1720 Bethany Church Circle, Forest VA

Today was Church Visit #157, and what a deeply beautiful way to spend Easter Sunday, at a sunrise service, gathered in the quiet holiness of morning, celebrating the risen Christ. We were going to have the service outside at Virginia Memorial Park, but with the weather, we had it in the church sanctuary.

There is something about a sunrise service that feels especially lovely to me. Before the day fully wakes up, before the noise begins, there is a stillness. The light starts pushing back the dark, and on Easter morning, that feels like more than a sunrise. It feels like a sermon all by itself.

Today’s visit to Bethany Methodist Church was such a beautiful experience. Everything about it was centered on the wonder of resurrection.

Jesus is alive. He is risen indeed. He conquered death. He stepped out of the grave. He shattered the finality that people thought darkness held. And because He lives, everything changes.

The Scripture readings today were Genesis 1:1-5, John 1:1-18, and John 20:1-18, and I loved the way they all tied together around the theme that darkness always precedes light, but darkness has never overcome it.

In the beginning, God said, “Let there be light.” Before anything was formed, before beauty took shape, before order came, there was darkness, and then God spoke. Light entered because God willed it. Then in John 1, we see that Jesus is the Word, and that in Him was life, and that life was the light of men. “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.”

What a verse. What a promise.

And then we come to John 20, to the sorrow and shock of Easter morning, where grief had not yet realized hope was standing just outside the tomb. Mary Magdalene comes in the early hours, while it is still dark. Before the joy. Before the recognition. Before the miracle was fully seen. It was still dark.

Isn’t that how life so often feels?

So many of us know what it is to live in the “still dark” moments. The moments before healing shows up. The moments before answers come. The moments before we can make sense of what God is doing. And for me, this Easter carries that feeling in such a personal way because of the loss of my mother. Grief has a way of making everything feel darker than it did before. Even holy days carry an ache through them. Even while celebrating resurrection, there can still be tears. Even while singing about life, there can be a part of your heart that is still standing at a tomb, still trying to understand what has been taken, still learning how to carry love and loss at the same time.

Easter does not ask us to pretend death does not hurt. It does not ask us to silence grief. It does not demand that broken hearts feel no sorrow. Easter meets us right there and tells us that grief is real, but it is not the end of the story.

Darkness has always preceded light, but darkness has never overcome it.
Not in Genesis. Not at the tomb. Not in the life of anyone still trying to breathe through grief.

There is something about Easter that makes loss feel both sharper and softer at the same time. Sharper, because resurrection makes you ache for the people you wish were still here. Softer, because resurrection reminds you that death is not forever for those who are in Christ.

The sermon theme, “Darkness Has Always Preceded Light, But Darkness Has Never Overcome It,” will stay with me for a long time.

Because it is not denying darkness. It is not trying to decorate grief until it looks easier than it is.

I was reminded today of Christ as light, the unblemished Lamb of God, who restored to humanity all that was lost through sin.

I have lived enough life now to know that darkness is not abstract. Some of us have lived it. Some of us have survived it. Some of us have watched it try to take root in our minds, our memories, our homes, and our hearts. But I have also lived long enough to know this, darkness has never once been stronger than Jesus.

Not once.
Not in grief.
Not in the death of someone you love.
Not even in the grave.

Jesus has been light there, too.

And that is one of my deepest convictions when it comes to Easter, resurrection is what we cling to when life breaks your heart. It is the reason I can mourn my mother and still lift my eyes to Jesus. It is the reason I can cry and still praise. It is the reason I can stand in the early morning light and believe that one day, because of Christ, death itself will be undone forever.

Thank you to Bethany Methodist Church for this Easter Sunday sunrise service, and for the beauty of gathering to celebrate our risen Savior.

If you are in a season where it still feels dark, Easter is proof that dark is not the same thing as done. The light of Christ is still shining. The grave is still empty. The stone is still rolled away. And for those of us carrying grief, fresh grief, old grief, Easter gently reminds us that death does not win.

Christ does.

Christ is risen.
He is risen indeed.
And because He lives, light will always have the final word.