From Fear to Faith
Original sermon given on Easter—The Resurrection of Our Lord, Sunday, April 5, 2026 written and delivered by Pastor Jeff Leininger at First Saint Paul’s Lutheran Church.
Watch the sermon live.
“From Fear to Faith”
Matthew 28:1-10
In the name of the Living God and the Risen Christ. Amen.
The Lord is risen. He is risen indeed. Alleluia!
I was hoping for a bright, burning sunrise this morning...partly cloudy will have to do. It’s a reminder to me, on this blessed Easter Sunday, that the sun still rose this morning at 6:26am whether I was there to see it or not, whether I believe it or not, and even if the clouds are obscuring it a bit.
You’ll no doubt follow me on the SUN-rise—SON-rise pun (oldest preacher trick in the book), but I’d like to explore the sunrise metaphor a little deeper this morning.
You see, all the gospel writers record Christ’s rising from the dead. Indeed, it is explicit and assumed in every writing of the whole New Testament. All the earliest and most reliable surviving manuscripts are united in their confession of Jesus crucified, died and buried, but alive again on that first Easter Sunday. Hundreds of people saw the living Lord in the forty days after his resurrection and before his ascension. In fact, if Christ had not been raised from the dead, not one word of the New Testament would ever have been written, and we would certainly not be here in worship today.
And yet, like different people watching the same sunrise, the four gospel writers record the same event from a different perspective. Like the same sun rising in clear skies in one place, but burning behind the clouds in another, or brightening and coloring the clouds in another—each of the gospel writers record the same, incontrovertible event, from their own vantage point. Imagine if we all got up early to watch the sunrise this morning, we’d describe it differently because it would strike us differently.
St. Matthew’s account of the “Son-rise” is the fully burning, clear-skied, no brainer. It’s not the little cloudy, slow-burn, “I know it happened but it’s consequences aren’t fully apparent”—like St. Mark’s account. It doesn’t have the personal, emotional and teary touch of St. John’s witness (it’s so beautiful!). Rather, Matthew’s account, which we read this morning, is the earth-shaking, angel-rolling, lighting-flashing, powerful but fearful “Son-rise”.[i]
It starts with an earthquake—a seismic, sacred shift has happened such that the earth itself shakes under its power. An angel appears—no doubt they sent a ripped one, strong enough to roll away a mighty, sealed stone. The angel gleams like lightning, not from his own power but from being in the presence of life itself. His garments are as bright as a snow-covered January morning in Minnesota (if you know, you know!).
It’s no wonder then, that St. Matthew’s no-doubter, no brainer, burning-bright “Son-rise” brings the same initial reaction from two very different groups of people: the guards, afraid; the women, also afraid.
In fact, the word “fear” arises four times in this brief reading. That is one powerful Son-rise! The real difference in the story, then, is not their presence at the Resurrection, but rather what they do with it. The guards are paralyzed in death-like fear; the women, move through their fear to faith and joy.
Let’s start with the guards’ fear. These are from the Jewish militia force used to police the temple precincts. Matthew tells us in the previous chapter that the Jerusalem religious leaders (scribes and pharisees of the Sanhedrin), are anxious that Jesus’ disciples after his death would come and steal his body, claiming he rose from the dead. So, they approach Pilate for a garrison to guard the tomb. Pilate tells them, in effect, “if that’s your worry, then that’s your problem, use your own guards.” This is also why the stone has been sealed—to prevent a hoax.
It makes sense, then, that these guards at the tomb, shaken and stirred, fall as dead. Not only have they felt an earthquake and seen an angel, but their whole reason for being there has been dramatically undone. (This is the biblical example of “guys, you had one job!)”
Their fear leads to a death-like paralysis. It immobilizes them. They are confronted with the power of life, but can only remain as dead. At least for that moment on Easter Sunday, they are living-men, living as though dead.
The women’s fear, on the other hand, has a different result, a different trajectory. They are called (commanded!) to move through their fear, to faith. Oh, no doubt their fear is as real as the guards’. These same Marys—Mary Magdalene, a follower from whom Jesus expunged seven demons; and “the other Mary” (nice title, eh?) who may be the wife of Clopas and perhaps Jesus’ own aunt—these “Marys” arise early and go to the tomb expecting to find death. They come in grief, but also love and service to anoint the body of their teacher and friend.
They, too, are afraid at the appearance of the angel. They, too, feel the earth shaking beneath their feet, and see the great stone rolled away. They, too, fear at the “Son-rise”, but the angel confronts their fear with a command of faith: “You, stop being afraid (!), for I know you seek Jesus, who was crucified. He is not here, for he has risen just as he said.”
Running quicky from the tomb, with a mixture of great fear and great joy, they encounter Jesus himself. Falling at his feet, filled with wonder, they must still have felt fear, for Jesus himself now tells them, “Stop being afraid! Go, tell my brothers to meet me in Galilee!”
Two different groups, same “Sonrise”, same fear, different responses. One, of the guards: living as though dead. Paralyzed and immobilized. The women, “Mary 1 and Mary 2”, called past their fear to faith—clinging, witnesses, going, telling, rejoicing even though they can’t fully understand it all.
These two response to the same resurrection event rather call the question for us, this morning, too. We’re all staring at the same “Son-rise”—it’s fearful, powerful, paralyzing even. But my hope is that we will be called past our fear, to faith.
You see, there’s a fear that ends only in laying there, dead-like on the ground. No response. No impact. No real joy. No real change. As if the response to the greatest exclamation point in all of history, is to live like you’re dead.
But my prayer is that the truth of Christ’s resurrection will so shake you, this morning, that nothing can be the same again. No stone, too heavy; no tears, too great; no darkness, too deep; no fear, too paralyzing. My prayer is, having seen the “Son-rise”, that not even death itself can quench your joy or silence your song.
As a fellow human being like you, I know we live in a fear-filled world. And none of us get through this world without some wounds—there will be suffering, and pain and indeed death awaits each of us. The shroud of sin, and its consequences lay pall-like over us all.
My wisdom as a pastor is that there are times in life when you might be confronted by something so difficult, so hurtful, so tragic that there can be no neutral response— it will either draw you closer to God, or push you further away. You’ll either end up paralyzed by fear, living like you’re dead; or clinging to the feet of Jesus, ready to get moving.
His words, the words of the Living One, speak to all of us, equally, this Easter morning: “Stop fearing. I am with you. Get moving. Go, tell. Move past your fear to the joy of faith.”
This Jesus is the one crucified for all our sin, and raised for our justification. He is present here, with us, in the body of his church and his very body and blood on the altar. His kingdom extends through word and worship and witness starting in this place, to the ends of the earth, and stretching even unto eternity.
It’s the same “Son-rise” we’re all looking at, this morning. May his presence move us through fear to faith.
The Lord is risen. He is risen indeed. Alleluia!
Come soon Lord Jesus. Amen.
[i] I am grateful for Dr. David Schmidt’s insights from “Lectionary Kick-Start”, from Concordia Seminary’s online podcast, scholar.csl.edu/lks.
