Easter Sunday Sermon 2026
The Rev. Justin R. Cannon

I want to open by sharing with you The Welcome Prayer by Father Thomas Keating.

Welcome, welcome, welcome.

I welcome everything that comes to me today, because I know it’s for my healing.

I welcome all thoughts, feelings, emotions, persons, situations and conditions.

I let go of my desire for power and control.

I let go of my desire for affection, esteem, approval and pleasure.

I let go of my desire for survival and security.

I let go of my desire to change any situation, condition, person or myself. I open to the love and presence of God and God’s action within. Amen.

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

Let’s be honest—Easter can feel like the world just wants to slap a bow on all the chaos. Flowers, chocolate, Alleluias—and suddenly everything’s supposed to be fine.
But if you’ve been paying attention this past week—Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, Holy Saturday—you know life isn’t that tidy. Life is still messy. Fear, loss, anxiety, grief—they don’t disappear because of Easter morning.

And that is exactly why Easter matters. Because into the real, raw, messy, painful, sometimes terrifying world, God does not stay distant.
God descends.
God rises.
God surprises us.

And we hear this echo through the readings today. Jeremiah says, “You shall take your tambourines and go forth in the dance of the merrymakers.” And Psalm 118 reminds us, “This is the day the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it.”
Rejoice…even though often our hearts are still heavy?
Dance…even though the world is still broken?
Yes. Because Easter is about the presence of God.

And here’s where it gets fun—literally. I want us to do a little exercise. It’s going to be loud. A little irreverent. But deeply sacred. Because Easter is sacred, and life is messy, and sometimes the two collide in holy ways.

I want you to shout out a word, a feeling, something you are bringing into Easter today. It could be grief. Fear. Hope. Joy. Confusion. “Hangry” if you haven’t had your Easter chocolate yet. Just shout it out. Ready? Go!

[Pause to let congregation shout]

Perfect. Thank you. That noise? That’s the Church. That’s life.
And that, my friends, is Easter—God meeting us not after we get it all together, but right in the middle of it.

We bring our full selves—our whole, messy humanity—into the light of Christ, and Christ meets us there.

Let’s talk about new life. Today, we celebrate the baptism of Mallika and her daughter Astrid. Baptism is more than a ritual. It is participation in the death and resurrection of Christ.
When we baptize, we say: you are Christ’s, and Christ lives in you.
And that’s not just a spiritual abstraction—it’s an invitation to community, to messy, beautiful life together.
Mallika and Astrid, your baptism reminds all of us that life with God is not about perfection, but presence—presence in love, in community, in hope.

And this hope is not naïve. Easter does not erase the Good Fridays in our lives. Some of us carry grief that hasn’t eased. Some of us wake up to loss every morning. Some of us are living in the tension of fear and joy, uncertainty and hope.
And Easter is the reminder that God is in all of it. Every breath, every heartbeat, every moment—God’s steadfast love is there.

Let me put it this way:
The Resurrection is not a magic trick that makes the bad stuff vanish.
It is God saying: I will not abandon you. I will meet you in your fear. I will walk with you through your grief. I will rise into your life and surprise you with presence, hope, and love.

And we see that in Acts 10, when Peter proclaims the Good News: God shows up for the most unexpected, the marginalized, the outcast. God’s love knows no boundaries. God’s power is not coercive—it is relational, transformative, and intimate.

And in Matthew, the angel says to the women at the tomb, “Do not be afraid. Go and tell my brothers: He is risen.” Fear and joy—these are the bookends of our experience. Easter does not remove fear. Easter meets fear with joy, meets fear with presence, meets fear with steadfast love.

Earlier, you shouted out words—pieces of your life that you’re carrying today.

I want you to take a moment now to return to that word.

And if you’re comfortable, I invite you to open your hands—just rest them in your lap, palms up.

Hold that word there. Whatever it is—grief, joy, fear, hope, confusion—just hold it.

(pause)

And hear this: Christ is risen into that. Not around it. Not after it. Into it.
Christ meets you there.

So what do we do with that?
We live it.

We participate. We stand in the chaos. We bring our tambourines. We shout our messy, beautiful words. We welcome new life in baptism. We embrace our grief, our joy, our uncertainty, our hope.

We live it—not only in what we feel, but in how we love.

We live it in how we show up for one another—like we did yesterday at our food pantry, where we fed over three hundred families.

Because the risen Christ is not just found in empty tombs and joyful songs, but in living, breathing neighbors who need care, dignity, and love.

If we want to see the Resurrection, we don’t have to look far. We just have to look at each other—and refuse to turn away.

In each other, we are reminded that Christ is risen. That Christ meets us here in the mess of it. That Christ walks with us. And nothing—nothing—can separate us from that love.

And yes, we get to laugh along the way. We get to celebrate life. We get to eat chocolate. We get to hug people we love, and even those we don’t understand. Because life is holy, messy, surprising, and absolutely worth celebrating. So let us go into this world carrying all our words, all our fear, all our hope, all our grief, all our joy, knowing that the God of surprises is with us. And let us tend our lives, our hearts, our communities, like the gardens God intends—messy, vibrant, growing, resilient, and full of unexpected beauty.

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed. Alleluia!