Easter Sunday 5th April by Dr Desiree Snyman

The world is different to what we thought

There have been shattering moments in the development of humanity when we wake up to a world that is not what we thought it was. 

• Imagine life evolving from water to cell to creature to early humans who walk on two legs. Imagine being there at the moment when humans first stood upright, or when fire was first harnessed, or the wheel invented; events that reshaped the future. 

• Imagine living with the assumed “truth” that the earth is flat, only to discover that it is spherical, more precisely a geoid. 

• For centuries, many believed the earth was the centre of the universe, only to learn that it is a small planet orbiting the sun, which itself is not the centre but one star among many. 

• Imagine the shift in modern physics when it became clear that electrons are not simply particles or waves, but exhibit both properties at the same time. 

• Even more, phenomena such as quantum entanglement suggest a deep interconnectedness that challenges our ordinary understanding of space and separation. Imagine the implications of discovering the non-locality of electron spin. The behaviour of one particle is not fully determined by what is happening locally around it. It is connected to something beyond its immediate location. It shows that reality at a fundamental level is more interconnected than classical physics assumed. Non-locality is one of those moments where the world turns out to be different to what we thought. We expected a universe of separate, independent objects. Instead, we discover a reality where relationship is built into the fabric of things. 

• A similar earth-shattering event changed history when the disciples experienced the Resurrection. After the Resurrection, the world was different to what we thought. We expected the universe to operate in one way, instead, because of the Resurrection, we discover a totally different reality. The empty tomb, the appearances of the risen Christ, and the experience of Jesus in a transformed embodied form made real something entirely new. The Resurrection speaks of creation made new. It proclaims that the powers of death do not have the final word, because through love they are transformed into new life. For the early Jesus movement, it was the convergence of these experiences, the empty tomb, the visions of the risen Christ, and encounters with Jesus in a transformed embodied presence, that made the reality of the Resurrection known. 

We are at the heart of John’s Gospel

My conviction is that you and I and everyone we know and love who chooses authentic love is in John’s Gospel, right at the heart of it, leaning into the Christ. We are “the other disciple,” the beloved disciple.

We are “the other disciple” who outran Peter and reached the tomb first. We are the ones who believe in verse 8. Yet verse 8 is strange: “He saw and believed.” The faith of the Beloved Disciple does not sit easily with the very next line, “for as yet they did not understand the scripture.” It is also curious that this disciple does not share his insight with Peter or Mary. We, somehow, experience the resurrection before Peter. We, the beloved disciple, living resurrection faith, are also in John 13 at the foot washing meal, at the cross in John 19 and in 21. 

In John 13.23 we are seated at supper with Jesus as the Beloved Disciple, in the place of honour, leaning into him. 

As the Beloved Disciple, we are entrusted with the care of Jesus’ mother (19.26). She becomes our mother, and we become siblings of Christ and of all who step into the Gospel and take her home. 

When Jesus appears to the disciples in Galilee, it is the Beloved Disciple who recognises him and tells Peter (21.7). After Peter is commissioned, he is gently rebuked for asking about the Beloved Disciple’s role (21.20). 

For the writer of John’s Gospel, the reality of the Resurrection rests on faith, not on the proof of intellectual argument, historical witness, or fundamentalism. The faith that the writer of John’s Gospel envisions is a deep trust in oneing, the relationship of intimate unity between our soul with God’s soul and the souls of each other and the heartbeat of creation. John’s Resurrection account assumes that for us the resurrection is the centre of our faith, the resurrection is an eternal present moment, that we are living the resurrection moment by moment in every breath we breath, but then asks what does a resurrection faith look like? 

For some, resurrection faith does not arrive in light and certainty. It begins in doubt, in darkness, in the slow and painful labour that brings about new birth. Being born again is not a single moment. It is a process. 

We often speak of Easter with images of sunrise, light, and triumph. But the story itself begins elsewhere. It begins in a cave, in the dark, damp earth. The resurrection is announced later, but whatever happened, happened in the dark. No one saw that moment. No light, no witnesses, no spectacle. 

If it happened in a cave, it happened in silence, in darkness, with the smell of stone and soil. And that matters. Because new life always begins this way. A seed grows in the ground. A child forms in the womb. And Jesus is raised in the tomb. 

So too for us. New life in us often begins in places that feel hidden, uncertain, and even painful. Resurrection is not always something we recognise at the time. It unfolds quietly, beneath the surface, before it is ever seen or named. 

Mary recognises Jesus when he speaks her name (John 20:16). In that moment, John 10.3–4 becomes real: the sheep know the shepherd’s voice. A name signals intimacy, not distance. She does not recognise him by sight, but by sound. Perhaps this is the point. 

At the beginning of John’s Gospel, Jesus’ first words are a question: “What are you looking for?” (1:38). And here, in this moment of new creation, he asks again: “Whom are you looking for?” (20:15). The question frames the whole story. It is the question that opens the Gospel, and the question that opens resurrection life. A new ministry is beginning. A new story is unfolding. 

And it unfolds not through spectacle, but through recognition. Through relationship. Through love calling to love. 

This is what the early Christian experience of Easter rests on. Not simply an event to be explained, but a reality to be entered. The risen Christ speaks our name. And in that speaking, something in us awakens. We hear. We turn. We recognise. 

Resurrection faith, then, is not first about certainty or proof. It is about relationship. It is about being drawn into the deep knowing that we belong, that we are held, that we are part of a reality where love is fundamental. 

Jesus speaks our name and says, in effect:
You are love. That is who you are.
And I am the heart of love.
And the heart of love draws you closer. 

So, the question remains for us, as it did at the beginning:
What are you looking for?
Whom are you looking for? 

And perhaps the deeper invitation is this:
not only to look, but to listen
until we hear our name spoken
and recognise that we are already part of the life we seek.