What Kind of Resurrection Do We Want?
A Meditation by Rev. Cameron Trimble
“Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here, but has risen.” — Luke 24:5b
They say Easter morning comes with lilies and fanfare, with bold alleluias and brass instruments, with sunlight breaking open the tomb and all of us rushing to celebrate life triumphant.
But this year, I don’t feel like rushing. This year, Good Friday has its place. It feels more honest to pause in the crucifixion rather than race to resurrection. To notice the world that is unraveling around us. To honor the grief that still lives in our bodies. To admit that the tomb is still close—that we are still learning how to sit in the dark.
And still, the resurrection matters. It always has. Maybe what we mean by “resurrection” needs to deepen. Maybe, this year, we are being invited into a quieter kind of rising. A slower hope. A deeper reimagining of what it means to die and live again.
I find myself asking:
Are we hoping for a resurrection that avoids the tomb?
I’ll be honest—some days, I just want relief. I want transformation without composting, joy without grief, clarity without the wandering. But that’s not how resurrection works. Not even for Jesus. You don’t get Easter morning without the betrayal, the silence, the brutal weight of Good Friday. Something has to die—not to punish us, but to free us.
Are we hoping for a resurrection that centers us?
We’ve been taught to see resurrection as something triumphant for humanity—our salvation, our victory. But maybe resurrection isn’t just about us. Maybe it’s about making room for other forms of life to rise: the rivers, the soil, the winged things. Maybe it’s about decentering our human supremacy and choosing mutual thriving instead.
Are we hoping for a resurrection that restores our innocence?
So many of us long to be absolved—to believe we are untouched by injustice, untainted by history. But resurrection doesn’t erase the wounds we carry or the ones we have caused. It marks them. Transforms them. It says: yes, you were broken. Yes, you broke others. And yes, you still belong. There’s a wholeness that comes not through forgetting, but through deeper accountability, tenderness, and truth.
Are we hoping for a resurrection that makes sense?
We want it to be clean, don’t we? Orderly. Redeeming in some measurable way. But the first Easter didn’t make sense. The risen Christ wasn’t recognizable. The story didn’t resolve. It unfolded in confusion, in awe, in the wide space between “what just happened” and “what happens now.” Maybe that’s the space we’re in too.
So this Easter, I’m not reaching for certainty. I’m reaching for courage.
Courage to sit with the ambiguity.
Courage to tend what still aches.
Courage to believe that love rises again—not always on schedule, not always in ways we understand—but always, always in service of life.
Whatever resurrection means for you this Sunday, may it come slowly, honestly, and in its own time.
We are in this together,
Cameron
Reflection Questions
What part of you is longing for resurrection right now? What part of you still needs time in the tomb?
What illusions are being stripped away in this season—and what truths might be breaking through?
What does courage look like for you this Easter? Where are you being invited to rise?
A Prayer for the Day
The Slow Work of Rising
God of dawn and darkness,
We bring you our weariness, our ache, our reluctant hope.
We have waited, we have watched, we have wept.
And still—something stirs.
Not loudly. Not neatly.
But enough.
Help us trust the slow rising of love.
Help us honor the places still buried.
Help us make room for a resurrection
that doesn’t center triumph
but restores connection.
Even in our confusion,
Even in our grief,
Even in our doubt—
Let us rise
with you.
Amen.
Spiritual Practice
Tending the Shoots
On this Easter, take a moment to go outside. Find a small patch of earth. Look for something green and tender—a new leaf, a blade of grass, a bud just beginning to unfurl.
As you stand or kneel near it, place your hand gently over your heart. Breathe. Let your body soften. Let your shoulders drop.
As you observe this tiny shoot, speak aloud or silently:
“This is resurrection, too.”
Let it remind you that rising rarely looks dramatic. Often, it begins in silence. In soil. In the slow, unseen work of becoming. Let this be your prayer: to trust the quiet work of love, and to join it with your hands, your breath, your care.
Upcoming Events That Might Be of Interest…
May 19-22, 2025 - Preaching and Worship FREE Online Summit: From war to genocide to a global climate crisis to a nation that perpetuates racism, misogyny, transphobia, and more from the highest office in the land, how do we prepare a sermon, a liturgy, a song, a prayer? Learn from some of our best preachers. REGISTER HERE.
June 4, 2025, 12pm ET - Jeff Chu has written a new book on a topic close to my heart: Soil! The title is “Good Soil: The Education of an Accidental Farmhand.” I am so pleased to be interviewing him. Together, we’ll explore what it means to cultivate “good soil” in our lives, our communities, and our spiritual practices. I hope you will register. Your registration includes a copy of his new book.
July 20-25, 2025 - The Art of Wilding: A 5-Day Expedition in Wyoming for Women Leaders. Click here to learn more. Only one spot left!
August 11, 2025, 2pm ET - Dr. Andrew Root and I will be hosting a 6 part series on Spirituality in the Secular Age based on his research. The dates are August 11, 18, September 8, 15, and October 6, 13. Mark your calendars! More on this soon.
September 4, 4:30pm ET - I will be collaborating with the Anderson Forum for Progressive Theology to host a conversation with Thomas Jay Oord on Open and Relational theology. It’s a FREE event. Register here.
October 15-18, 2025 - Converging 2025: Sing Truth Conference (all musicians invited!) at Northwest Christian Church in Columbus, OH. Register here!
I drafted a Strategic Framework for Congregations as we move into the coming years of increased authoritarianism around the world. If interested, you can download it here.
Yes yes. And thank you for ministering to pastors. For we need to mine for this promise every time we seek to share it anew with those in our circles of caring.
Thank-you, once again for your wisdom. It truly provides bread for the journey!