Teaching Summary: But As It Is (Easter Sunday)

1 Corinthians 15:12–28

I was in seventh grade when I landed the role of servant in our church's big Easter production. Multiple shows over several days — choir, orchestra, full sets, thousands of people. The centerpiece was the crucifixion scene, where a life-size cross had been built for the man playing Jesus. He would strap his hands and feet into brackets made to look like nails, the Roman soldiers would raise it, the music would swell, and at the perfect crescendo the cross would drop into place. It was a church production work of art.

Except on one particular night, at the moment of perfect crescendo, one of the brackets bent with the force of the drop, Jesus's right hand came loose, and the momentum of his body pulled the other bracket free. In the blink of an eye, Jesus had fallen off the cross. In front of thousands of people. On live television. My grandmother was watching from home and when I saw her later she asked: was that supposed to happen?

No, grandma. Jesus wasn't supposed to fall off the cross. But what exactly was supposed to happen two thousand years ago? And what did happen? And does it matter?

For a lot of people, Easter is a meaningful day without being a historically decisive one. The music is good. The flowers are out. And if pressed on what they actually believe about the resurrection, they might say: it doesn't really matter whether Jesus literally rose from the dead. What matters is what it represents. Hope. New beginnings. Life over death as an idea. Paul has something to say about that. And here's the thing: you can agree or disagree with him, but you cannot decide it doesn't matter. You cannot not care.

Paul is writing to a church in Corinth where some people believed in the bodily resurrection from the dead and some didn't. Those who didn't weren't hostile to Christianity and they were fine with Jesus as a special case. What they couldn't accept was bodily resurrection for ordinary people. In Greek thinking, the body was the cage. Death was the escape. Why would you want to come back to that? Paul doesn't argue with their philosophy. He does something more dangerous. He follows their logic all the way to the end.

If there is no resurrection of the dead, then Christ has not been raised. And if Christ has not been raised, Paul lines up six dominoes and knocks them over one by one. Our preaching is empty—not imperfect, not misguided, just noise. Your faith is empty—you've arranged your life around something that isn't there. We are false witnesses—not wrong, but liars who claimed to have seen a dead man alive and went to their deaths rather than deny it. Nobody dies for something they know is a lie. You are still in your sins—the cross accomplished nothing, the debt is still on the ledger. The dead are gone—everyone you have ever buried, not waiting, not held, just gone. And finally, the sharpest line in the passage: we are of all people most to be pitied. Not noble. Not misguided. Pitiable. If Christ wasn't raised, this is a colossal waste of everyone's time and we are the most pathetic people alive.

Then Paul pivots. Two words in the Greek: nuni de. But as it is. But in fact. What those words mean is: that entire hypothetical world I just described? That is not the world we are in. Paul isn't making a new argument. He is making an announcement. There is a difference between arguing someone toward a conclusion and telling them what happened.

We do not believe in a prophet. We do not believe in a teacher or an inspiring example of how to live. We believe in a man who died and was raised from the dead on the third day, and that that man was God who took on flesh, took on sin, took on death, and defeated it — so that we too might live and die and be resurrected to life eternal with Jesus and all who believe. He is risen. He is risen indeed.

Now watch every domino stand back up. Our preaching is not empty—every word spoken about Jesus lands on solid ground. Your faith is not empty—t is the most rational, well-founded thing in your life; you did not bet on nothing. We are not false witnesses—we are true witnesses; the apostles saw what they said they saw and went to their deaths rather than deny it. You are not still in your sins—you are forgiven, actually, fully, permanently forgiven, the debt is gone. The dead in Christ are not gone—they are held, and everyone you have buried who knew Jesus you will see again, not as a consolation but as a fact. And when I die I will see my grandmother again and we are going to laugh about the day Jesus fell off the cross. We are not most to be pitied—we are the most compelling people alive. Not because we have it together. Not because life is easy. But because we know death doesn't win, and that knowledge reshapes everything.

Paul calls Christ the firstfruits of those who have fallen asleep. Firstfruits is a harvest image. The first portion brought in was the guarantee of what was coming. The full harvest was on its way. Christ raised is not a private miracle. It is the beginning of a new order. The old order said death is the final word, sin is the defining reality, the grave is where everything ends. The new order says no. A new world has broken in. The firstfruits have been raised, and the rest of the harvest is coming.

Which means that if you believe this, you are not just a person who holds a different opinion about what happened in a tomb two thousand years ago. You are a resurrection person living inside a new order. And resurrection people look different. We live on an island where real pressure exists—real financial weight, real relational strain, real grief. And we live alongside a lot of people who have plenty and people in need, and in both cases hope is in short supply. You can hear it in conversation: complaint, cynicism, criticism as a default posture.

Resurrection people are different. Not because they are naive, not because they pretend the hardships aren't real, but because they know something the cynics don't. Death doesn't win. The new order is already underway right here on Nantucket. That produces a quality of life, a texture of hope, a willingness to love and give and stay and forgive, that is genuinely rare. That is what makes resurrection people compelling. Live in that reality. Our preaching is true. Our faith is founded. Our witness is real. Our forgiveness is complete. Our dead are held. What kind of person could be more compelling than that?

If you confess with your mouth that Jesus is Lord, and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved. That is the ask. Not feel it all the way down. Not have it completely figured out. Confess and believe. For those who already do: walk out of here as resurrection people. Be the most hopeful, most generous, most unafraid person in every room you enter this week. For those who are not sure: you don't have to resolve it all today. But you cannot not care. The stakes are too high. Follow the argument. Feel the weight of what collapses without it. And then hear the announcement.

But as it is.

Christ has been raised from the dead.

He is risen.

He is risen indeed.