Alleluia, Christ is risen! It feels so good to say that!
One of the things I love about Easter is that we say alleluia and mean it.
We mean it even when there are some parts of our lives that don’t feel very “alleluia-like” at all.
All of us in this nave have brought different things on our hearts to this liturgy tonight.
Some of us carry griefs and burdens that weigh us down.
Some of us are joyful about new possibilities awakening in our lives.
All of us carry hopes for this beautiful father-daughter pair who are being baptized tonight, hopes for how we may best love and support them on their voyage of faith.
Easter Vigil is a unique and sometimes overlooked moment in our Holy Week journey.
It is the hinge point between darkness and light. It is the pivot point.
It is the meeting of life and death in an explosion of resurrection.
We have prayed for the courage all week to face the darkness in our path through the betrayal of Maundy Thursday, the agony of Good Friday, and the awful echoing silence of Holy Saturday.
Tomorrow will dawn bright and beautiful and we will be bathed in the unfettered joy of Easter Day.
But tonight is when the grief and the radiance, the pain and the jubilation, come together.
To experience this viscerally, we need look no further than the haunting beauty of the small flame of the Paschal candle advancing bravely through the cavernous darkness of the nave.
This liturgy, with its marriage of death and life, makes me think of the First Law of Thermodynamics.
For those of you for whom high school physics class was some years ago, this law states that “the total energy of an isolated system is constant; energy can be transformed from one form to another, but cannot be created or destroyed.”
I realized some years ago that we have the First Law of Thermodynamics in our very own Book of Common Prayer, although the language may not be quite so scientific.