Easter Word of Astonishment
Hear, friends, these words from the poet, Mary Oliver:
Truly, we live with mysteries too marvelous
to be understood.How grass can be nourishing in the
mouths of the lambs.
How rivers and stones are forever
in allegiance with gravity
while we ourselves dream of rising.
How two hands touch and the bonds will
never be broken.
How people come, from delight or the
scars of damage,
to the comfort of a poem.Let me keep my distance, always, from those
who think they have the answers.Let me keep company always with those who say
“Look!” and laugh in astonishment,
and bow their heads.
Easter is not a day for answers; it’s a day for astonishment. It’s a day to say, “Look! He is not here!” It’s a day to listen to an angel perched almost casually upon a stone that until recently seemed to seal off any hope of newness. The women came that Easter morning to keep watch, to love, to mourn, and to stay near. In their minds, perhaps, death had answered the question of power, and they came expecting to keep company with their grief. But instead, they are met by a heavenly messenger whose very presence strikes fear into the Roman guards, who shake and, Matthew says, ‘become like dead men.’ While the guards lie sprawled on the ground, the women stand trembling, trying to find their footing on resurrection ground. The guards have resigned themselves to death, while the women, startled, remain open to life. The guards are immobilized by fear. The women are afraid too — but fear does not keep them from hearing, moving, and bearing witness. Easter does not wait for them to become fearless; it meets them in their trembling and sends them on their way.
The Angel’s Instructions
And so they listen. The angel gives them their marching orders: do not be afraid, come and see, go quickly, and tell.
Do not be afraid — because Easter addresses frightened people, not fearless ones. “Do not be afraid” does not mean, “Nothing scary has happened.” It means, “What scares you is not the truest thing anymore.” Death is real. Grief is real. Empire is real. But none of them are ultimate.
Come and see — “Look,” Mary Oliver said, and laugh with astonishment and bow your head. “Come and see,” the messenger says, “and look where he lay.” All Lent long, we have been trying not to look away — from suffering, betrayal, injustice, vulnerability, even death itself. And now Easter says: yes, come and see. Look honestly. And look again. Because what we’ve seen isn’t the end of the story.
Go quickly — because resurrection does not leave us standing still. The good news is too alive to remain at the tomb. It sends us back into the world — back to the places where fear still lingers, where grief still aches, where love is still needed, where hope still must be practiced.
Tell — because news this good cannot be kept to ourselves. The women came as mourners, but Easter makes them witnesses. To tell is not to solve the mystery. It is to say, with astonishment, ‘Look. He is not here. Christ is alive — and already ahead of us.’
Back Into the World
The tomb is not where the story ends. Galilee is where resurrection starts traveling — back into the ordinary places where people live, work, grieve, love, and learn to follow once more. And that matters because Galilee is where so much of it first started. Galilee is where water became wine. Galilee is where ordinary lives were touched by abundance. Galilee is where the disciples first began to see who Jesus truly was. And now, on Easter morning, the risen Christ is already ahead of them there. Resurrection sends them not away from the world but back into it—back to the very places where good news first took shape and where it must now be lived.
And that’s what Easter does. It doesn’t offer us an escape from the world; it sends us back into it, because death, violence, and despair do not get the last word. And you and I go back into the world as disciples equipped by the training ground of this Lenten journey. Today, we conclude our “Tell Me Something Good” sermon series, where we’ve followed Mary Oliver’s advice to “Look, and laugh in astonishment” at places in the world where Good News comes in unexpected ways.
Where We’ve Seen Good News
This Lent, we’ve seen good news breaking out in many places: at a table where everyone is invited and no one is beyond the reach of grace; at a wedding in Cana where joy overflowed and scarcity did not get the last word; in the tearful hospitality of a woman whose love flowed from her hair and her hands; in a hungry crowd where Christ taught us that there is enough when a community puts what it has into God’s hands; in the faces of children and all the vulnerable who Jesus reminds us are closest to the heart of the kingdom; in the expanding mercy of a Savior who invites us to lay down our stones; in the humble procession of Palm Sunday, where power arrived not through domination but with borrowed cloaks, leafy branches, and cries of hosanna; and even at the basin on Maundy Thursday, where Jesus knelt to wash feet — even Judas’ feet — and showed us that love is demonstrated not by what it says, but by what it does.
And maybe that is what this whole Lenten journey has been trying to teach us: how to look for good news not only in scripture, but in the ordinary, fragile, holy moments of our own lives. I saw a glimpse of that good news this week.
A Glimpse of Resurrection
Many of you know that Tricia’s grandmother, Myra, died last week at the age of 90. She had fallen recently, and Tricia’s parents called us after we got home from worship last Sunday to let us know she had entered hospice care. So, with heavy hearts, we threw the girls in the car and drove the three-and-a-half hours to Richmond, VA, to say our goodbyes. Myra, or “Gaga” as she was known to her family (or, more specifically, “Lady Gaga” as I lovingly called her), died peacefully surrounded by her loved ones. It was our girls’ first experience with death, and somehow, even in our grief, the moment felt sacred. Winnie held Gaga’s hand, and we all told her how much we loved her. I thanked her for all the times she told me how proud she was of me. After we said our goodbyes, Myra Dawn Garrett, child of the covenant, took her final breath, and we took the girls to our hotel.
As we checked into our room, one of the hotel’s housekeepers noticed the girls looked quite sad. Tricia explained the reason for our trip. The housekeeper then asked if she could give the girls a hug, and she embraced each of us. After a few hours of sleep, we woke in the morning to head to Gaga’s apartment to grieve as a family and begin going through her things. It was a long day. And when we returned that evening, we entered our hotel room to put the girls to sleep, and we found this letter waiting for us:
“Dear Hazel Grace and Winnie, I know your hearts are heavy right now, and it’s hard not to wonder why your grandmother had to go. There may be days when you feel sad and miss her smile more than anything. But just remember, today, you gained an angel. On the days that feel the hardest, hold onto all the joy and laughter you shared with her. Those memories don’t go anywhere…they stay with you, always. She’ll always have a place in your hearts, and her love doesn’t stop here. She loved you both so much more than words can say - and that love carries on now and beyond. And one day, you’ll see her again. Keeping you all in my thoughts during this time. Your housekeeper, Nora B.” And next to the letter was a gift basket of snacks for the girls and us.
In that moment, in the middle of our grief, I thought: this is what it looks like when the good news is alive in the world. Sometimes, that good news arrives with the shock of an earthquake. But other times, it comes with the tenderness of a kind note from a stranger, accompanied by a sacrament of granola bars, apples, and blueberry muffins. Sometimes, water turns into wine. Other times, grief becomes a bond between complete strangers. Sometimes, five loaves and two fish feed five thousand. Other times, a small gift basket changes everything.
Truly, friends, we live with mysteries too marvelous to be understood.
And so, with Mary Oliver, with Mary Magdalene, with the other Mary, and with all those who have caught a glimpse of grace in the middle of grief, let us keep company with those who say, “Look!” and laugh in astonishment, and bow their heads.
For Christ is risen. He is alive in the world. Look.
In the name of God the Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer, may all of us, God’s children, say: Amen.