Easter - what does resurrection mean to me now?
As someone deconstructed, faith-shifting, and still rooted in the teachings of Jesus, I find myself asking:
What does the Gospel accounts of the resurrection mean to me now?
All four recall the resurrection. In none of them does the risen Jesus offer a neat, systematic theology of that resurrection.
The gospels tell us that Jesus is calm, relational as he turns to his frightened friends and says:
“Do not be afraid.” and “Peace be with you.”
He tells them to go and tell others what he taught them and to make disciples.
A disciple, from the Latin discipulus, means simply a learner, a follower. someone who lives what they have been taught.
And as far as I can discern, what Jesus taught was love.
A courageous, radical, inclusive love.
A love that does not harm but brings life, joy, peace, compassion, connection and healing.
All four Gospels were written by men and they differ in their details. But they all agree on something:
It was women, Jesus’ women followers, who first discovered the empty tomb.
Mary Magdalene is the only one named in all four accounts (there were more)
And it was Mary who Jesus first greeted and then sent to tell Jesus’ ‘brothers’ that he was alive.
She is“the apostle to the apostles” (apostle meaning “one who is sent”).
In a culture where women’s testimony held no legal weight, this is extraordinary.
I love the possibility that this was a deliberate choice by Jesus.
That he chose his women disciples to be the first witnesses of resurrection.
That he entrusted the news of his return to those whose voices were most easily dismissed culturally and religiously.
I’ve always been struck by the fact it was the women that remained at the cross, through terror, trauma and real danger. They tended to him in death and burial. They did not abandon their commitment to him or his teaching, they showed both care and courage.
So perhaps it makes sense that they were there to greet him first on Easter Day.
Their love and courage remained even when it was costly and must have felt hopeless.
They embodied the love they had learnt from Jesus.
And it’s that kind of love that is deeply inspiring to me.
This story tells me something about what Jesus valued.
Not status. Not hierarchy. Not power or control. But love. And faithfulness to that love with care and courage.
A love that continues quietly and often unseen.
A love that centres and wants to protect those most harmed.
A love that turns cultural expectations upside down.
That is the story I am drawn to today.
That is the way of being I want to live into.
Much of what I once believed has fallen away.
The certainty of particular forms of Christianity.
Much of that no longer holds life for me.
And harms some therefore is harmful for us all.
And yet…
I see something else emerging.
I see life in the margins.
Among those who are quietly, consistently faithful to love, whether they call themselves Christian or not.
Love cannot be contained by our human labels.
It is too wild.
Too expansive.
Too inclusive.
I find I am no longer drawn to impressive words
or powerful figures telling me what to think.
Instead, I watch for something simpler:
Who is kind?
Who is courageous?
Who cares?
Who is inclusive?
Who is willing to challenge what dehumanises?
Because what dehumanises one of us
dehumanises us all.
Who will stand with those who are being harmed.
Even when it costs something.
I don’t live this in the way I want to
But I’ve seen it in others…
In people around the world who choose love in the face of fear.
It demonstrated that love is stronger
than fear,
than division,
than the things that separate us.
And I also see how easily harm can disguise itself as goodness —
how systems and voices can wear the language of love
while lacking care, compassion, or humanity.
So I am learning to look more closely.
To trust what is life-giving.
To question what is not.
I hold things more loosely now.
Not because they don’t matter,
but because honesty matters more.
And I suspect Jesus would understand that.