Every Easter Sunday, churches around the world echo the proclamation: He is risen! But the words we’ve heard so often can lose their power if we don’t let them sink deep. This year, Pastor Cory Gieselman invited us to hear the resurrection story not as a well-worn tale, but as a personal declaration—a redefinition of who we are, and how we face fear.

The sermon, drawn from Matthew 28:1–10, opens in a place of grief and silence. Mary Magdalene and the other Mary approach the tomb, still reeling from the trauma of the crucifixion. The stone that sealed Jesus’ body into death was also sealing their hopes. But what they found that morning shattered not only stone, but fear itself.

The Earth Shakes, Heaven Speaks

Matthew tells us an earthquake shook the ground as an angel of the Lord descended, rolled back the stone, and sat on it—calmly, confidently, as if to say, This is finished. Death is done. The guards tremble and collapse. The women—full of love, but still afraid—stand on shaking ground.

Pastor Cory pointed out that this story is filled with movement—earthquakes, angels descending, Jesus rising, women running. But at the heart of all the motion is a still truth: the tomb is empty. It didn’t need to be opened for Jesus to get out—He was already gone. The stone was rolled away so they could see inside.

And when they did, the angel met them with the words heaven so often speaks to earth:
“Do not be afraid.”

Fear is Real, But It’s Not Final

Pastor Cory didn’t gloss over the fear that the women carried. Grief is not a clean wound. They were shaken, broken, uncertain. But in that holy moment, fear became the backdrop for something greater—joy. The angel’s message was more than reassurance; it was a commission: “Come and see… go quickly and tell.”

The call was not just to believe the resurrection, but to become witnesses of it. The women, once paralyzed by fear, became the first preachers of Easter. That’s not a small detail. In a world that often silenced them, God entrusted the resurrection to women first.

In the midst of their trembling, something took root—joy. Not because the world was suddenly safe, but because death had lost its sting.

We Are Not Defined by Our Fear

One of Pastor Cory’s most powerful insights was this: “We are not defined by our fear—we are defined by the resurrection.” That’s not just Easter optimism. It’s truth rooted in the person of Jesus, who met the women on the road and said again, “Do not be afraid.”

This wasn’t a dismissal of their feelings. It was a redirection of their identity. Fear may visit, but it doesn’t get to stay. It doesn’t get to name us.

When Jesus met the women, He affirmed their mission—“Go and tell my brothers.” Not just “the disciples,” but “my brothers.” Even after betrayal, even after desertion, Jesus restored relationship. His resurrection didn’t just conquer death—it healed the fractures of failure and fear.

The Resurrection Names Us

In our world today, fear shows up with different disguises. Financial uncertainty. Loneliness. The weight of failure. The ache of grief. The dread of the unknown. We often define ourselves by our pain: the one who messed up, the one who lost someone, the one who struggles with anxiety, the one who never measures up.

But Easter flips the script. The resurrection says:
You are not the sum of what has happened to you.
You are not your fear.
You are beloved. Chosen. Sent. Alive in Christ.

That’s the core of Pastor Cory’s message. The resurrection doesn’t ask us to pretend we’re not afraid. It just says fear doesn’t get the last word.

Go Quickly and Tell

The angel said, “Go quickly and tell his disciples, ‘He has risen from the dead.’” That instruction was urgent, not because Jesus would vanish, but because good news is meant to move.

Resurrection isn’t meant to be bottled up in a church sanctuary or one Sunday a year. It’s meant to be shared—quickly, freely, joyfully. And not just with polished words, but with changed lives.

The women didn’t wait until they had all the answers. They didn’t wait until they felt ready. They just went. And as they went, they saw Jesus. That’s often how it works. Clarity comes not before the going, but during.

From the Empty Tomb to Everyday Life

So what do we do with this now?

We live in the resurrection. We let it define us. We let it pull us out of fear and send us into joy, even when the ground is shaking. We become resurrection people—those who expect life in dead places, who speak hope into despair, who carry joy not because everything’s perfect, but because Christ is alive.

That’s the heart of Easter.

It’s not just a celebration. It’s a calling.

Do not be afraid.
Come and see.
Go and tell.

Because the stone is rolled away—not just from Jesus’ tomb, but from the walls we build around our own hearts. The grave is open. And so is the invitation.