Preaching at the Paschal Vigil on Easter Eve at Holy trinity Church, Tarleton reminded us  that on Easter Morning  it was “not the first time God has started something in the dark”.

The sermon in full:

It begins in the dark.

The first day of the week, just before dawn. The sky is still a deep, inky blue. The air is cool—still heavy with the grief of Friday. And in the dim light, a group of women walk slowly, quietly, toward a tomb.

In their hands they carry spices—signs of love, signs of mourning. They’re coming to do what you do after a death. They’re not expecting a miracle. They’re expecting a body. They’re expecting a corpse.  They’re expecting to find the one they loved sealed away in stone and silence.

It begins in the dark.

But that’s not the first time God has started something in the dark.

“In the beginning,” Genesis tells us, “the earth was a formless void, and darkness was over the face of the deep. And God said, ‘Let there be light.’”

Creation began in the dark—with God speaking light and life into the chaos.

And now, here we are, once again, in the dark.

At the edge of something new.

On the first day of the week – the day of new creation.

Outside a tomb.

And once again, the voice of God speaks light and life where there was only death.

Once again, God is beginning something new.

When the women arrive, they find the stone rolled away. The body is gone. And suddenly, two men in dazzling clothes stand beside them and ask:

“Why do you look for the living among the dead?”

It’s such a startling question.

On the surface, it’s practical—It’s a way of saying, “Jesus isn’t here.”

But there’s something deeper happening, because the question isn’t just about location. It’s about expectation.

The women came to do something beautiful—the came to honour Jesus in death. But even in their love, they had missed something. They had forgotten what Jesus had told them. They were still living their lives as though he were dead.

And so the question comes—not as a scolding, but as a wake-up call. As a turning point.

Why do you look for the living among the dead?

Let’s be clear. What we celebrate at Easter—the resurrection of Jesus—is not just a beautiful story, or a comforting symbol. It’s not a nice metaphor for “new life.” It is the central claim of Christianity. It is the thing that changes everything.

If Jesus didn’t rise from the dead, then—let’s be honest—none of this matters.

Church doesn’t matter. Morality doesn’t matter. Faith doesn’t matter.

Without the resurrection, Christianity collapses.

But if he did rise—if Jesus really did come back from the dead—then it is the most important event in human history.

It proves that death does not have the final word.

It proves that sin can be forgiven, that new life is possible, that love is stronger than death.

It proves that Jesus is who he says he is—the Son of God, the Saviour of the world.  The way, the Truth and the Life.  That we should follow him.  That we should give our lives over to him.

The Resurrection changes everything. And it demands a response from us.

We are called to live in the light of the resurrection.

But are there times in our lives when we, like the women, approach the tomb expecting death?

Are there moments when we forget the full reality of the resurrection – perhaps not in theory, but in practice?

Maybe we go through the motions of faith—coming to church, saying our prayers—but deep down, we’re not really expecting much to change. Maybe we honour Jesus in our words and our worship, but we don’t expect him to show up in our everyday lives.

Are there areas of our lives where hope feels buried?

Where joy feels out of reach?

Where we quietly think, “Nothing will really be different”?

If so, we’re in good company. The first witnesses to the resurrection didn’t arrive with confident faith—they arrived in the dark, in confusion, in grief. They were faithful, yes—but their expectations were far too small. They didn’t yet realise that the world had changed.

So the angels’ question to the women meets us gently, but directly:

Why are you still looking for the living among the dead?

That’s a question we can all wrestle with at times.

Are there bad habits in our lives to which we keep returning, hoping to find life—but only finding emptiness?

Sometimes we seek meaning in things that don’t last—our status, our success, our control over circumstances.

Sometimes we look for peace in constant busyness or distraction.

Sometimes we look for our identity in the opinions of others, in our jobs, in what we do – rather than finding our identity in Christ Jesus.

And even in our spiritual lives, we might find ourselves stuck in routines that feel like visiting a tomb—going through the motions, but not expecting transformation.

But Jesus isn’t in the tomb.

He is not sealed away in stone or history or ritual. He is risen. He is here. And he is still speaking light and life into the dark places of the world—into the dark places of our hearts.

That’s the movement of this whole night, isn’t it?

From the shadows of Good Friday to the brightness of Easter morning.

From the flame of the Paschal candle to the spreading of light through the whole church.

From the darkness of grief to the dawn of new life.

Jesus steps out of the tomb into the light of a new day—and he invites us to step out with him.

This isn’t just a metaphor. This is the reality of resurrection.

The light of Christ breaks into every dark corner—of our lives, of our world—and nothing can stop it.

The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness can never overcome it.

So what would it look like for us to live as if Jesus is truly alive?

It might mean praying with new courage, new ambition and expectation, believing that God hears and answers.

It might mean forgiving someone we thought we never could forgive—because the power that raised Jesus is at work in us.

It might mean letting go of fear that’s holding us back, or saying yes to a new calling.

It might mean finally letting go of the guilt or shame we’ve been carrying, and daring to believe that through the risen Christ, we really are forgiven.

It might mean showing up differently in the world—not weighed down by fear, but carried by hope.

Living in the reality that Jesus is alive doesn’t mean pretending everything is easy. But it does mean trusting that nothing is beyond redemption. It means believing that new creation is possible—in our lives, our relationships, our communities.

And it means knowing that Jesus is not just someone we remember. He is someone we can meet. Tonight. Here. Now.

So as we stand at the edge of Easter, the question comes again—not to shame us, but to awaken us.

“Why do you look for the living among the dead?”

God is calling all of us to step out of the dark, and into the light.

Jesus is inviting us to stop searching in the old places, and start walking in resurrection life.

This is not a night to stay in the shadows.

This is the night when the stone is rolled away.

This is the night when Christ rises—and nothing will ever be the same again.

He is not here. He is risen. And he is calling you—into hope, into joy, into light, into life.

So don’t stay at the tomb.

Come meet the risen Jesus and walk with him every day of your lives.

Amen.