Preaching on Easter is not like preaching on Christmas, although the two days are paired together for their mutual fame and likelihood of drawing in strangers, marginal members, and victims of filial piety. Christmas finds everyone in a state of spiritual drunkenness: either so happy with children and presents and cookies and sentiment that the little baby in the manger is yet one more part of the larger parcel of charm, or so miserable with family tension or loneliness or disappointed expectations that the little baby in the manger is yet one more part of the larger parcel of oppression.

But Easter, for all the marketing efforts to ratchet bunnies and hard-boiled eggs up to the level of Santa Claus, cannot be overwhelmed with sentiment as easily, and the filial piety is thinner. The unusuals who show up have nothing more than brunch to look forward to and there is no cute little baby to ease the tension. They come and hear very weird stuff: a man dead, executed, is alive again, and we sing all these hymns to him and keep shouting “Christ is risen!” until they get the unnerving feeling that some of the people here actually believe it.

I have found in preaching on Easter that the good news is received as bad news by many. To some it is certainly a reassurance of great joy and hope. But for others, hearing and feeling the intensity of feeling around the resurrection of Jesus, the proclamation simply exposes their unbelief. I see it on their faces as I preach; the averted eyes and contracted facial muscles and falsely cheery “Happy Easter, Pastor!” on the way out the door. I declare what God has done for them and for their salvation, and in the process the Word of God turns some stony hearts even stonier.

Nobody warned me adequately what a dangerous job preaching is. I knew that salvation and damnation were at stake but I never expected to see them happening.