Tonight, we began in darkness. Outdoor, we gathered around a newly kindled fire. The night was still, the world quiet, and the Church itself was shrouded in darkness. From that fire, the Paschal candle was lit and carried into this darkened space—a powerful sign of Christ rising from the dead and entering a world overshadowed by fear, confusion, and despair.
Little by little, that one flame spread. Candle after candle was lit, until the darkness could no longer hold its ground. And then we heard the great proclamation of the Church—the Exsultet—declaring with joy: “This is the night when Jesus Christ broke the chains of death and rose triumphant from the grave.” A night of victory, the night our salvation is sealed.
Yet, after Jesus died, not everyone believed this victory was real. There were rumours, doubts, and confusion. Some claimed that there was a plan for His body to be stolen by His apostle and then claim resurrection. Others could not simply comprehend the possibility of resurrection. Even the disciples struggled to believe.
This tension is not far from our own experience. We, too, sometimes stand between doubt and faith, between fear and hope.
That is why the words of St. Paul echo with such urgency: if Christ had not risen, our faith would be in vain. Everything would collapse. But Christ has risen. The tomb is empty. Death has been defeated. And because of this, Hallelujah is no longer just a word we sing—it becomes the song of our lives.
Tonight’s liturgy is unlike any other. We listened to multiple readings, not just a few, because the Church wants us to journey through the entire story of salvation—from creation, to the fall, to the promise of redemption, and finally to its fulfilment in Christ.
This long journey reminds us of something essential: God has always been working to restore us. Even when humanity lost its dignity through sin, God never abandoned His people. And tonight, in the resurrection of Jesus, that dignity is fully restored.
Christ did not only break the chains of death—He restored power and authority to us as children of God. This is what we call resurrection power.
It is not just something that happened to Jesus long ago. It is a living power, active and present, meant to transform us here and now. When we truly believe in the risen Christ, that power begins to work within us. It breaks through fear. It lifts us out of anxiety. It revives what seemed dead inside us—our hope, our courage, our faith, our love.
Maybe there are areas in your life that feel like a tomb tonight. Maybe fear has held you captive. Maybe disappointment has weakened your faith. Maybe you feel like something good in you has died. The message of this night is clear: the tomb is not the end.
The same power that raised Jesus from the dead is able to raise you. Not just at the end of time—but even now.
The Gospel tells us that Mary Magdalene and the other Mary came to the tomb, expecting death—but instead, they encountered life. And what did they do? They ran. They hurried away from the tomb, filled with awe and joy, to announce the good news.
This is also our calling. We cannot remain standing at empty tombs—whether they are tombs of fear, doubt, or hopelessness. We are invited to leave them behind. To run toward life. To embrace the risen Lord. To believe—not just with our minds, but with our whole lives—that Christ is alive.
The resurrection of Jesus is not just His victory. It is our victory. It is our hope. It is our new beginning.
So tonight, let us open our hearts to this truth. Let us allow the light of Christ to enter every dark place within us. And let us walk forward with confidence, knowing that no darkness, no fear, and not even death itself has the final word.
Christ is risen.
And because He lives, we shall live also.