Easter Vigil – 4 April 2026
Few of us are spared today the ambiguity of social media. For some it is a helpful means of communication; for others it is an addictive curse. Yet, in one way or another, it has become part of most of our lives.
There is one type of clip on TikTok that always delights me whenever it appears. There are many versions of it under the title “Dance Funny.” A young dancer walks through streets in different parts of the world and spontaneously invites strangers to dance. The people he meets seem entirely random: people of every age, shape, culture and background. Yet the music and energy of the young dancer draw them into a moment of joy. They respond with their own steps and movements, some with surprising talent, and together something beautiful takes place. For a few moments strangers become companions, and life bursts forth in an unexpected choreography. The words to the upbeat music go:
“My life, I’m taking the crowd, shining brighter than the stars above, my life, nobody holding me down, I’m standing tall with all my strength, dance with me now, on the stage of my destiny, dance with me now, this moment is mine for eternity. All the pain of yesterday fades away, tomorrow’s dreams are here to stay, let the music take me higher still. This is the night; my iron will. I have been broken, I have been tested hard, but every wound has left its mark, now I am shouting to the universe, this is my life for better or worse.”
I do not think I ever watch those clips without feeling good again about life, about the resilience of life, about the mysterious way joy can break into ordinary places. The clips are not religious. Yet there is something in them that echoes the mystery we proclaim this holy night. For tonight we proclaim that the life of one person has exuded such power and force that it has shattered the confines of decay and death itself. The Resurrection of Jesus has drawn all humanity into a new choreography of life in which fear gives way to love, despair is transformed into hope, and death itself is overwhelmed by life.
Matthew’s Gospel captures that moment with remarkable vividness. Mary Magdalene and “the other Mary” come to the tomb at dawn. They are not dancing. They are grieving. They come carrying sorrow, confusion and disappointment. Their hopes have died with Jesus. The future seems closed. And then everything changes. There is an earthquake. The stone is rolled away. The angel appears. The guards tremble in fear. But to the women the angel says: “Do not be afraid.” They are told that Jesus who was crucified is no longer in the tomb. “He has been raised.” Then comes one of the most beautiful lines in the Gospel: “They left the tomb quickly with fear and great joy.”
Fear and joy together. That is often the way resurrection begins. The women do not yet understand everything. They do not know what lies ahead. They do not have all the answers. But they know enough. The tomb is empty. Christ is alive. Hope has broken open the night. And as they run to tell the others, Jesus himself meets them on the road. His first word to them is simple: “Greetings.” In Greek, it is a word that can also mean “Rejoice.” The risen Christ meets them not first with explanation, but with joy.
That is the Easter message. Christ does not simply remove suffering or erase the wounds of history. He transforms them from within. The risen body of Jesus still bears the marks of crucifixion. The wounds remain, but they are no longer signs of defeat. They have become signs of love stronger than death.
We began this evening in darkness, a darkness that mirrors so much of the concern we carry for our world. Into that darkness, a single light was lit. Not a flood of light. Not the removal of night. Just one flame. That flame burning before us now is our proclamation that God has been at work in the darkness itself, transforming it from within, bringing life out of what first seemed lost, enabling our hearts to dance with hope. We often think hope means the removal of difficulty, the resolution of conflict, the securing of the future. But the Resurrection reveals something far deeper. Hope is not the absence of darkness. Hope is the discovery that darkness is not final.
That changes everything. Because it means that even now, in a world unsettled by conflict, in economies that feel fragile, in lives marked by uncertainty, God is not waiting to act. He is already acting. Perhaps we do not always see it. The tomb, after all, looked sealed. The story, by all appearances, looked finished. But it was not. And neither is ours. This, then, is the faith into which we are invited tonight: to believe that even where we see endings, God is preparing beginnings; even where we see uncertainty, God is at work in ways we cannot yet perceive; even where we see darkness, light has already begun. And from that light, another light spreads. Not by overpowering the darkness, but by quietly overcoming it with all the joy of a new dance.
Perhaps that is why those simple dance clips move us so much. They remind us that joy is contagious. One person’s energy can draw others in. One person’s hope can awaken hope in another. One person’s freedom can liberate others from fear. That is what the risen Christ does. He steps into the fearful, grieving streets of our world and says to us: dance with me now. Step into the new life that I am creating. Do not remain trapped in the tombs of fear, bitterness, regret or despair. Come out into the light. Join the dance of resurrection.
And just as that young dancer of TikTok fame engages those he comes across with an exuberance which shares with people their humanity, so each of us is called to go out into the streets and to draw others into that dance of hope that this night enlivens our hearts. By our compassion, our courage, our forgiveness, our refusal to surrender to cynicism, our care for those who suffer, our determination to keep believing in goodness, we say to the world: dance with me now. Let the music of this night burst forth into a new way of living for the dreams of tomorrow have already been fulfilled.
