Great Easter Vigil - April 4, 2026 - Matthew 28:1-10 - The Rev. Colette Hammesfahr

 

April 4, 2026 – Matthew 28:1-10 -Easter Vigil

If you’ve had children or grandchildren, or maybe you’ve had a niece or nephew stay overnight, this scene may sound familiar to you. You’re sound asleep in your bed. Down the hall, in another room, a young child wakes up in the middle of the night. He’s disoriented. It’s so dark that he doesn’t even recognize his own room. From his room he calls out to you. You wake up from your sleep. From your room down the hall, you answer, “I’m here.” Nothing in the room changed. The room didn’t get any brighter. The child lays back down and goes to sleep. He didn’t go to sleep because the darkness was gone. He went back to sleep because a voice with authority had spoken. He knew that voice. He trusted that voice. Somehow, that was enough for him, even though the darkness was still there.

Tonight Mary and Mary Magdalene have gone to visit the tomb of their beloved Jesus. And when they get there, something happens. There is a great earthquake, an angel appears, the stone is rolled away, the guards watching the tomb stand in fear, and the angel says, “Do not be afraid.” Moments later they meet Jesus, who has just risen from the dead and he says to them, “Do not be afraid.”

“Do not be afraid” are the same words the angel said to Mary and Joseph when it was announced that Mary would bear a son. When the birth of Jesus was announced to the shepherds an angel said to them, “Do not be afraid.” When Jesus was walking on water and the disciples thought they were seeing a ghost, Jesus said, “Do not be afraid.” In Revelation John hears a voice and a man puts his right hand on him and says, “Do not be afraid.”

We say these words all the time. Friends or family come to us with a problem, an illness, and our response is a form of “Do not be afraid.” “It’s going to be okay.” “Don’t get all worked up over it.” “Everything is going to work out.” We say these words to offer encouragement and to lessen anxiety.

When we say, “Do not be afraid,” we are hoping things will turn out okay. When a voice speaks to a child in the dark or when Jesus speaks to his followers, they are not hoping. They know. The difference is authority. When we speak to others, we are consoling. When we speak to that young child in the other room, absolutely, positively, without a doubt know that there is nothing that is going to happen to that young child lying in the dark bedroom. When Jesus says,  “Do not be afraid,” he’s not hoping. He knows. He has already been through the worst fear we could possibly have, he’s died, been to the grave, and he’s come back.

Tonight we sit in the dark. We light a single flame. We listen to stories of things that have gone wrong. Many of us walked in here tonight carrying fear. Real fear, not imaginary things. We carry fear about our health or of someone we love. We carry fear about what our future will look like and fear about things we have no control over. Some of carry grief that is heavy and never gets lite. Some of us are simply tired of holding it all together. Easter doesn’t pretend that those things aren’t there, because they are. Easter simply says, “You are not alone in the dark anymore. Do not be afraid.”

Theologian Frederick Buechner once said, “The worst isn’t the last thing about the world. It’s the next to the last thing. The last thing is the best.”[1] He’s not saying that things aren’t bad or that suffering isn’t real. The worst is very real. Good Friday is real. The cross is real. The tomb is real. It’s not meant to say, “Look on the bright side.” He’s saying that the worst thing you can imagine is not the final thing.

When Jesus says, “Do not be afraid,” he’s not saying that nothing bad will happen – we know they do. He’s saying even if the worst happens, it’s not the end of your story. And so tonight, a voice speaks to us, in whatever darkness we are carrying, and says, “Do not be afraid.” Not because the darkness is gone but because the one speaking to us is the one who has authority over darkness. And that is enough. Amen.   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



[1] Frederick Buechner, The Final Beast (1965).

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