Saint Athanasius Lutheran Church

In Chapel this week, I told the kids that if I were Thomas, I probably wouldn’t have believed either. Seeing your friend die and then hearing He’s alive again? That’s hard to accept. But Jesus did say He’d rise. He even raised others from the dead. Still, when it’s you who dies—that feels final. But here’s the thing: death wasn’t part of God’s original plan. Jesus came to fix that, to take away sin—and with it, death. That’s what Easter is about. When Jesus appeared to His disciples, the first thing He said was, “Peace be with you.” Not judgment. Not disappointment. Peace. Forgiveness. Then He showed His wounds. That order matters. Forgiveness first. Then resurrection. And now, we’re sent to bring that same peace to others. In a world that’s anything but okay, Jesus makes everything right.

If only you could see the world like we angels do—how different your worries would seem. Yes, there’s sin, pain, and my former brother, the devil, still prowls. But our Father is greater, and He is always working for your good, even when you can’t see it. I saw it that first Easter morning. I rolled the stone away, not to let Jesus out—He was already risen!—but so the women could see that death had lost. They came expecting death, but we redirected their eyes to Jesus and His Word. And the moment they remembered His promise, we saw faith begin to bloom. That same Word still brings hope today. Because if Jesus can bring life from the cross and the grave, He can bring good in your life too—no matter what you’re facing. So fix your eyes on Him, not your fears. Run to Him like Peter ran to the tomb. Come every Sunday, because He’s there for you—with forgiveness, with life, with victory. Christ is risen—and because of that, every day is filled with hope.

Tonight, I reflected on how stories shape who we are—our families, our country, and especially our faith. Just like people turn to ancestry sites to learn their roots, we as Christians turn to Scripture. The stories of Adam, Abraham, Israel, and more—they’re not just old tales; they’re our story. And through baptism, Jesus’ story becomes our own. His death, resurrection, and life are now part of our identity—we are baptized children of God. That’s why we remember our baptism tonight. This is where we come from, this is who we are. And it’s a story worth passing down.

Since last Good Friday, death has touched so many lives—friends, family, strangers near and far. It’s a reminder that the wages of sin is death, and we all feel its sting. But tonight, we gather not in despair, but in hope. Because Jesus, the Unbroken Life, stepped into death to break it from the inside. He wasn’t a victim—He chose the cross to pay the full price of sin, once and for all. And when He said, “It is finished,” death was defeated. Now, even as we face the reality of our own mortality, we do so with confidence, knowing that life—not death—has the final word.

Tonight, I reflected on the true meaning of the Passover—how Jesus, knowing His death was near, became the final Passover Lamb for us all. Just like the first Passover in Egypt, there was blood and there was eating—but this time, it was His own body and blood, given for the forgiveness of sins. Jesus gave us this meal not just to remember, but to live. Every time I come to the Lord’s Supper, I’m not just looking back—I’m looking forward, practicing for the feast that has no end. This is the meal that carries me from death to life.