St. John’s Episcopal Church
Tallahassee, FL

Luke 24:36–48
Acts 8:26–40

This sermon was part of The Year of the Bible—a yearlong initiative in which all sermons, classes, and formation for all ages followed a parish-wide journey through the entire Bible. With the bishop’s permission, we used a custom lectionary: two readings drawn from that week’s section of Scripture, plus a psalm and the regularly appointed gospel of the day.

As the azaleas continue to pop
and the birds begins to sing 
and all the signs of spring 
are all around us,
you and I have come here today 
to proclaim one thing
and one thing only:

It.
Is.
Still.
Easter.

In the Episcopal Church
and many other denominations,
Easter is not a one-shot deal. 
Easter is more than 
just a single service 
on a single day. 

For us, 
Easter goes on 
and on 
and on
for what we call
the Great Fifty Days,
all the way to Pentecost.

As a friend of mine says, 
“Just because the pastel M&Ms 
have all been moved to the clearance aisle 
does not mean the resurrection is over.” 

In fact, it has only just begun.

* * *

The promise of Easter is why, here at St. John’s, 
the baptismal font is always visible,
right over there
at the front entrance.

That font,
where we have baptized 
hundreds and hundreds of people
over the generations of this place . . . 

that font, 
which is being repaired 
even as we speak 
and will be stronger than ever before . . . 

that font
serves as a constant reminder 
of your baptism 
and of your status 
as a child of God.

The promise of Easter is why 
the Paschal Candle is still right here,
illuminating all we do. 

It reminds us 
that the Light of Christ 
never stops burning 
in our hearts and in our lives. 

The promise of Easter is why 
during the Eucharist 
we omit the confession.

Easter has made you 
children of the living God. 
There is no need to grovel 
when you know that you are redeemed 
in the eyes of the Lord.

The promise of Easter is why 
Philip in our story from Acts 
welcomes an Ethiopian eunuch 
to the waters of baptism
and Peter begins baptizing the Gentiles . . . 
none of whom belonged in the old way of things 
but all of whom are redeemed and loved by God 
through the mercies of Jesus Christ.

That is why at this church 
there is no litmus test, 
there is no singular expectation 
of who’s in and who’s out. 

Whether you’re 
single, married, divorced, or widowed, 
black, white, brown, or yellow, 
rich, poor, struggling, striving,
gay, straight, cis, or trans, 
boomer, gen X, millennial, or alpha, 
de-greed, fili-greed, or just plain can’t agree . . . 

you have a place at our table 
not just because we think you should 
but because ever since that first Easter 
and that first Pentecost 
the Holy Spirit’s been moving like crazy 
to make sure you could.

* * *

So, around here,
Easter is more than just a day. 
But really,
it’s even more 
than 50 days. 

Easter, my friends, is life.
It is all of life.
It is our way of life. 
We . . . are an “Easter People.” 

In God’s eyes, 
the whole creation has been made new, 
and because of Jesus,
you and I have been given 
brand new, Easter-colored glasses 
through which to see 
the world around us,
even when all would appear
to be doom and despair. 

When you and I look through the lens 
of all that Easter means—
what we find is that
God is in everything. 

Through the lens of Easter, 
you have a chance to see 
that God is in your family; 
God is in your job. 
God is in the good things; 
God is in the bad things. 
God is in your best friend; 
God is in your worst enemy. 
God is in your sleeping baby; 
God is in your screaming baby.
God is in your loved ones right beside you;
God is in your loved ones who have passed away.
God is in your living; 
God is in your dying. 
God is in your happiness; 
God is in your sorrow. 
God is in the Communion Bread,
the Communion Wine, 
the holy water, 
the healing oil. 
God is in it ALL.

The only problem is that,
for whatever reason, 
we have such a hard time seeing that. 
We have a hard time believing it is real.

We forget that our God is an Easter God,
that we are an Easter people,
and that God is in all things,
making all things new.

* * *

The good news is that 
we’re not the first
to have this problem. 

In today’s Gospel lesson, 
we see the disciples struggle, too, 
with putting on 
their new Easter glasses. 

There they are,
just days after the crucifixion, 
waiting, watching, and wondering. 

There are rumors flying all around 
that Jesus is not dead after all; 
in fact, some of them claim 
that they have already seen him. 

Then, all of a sudden, he appears . . . 
and all they can do is scream with terror,
for they think he must be a ghost.

“Guys, guys,” he says. 
“Calm down! Look! It’s me!
Touch me. 
See me. 
I have flesh. 
I have bones. 
Look at my hands.
Look at my feet. 
It’s me.” 

That helped them just a bit, 
but it was all so much to process. 
It was all too strange, too surreal
for them to wrap their minds around, 
which is why I love the line 
that Luke gives us next: 

“While in their joy, 
they were still 
disbelieving and wondering.” 

Jesus had shown up,
and the disciples were ecstatic.
Yet the question still remained: 
“Is this too good to be true?” 

Sometimes the hardest place to see God 
is when he is right there
in front of your face.

Jesus knows that, 
so he asks the most 
ordinary question in the world: 
“Hey guys, 
you got anything to eat?”

He asks for food—
for a mundane, stupid little piece 
of broiled fish. 
And somehow, 
despite his ability to appear before them—
despite the miraculous evidence 
of his hands and his feet—
it was this that convinced them 
that their God and their friend 
was really right there beside them. 

It was in doing 
what they had always done together—
the mundane, everyday action 
of a mundane, everyday meal—
it was that that helped them 
begin to see Easter all around them, 
and God in all things. 

Yes, God was in 
the supernaturally resurrected body 
of Jesus before them, 
but more importantly, 
God was in their friendship. 
God was in that broiled fish.
God was in the ordinary, 
just as God is in everything 
right here,
right now,
all around us today. 

* * *

We all struggle so mightily 
to remember to find God in our midst, 
to treat everything—
especially the mundane—
as a gift from God. 

But when we can—
when we pull out those Easter glasses 
and begin looking around this old world 
not with our eyes 
but with the eyes of God—
everything begins to seem new,
and even the bad things in our lives 
begin to bear the fingerprints 
of a God who loves us.

We don’t need lightning 
or ecstasies 
or supernatural occurrences 
to show us God in our lives. 

All we need is a bit of broiled fish, 
the Bread of the Eucharist, 
our joys and our sorrows, 
and (most of all) one another. 
Turns out,
God is in it all.

* * *

I will close with the shortest little story 
by the Indian Jesuit priest 
Anthony de Mello. 

Once there was a young little fish 
swimming around desperately 
in the ocean. 

One day, 
the little fish swam up 
to a much bigger, older fish, 
and said, “Sir, 
I am looking for this thing 
they call the ocean. 
Can you tell me where to find it?” 

The large fish chuckled and said, 
“Oh, my boy, look no further. 
You are in the ocean. 
This is the ocean.” 

To that the little fish frowned and replied, 
“No. That can’t be right. 
This . . . this is just water,” 
and he swam away in disappointment.

Friends,
if you are searching for the ocean of God’s love, 
look no further 
than where you are today. 

You are already swimming in it, 
and it was always all around you.

Happy Eastertide, and amen.