Second Sunday of Easter, rcl yr c, 2025
ACTS 5:27-32; PSALM 118:14-29; REVELATION 1:4-8; JOHN 20:19-31
“I am the Alpha and the Omega,” says the Lord God,
who is and who was and who is to come
You may have heard the expression “every Sunday is a celebration of the resurrection.”And there’s truth to that. But as with so many things, there’s more to it than this; it’s not quite so simple.
The truth is we call to mind far more than the resurrection on any given Sunday, particularly in the Eucharistic Prayer, the one I will say in a moment at the altar. In that prayer, it becomes clear that we don’t celebrate the resurrection apart from a good many other things—the prayer begins with creation, and a thanksgiving for the “goodness and love [God has] made known to us in creation.” We remember our relationship with God’s chosen people, Israel; we call to mind the prophets; we call to mind the Word made flesh in the incarnation.
We remember other parts of Jesus’s life too. We call to mind “the night [Jesus] was handed over to suffering and death”—the last supper—and we get to say that wonderful summary of what God has accomplished in Christ and our response to what God accomplishes in Christ: according to the Father’s command, “we remember his death, we proclaim his resurrection, we await his coming in glory.”
And as the Eucharistic Prayer comes to a close, we look forward to what is to come in the fullness of time: the reconciliation of all things in Christ, all things made new, and our citizenship in that city of light where God dwells with all God’s children.
So yes, indeed—every Sunday is a celebration of the resurrection. But every celebration of the resurrection takes place in the middle of the whole of history, from the beginning in creation to its end in the new creation. Which means that the resurrection, that great victory, is celebrated not just in the middle of history, but in the middle of life itself—lives that include our own small victories, and our own struggles and challenges; that great victory is celebrated in the middle of things that are passing away: to return to our Eucharistic Prayer, things like error are passing away for the sake of the truth; sin passes away into righteousness; death passes away into life.
For me, this is a great help in times of trouble. I can get caught up in the challenges of life, the difficulties of discipleship, caught up in pain, or injustice. And these things can overwhelm us when our horizons are kept small.
But to celebrate the resurrection week after week is a healthy reminder that the origin of things is in God’s good creation; it is a healthy reminder also of where things are headed, in all things reconciled; and this can help put all our troubles in context: our troubles are real, and there is often a necessity that we face those troubles head on, including our own pain and our experiences of injustice, and the pain and injustice of the world. But if Jesus is risen from the dead, then these more difficult things, as real as they are for us, and demanding as they are, are not absolute. In fact, they are passing away.
In our new favourite expression, two things are true at once: pain, injustice, and sin are real and demand our attention and our response; and at the same time, pain, injustice, sin—even death—ultimately, in God’s horizon, have little or no substance at all.
We live in the time of all the middle letters of the alphabet—but the one who is coming on the clouds is the Alpha and Omega, the Lord who is and who was and who is to come. And as a result, all of our wailing and our sorrow is enveloped and embraced by the Lord, the Lamb upon the Throne, the one who is first, and last, and as such present to all things in between.
The Gospel today speaks to this. In reading John’s Gospel, it feels like we have to say that not only is every Sunday a celebration of the resurrection, but that every Sunday, every day even, is a celebration of Pentecost, a celebration of the Holy Spirit. We hear in our reading from John’s Gospel that right after Mary Magdalene has proclaimed “that she had seen the Lord,” that the disciples met but with the “doors of the house … locked [out of] fear.” The disciples felt threatened; it seemed to them that there were enemies out to do them harm.
And Jesus, appearing to the disciples in this moment of fear, and anxiety, and threat does a number of things. First, as if to remind the disciples of the whole story—a story that is bigger than resurrection, a story that includes his crucifixion—he showed them the emblems of his suffering: he “showed them his hands and his side.” And then, appearing to the disciples in this moment of fear and anxiety, he does one more thing:
Jesus chooses this moment of fear and anxiety to share with them the Holy Spirit.
And so what does this tell us? That resurrection is celebrated in the midst of those things that are passing away? And that the Holy Spirit is given in times of anxiety and fear? It is meant to be a comfort. That, as Matthew’s Gospel reminds us, Jesus is with us to the end of the age. That times of trouble are not times of abandonment, but God’s opportunity for accompaniment. It tells us that the Holy Spirit, the advocate and guide, the comforter, doesn’t come only in moments of gladness; that in John’s Gospel, the Spirit, the advocate and guide, the Holy comforter, is given in a moment when things do not appear to be going well at all.
And for this, we can most certainly be thankful: that the Holy Spirit descends not at the beginning to a perfect creation, or at the end when all things are reconciled, but in the middle of things: in times of distress, in times of anxiety, and in times of fear.
We are reminded in the telling of the story of new life in Christ’s resurrection, and in the offering of the Holy Spirit in the midst of anxiety and fear, that in Jesus—the one who lives, the one who gives the Spirit, the one in whom all things are made new—that in God’s good time, “there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away.”
The Revd Canon Preston DS Parsons, PhD
Angus Sinclair was appointed Director of Music of St. John the Evangelist on February 1, 2023. Having graduated in 1981 (Honours B.Mus.) in organ performance from Wilfrid Laurier University, he went on to distinguish himself as a church musician, recitalist and accompanist touring in both Canada and the UK. For over 40 years Angus has served parishes and congregations throughout Southwestern Ontario as director of music. He experiences his present appointment to St. John’s as a welcome homecoming, both spiritually and musically.
As our parish musician, he provides both support and leadership so that a variety of parish programs can find musical expression and attract participation. When our handbell choir is in season, he is one of our ringers. At parish dinners, he provides popular piano music for the guests to dine by. For both worship services and concerts, he will rehearse and accompany vocal and instrumental soloists from our congregation on piano, organ, or even accordion.
Angus Sinclair was appointed Director of Music of St. John the Evangelist on February 1, 2023. Having graduated in 1981 (Honours B.Mus.) in organ performance from Wilfrid Laurier University, he went on to distinguish himself as a church musician, recitalist and accompanist touring in both Canada and the UK. For over 40 years Angus has served parishes and congregations throughout Southwestern Ontario as director of music. He experiences his present appointment to St. John’s as a welcome homecoming, both spiritually and musically.