“Nothing can separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

—Romans 8:39

The days between the Crucifixion and Easter morning were dark, uncertain, and full of fear. The disciples had followed Jesus, trusted him, even left behind their old lives for him—and now he was gone. Executed as a criminal. Buried in a borrowed tomb. Their hopes were shattered. They locked themselves away in fear.

The morning of His Resurrection did not begin in joy—it began in silence, confusion, and fear. The tomb was empty. Jesus was gone. Mary wept, believing his body had been taken. The disciples, unsure of what to believe, hid behind locked doors. The world had shifted under their feet.

If you’ve ever lived in that in-between space—between grief and hope, rejection and love, silence and revelation—Easter is your story too.

The disciples would have known the words of Psalm 30:5: “Weeping may stay for the night, but rejoicing comes in the morning.” Yet in the shadow of the Crucifixion, their grief clouded their understanding. Though Jesus had spoken plainly of what was to come, sorrow and fear made it difficult for them to remember. In Luke 9:22, Jesus told them: “The Son of Man must suffer many things and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests and the teachers of the law, and he must be killed and on the third day be raised to life.”

Many gay men, too, anticipate rejection when they come out—rejection from family, faith communities, or society. Jesus predicted that He would be rejected as well. He was misunderstood by many who expected the Messiah to be a political liberator, someone who would overthrow Roman rule. Yet Jesus accepted his fate, knowing that his rejection and death would lead to something greater. In John 2:19, He said: “Destroy this temple, and I will raise it again in three days.” Though the disciples did not grasp it at the time, Jesus was preparing them for the truth that death was not the end—that from what was broken, new life would rise. By holding on to our faith after our rejection, we will be reborn and risen because while others may have rejected us, God never will.

Many gay men of faith know what it is to feel locked out or hidden away. We’ve known fear. We’ve known doubt. We’ve been told, sometimes by the church itself, that we are not fully welcome in the places where love should flourish. But in the Resurrection, God does something unexpected and deeply personal: Christ returns, not to the powerful, but to the ones who are hurting, frightened, and unsure. And he calls them by name.

He speaks Mary’s name in the garden—and suddenly, her mourning becomes recognition. John 20:16 says, “Jesus said to her, ‘Mary.’ She turned toward him and cried out… ‘Teacher!’” She turns and knew: love had not left her.

John 20:19 says, “On the evening of that first day of the week, when the disciples were together, with the doors locked for fear… Jesus came and stood among them and said, ‘Peace be with you.’” He appears to the disciples in their fear and breathes peace into the room. They do not reach out first—he comes to them.

John 20:25 tells us that Thomas doubted that Jesus had risen, “He said to them, ‘Unless I see the nail marks in his hands and put my finger where the nails were, and put my hand into his side, I will not believe.’” And when Thomas cannot believe without proof, Jesus doesn’t shame him. Instead, a week later in John 20:27, Jesus went to Thomas and said, “Put your finger here; see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it into my side. Stop doubting and believe.”

This is not the love of a distant or conditional Savior. This is a love that returns for you. A love that steps across fear, past doubt, and into locked rooms and wounded hearts. This is a Savior who speaks your name—not with judgment, but with tenderness.

No amount of uncertainty or fear can lock Christ out. His resurrection is not only about defeating death—it’s about restoring relationship. It’s about stepping into locked rooms, into quiet hearts, into hidden places, and saying, “Peace be with you.” It’s about transforming sorrow into joy.

You are not forgotten. You are not disqualified. You are not too late.

The Risen Christ sees you fully—your questions, your longings, your deepest self—and says: Peace be with you. Rejoice. I have called you by name. You are mine.

Are there places in your life where fear still holds the door closed? Have you heard Christ calling you by name—and if not, are you open to listening? What would it mean to let resurrection joy take root in your story? Christ knows what it is to be misunderstood, doubted, and abandoned. And yet, he rises not to condemn, but to comfort. He comes not to erase your wounds, but to show you his own—and in doing so, to show you that your story is safe with him. Whether you are weeping in the garden or hiding behind locked doors, he is near. He speaks your name. He breathes peace. And he turns your fear into joy.

Jesus was crucified to suffer for our sins, and He was risen from the dead to allow us to be reborn. On this Easter Sunday, remember what the angel told Mary in Matthew 28:6 when she discovered the empty tomb:

“HE HAS RISEN”