Deep Dawn
April 20, 2025 Easter Sunday
Ladue Chapel Presbyterian Church
Luke 24:1-12
“Deep Dawn”
Douglas King
Rows of bright white chairs standing in stark relief to the pitch-black darkness of the sky. The empty cross on the lawn, soon to be flowered, is nothing more than a shadow. There is something solemn and sacred about the sight as I drive up to the church every Easter morning (at least on those Easters when it is not monsoon season). John is usually busy getting ready for our sunrise service outside. As we scurry to prepare for worship our eyes intermittently keep watch for the first signs of light above us, for the break of dawn.
But does dawn actually break? My friend Rick Spalding describes it in this fashion.
“Dawn doesn’t really break in a bolt; it doesn’t break at all, really. Our beloved Genesis myth tells us that God parted the light from the darkness, and gave them names to separate and clearly distinguish them from each other; we treasure this myth for its clarity and order. But then you watch the sky….and there is no comforting boundary to plot at all between dark and light. It isn’t as though light pushes back against the darkness at a line of scrimmage; it’s as though the night infinitesimally turns itself, revealing some startling new side of its nature, one atom at a time. The psalmist says “Light and darkness are as one to thee,” which comes closer to the truth. Light and darkness spend each dawn yearning for each other, greeting each other, reaching into each other’s essence. Each day they enact their beautiful ache to be understood as One. I scarcely dare to believe that such a secret is enacted over our heads each day.”
Dawn does not arrive with a sudden obvious bellow into the silence. Dawn is like the deepest truths we learn in our lives. They are rarely lightning bolt aha revelations. The deepest truths unfold within us slowly, sometimes so imperceptibly, we do not recognize their arrival until they have completely found a home within us.
When Luke tells us the story of the resurrection he makes sure to tell us that the women arrived with the early dawn, not fully dark, and yet, not fully light. It is the time of day when you can see, but you cannot see everything. What they can certainly see is that Jesus’ body is missing from the tomb. When confronted by the two men in dazzling clothes they were terrified. But then they are reminded of the promise Jesus gave them that he would rise again. Death would be defeated. They slowly find their way to comprehending this deep truth. They are gradually able to see not a place where a body has gone missing but where a savior has risen.
When the women share this news with the other disciples, they do not believe them. It is only when Peter goes to the tomb himself that his eyes are opened. He slowly finds his way to comprehending this deep truth. Death has been defeated.
In the story that follows in Luke, two disciples leave Jerusalem heartbroken over Jesus’ death. As they journey to Emmaus they are joined by another. The two disciples share all that has occurred but they share it in confusion. Their companion teaches them along the way but they still do not recognize who he is. It is only when they break bread together that their eyes are opened to the resurrected Christ in their midst. They slowly find their way to comprehending this deep truth. Death has been defeated.
In Luke’s version of the resurrection there are no switches that are flipped instantaneously from disbelief to belief. The light does not come on in a sudden flash. I am grateful for this testimony. It speaks to how most of us journey toward understanding, how we find our way to belief.
Some of us gathered here this morning are solely here to please a family member or enjoy the music. Let’s hope the preacher does not yammer on for too long. We do not buy a word of this resurrection business. And who can argue with you? The defeat of death is a pretty big leap for a rational mind to imagine. Some of us gathered here this morning would like to believe it to be true but it is just too wide a cognitive chasm to traverse. Some of us are believing this morning but by tomorrow we will not be so sure. We are all somewhere on the spectrum of belief in the resurrection from outright impossibility to deeply trusted reality.
What I can say with confidence is that none of us knows entirely what we are talking about when we speak of resurrection. How can mortals grasp immortality? How can we who are limited see beyond all limitations? How can we who have known the stark and unyielding reality of death believe there is anything more powerful than death? Death is a tangible reality we can trust. We can see but we cannot see everything.
Yet we gather and we hear the story one more time. And perhaps we allow ourselves to genuinely consider, to ponder, to imagine. What if, among the many wonders of this miraculous universe, so many of which we have yet to truly comprehend, the spark of what makes us, us, is invited by a creator on into eternity? What if Jesus, all those years ago was indeed offering to open our eyes to this wondrous reality? Perhaps, as my friend Rick says, “One guffaw of disbelief…will morph into a question and then into a glimmer of insight…” We can see but we cannot see everything.
The journey to plumb these depths of existential truth does not often happen in a moment. “…there is no comforting boundary to plot at all between dark and light. It isn’t as though light pushes back against the darkness at a line of scrimmage; it’s as though the night infinitesimally turns itself, revealing some startling new side of its nature, one atom at a time…”
The light begins to reveal itself in the deep dawn and in the deepest truth of our existence. We can only hope for a glimpse of a reality we have yet to see. The author Mario Popova writes,“…reality is not a singularity but a plane. Each time we presume to have seen the whole, the plane tilts ever so slightly to reveal new vistas of truth and new horizons of mystery, staggering us with…a sense that we had been looking at only a fragment, framed by our parochial point of view.” (Popova, p. 61) Spend an afternoon with a quantum physicist and discover how much we have left to discover. We can see but we cannot see everything.
Whatever our level of belief in the resurrection, none of us has begun to glimpse the fullness of the picture. We are all on the journey from darkness to light; from limited understanding to greater understanding; from timid considerations to bold imagination.
I stand before you without a single answer as to how we can be welcomed beyond death into eternity; how we can be transformed from limited and often lost, broken and sometimes unbelieving; ever inherently imperfect; into whole and healed children of God, bathed in the boundless love of the divine, and ushered into eternity. What I can say is that we have received a promise. When the women at the tomb were reminded of that promise, in the dance between darkness and light, the light took a step forward.
I invite you to let this promise rest within you. Allow yourself to consider the concept, to ponder the possibility; to imagine what may appear unimaginable. Death has been defeated.
Perhaps, one imperceptible molecule of change at a time, we can find our way from darkness to light. Our eyes can be opened to seeing something we have never seen before; to finding some belief where we had none; to trusting in this truth with a greater ferocity than we ever have before; to recognizing how much more utterly transforming the entire endeavor is than we have ever considered before. We can see but we cannot see everything.
Death has been defeated. Christ is risen. And so shall we. Just imagine.
Thanks be to God. Amen.
Popova, Maria, The Universe in Verse, Storey Publishing,
Massachusetts, 2024.
Ladue Chapel Presbyterian Church
Luke 24:1-12
“Deep Dawn”
Douglas King
Rows of bright white chairs standing in stark relief to the pitch-black darkness of the sky. The empty cross on the lawn, soon to be flowered, is nothing more than a shadow. There is something solemn and sacred about the sight as I drive up to the church every Easter morning (at least on those Easters when it is not monsoon season). John is usually busy getting ready for our sunrise service outside. As we scurry to prepare for worship our eyes intermittently keep watch for the first signs of light above us, for the break of dawn.
But does dawn actually break? My friend Rick Spalding describes it in this fashion.
“Dawn doesn’t really break in a bolt; it doesn’t break at all, really. Our beloved Genesis myth tells us that God parted the light from the darkness, and gave them names to separate and clearly distinguish them from each other; we treasure this myth for its clarity and order. But then you watch the sky….and there is no comforting boundary to plot at all between dark and light. It isn’t as though light pushes back against the darkness at a line of scrimmage; it’s as though the night infinitesimally turns itself, revealing some startling new side of its nature, one atom at a time. The psalmist says “Light and darkness are as one to thee,” which comes closer to the truth. Light and darkness spend each dawn yearning for each other, greeting each other, reaching into each other’s essence. Each day they enact their beautiful ache to be understood as One. I scarcely dare to believe that such a secret is enacted over our heads each day.”
Dawn does not arrive with a sudden obvious bellow into the silence. Dawn is like the deepest truths we learn in our lives. They are rarely lightning bolt aha revelations. The deepest truths unfold within us slowly, sometimes so imperceptibly, we do not recognize their arrival until they have completely found a home within us.
When Luke tells us the story of the resurrection he makes sure to tell us that the women arrived with the early dawn, not fully dark, and yet, not fully light. It is the time of day when you can see, but you cannot see everything. What they can certainly see is that Jesus’ body is missing from the tomb. When confronted by the two men in dazzling clothes they were terrified. But then they are reminded of the promise Jesus gave them that he would rise again. Death would be defeated. They slowly find their way to comprehending this deep truth. They are gradually able to see not a place where a body has gone missing but where a savior has risen.
When the women share this news with the other disciples, they do not believe them. It is only when Peter goes to the tomb himself that his eyes are opened. He slowly finds his way to comprehending this deep truth. Death has been defeated.
In the story that follows in Luke, two disciples leave Jerusalem heartbroken over Jesus’ death. As they journey to Emmaus they are joined by another. The two disciples share all that has occurred but they share it in confusion. Their companion teaches them along the way but they still do not recognize who he is. It is only when they break bread together that their eyes are opened to the resurrected Christ in their midst. They slowly find their way to comprehending this deep truth. Death has been defeated.
In Luke’s version of the resurrection there are no switches that are flipped instantaneously from disbelief to belief. The light does not come on in a sudden flash. I am grateful for this testimony. It speaks to how most of us journey toward understanding, how we find our way to belief.
Some of us gathered here this morning are solely here to please a family member or enjoy the music. Let’s hope the preacher does not yammer on for too long. We do not buy a word of this resurrection business. And who can argue with you? The defeat of death is a pretty big leap for a rational mind to imagine. Some of us gathered here this morning would like to believe it to be true but it is just too wide a cognitive chasm to traverse. Some of us are believing this morning but by tomorrow we will not be so sure. We are all somewhere on the spectrum of belief in the resurrection from outright impossibility to deeply trusted reality.
What I can say with confidence is that none of us knows entirely what we are talking about when we speak of resurrection. How can mortals grasp immortality? How can we who are limited see beyond all limitations? How can we who have known the stark and unyielding reality of death believe there is anything more powerful than death? Death is a tangible reality we can trust. We can see but we cannot see everything.
Yet we gather and we hear the story one more time. And perhaps we allow ourselves to genuinely consider, to ponder, to imagine. What if, among the many wonders of this miraculous universe, so many of which we have yet to truly comprehend, the spark of what makes us, us, is invited by a creator on into eternity? What if Jesus, all those years ago was indeed offering to open our eyes to this wondrous reality? Perhaps, as my friend Rick says, “One guffaw of disbelief…will morph into a question and then into a glimmer of insight…” We can see but we cannot see everything.
The journey to plumb these depths of existential truth does not often happen in a moment. “…there is no comforting boundary to plot at all between dark and light. It isn’t as though light pushes back against the darkness at a line of scrimmage; it’s as though the night infinitesimally turns itself, revealing some startling new side of its nature, one atom at a time…”
The light begins to reveal itself in the deep dawn and in the deepest truth of our existence. We can only hope for a glimpse of a reality we have yet to see. The author Mario Popova writes,“…reality is not a singularity but a plane. Each time we presume to have seen the whole, the plane tilts ever so slightly to reveal new vistas of truth and new horizons of mystery, staggering us with…a sense that we had been looking at only a fragment, framed by our parochial point of view.” (Popova, p. 61) Spend an afternoon with a quantum physicist and discover how much we have left to discover. We can see but we cannot see everything.
Whatever our level of belief in the resurrection, none of us has begun to glimpse the fullness of the picture. We are all on the journey from darkness to light; from limited understanding to greater understanding; from timid considerations to bold imagination.
I stand before you without a single answer as to how we can be welcomed beyond death into eternity; how we can be transformed from limited and often lost, broken and sometimes unbelieving; ever inherently imperfect; into whole and healed children of God, bathed in the boundless love of the divine, and ushered into eternity. What I can say is that we have received a promise. When the women at the tomb were reminded of that promise, in the dance between darkness and light, the light took a step forward.
I invite you to let this promise rest within you. Allow yourself to consider the concept, to ponder the possibility; to imagine what may appear unimaginable. Death has been defeated.
Perhaps, one imperceptible molecule of change at a time, we can find our way from darkness to light. Our eyes can be opened to seeing something we have never seen before; to finding some belief where we had none; to trusting in this truth with a greater ferocity than we ever have before; to recognizing how much more utterly transforming the entire endeavor is than we have ever considered before. We can see but we cannot see everything.
Death has been defeated. Christ is risen. And so shall we. Just imagine.
Thanks be to God. Amen.
Popova, Maria, The Universe in Verse, Storey Publishing,
Massachusetts, 2024.
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