Easter Sunday of the Resurrection of the Lord (April 5, 2026)

For centuries, the butterfly has been a symbol of Easter. The caterpillar, hidden and earthbound, is transformed into something radiant and free. Nature itself becomes a parable of resurrection.

In Greek, the word for butterfly is the same as the word for the human soul: psyche. Early Christians, worshiping quietly in the catacombs of Rome, adopted this image as a sign of hope. The butterfly became a symbol of the soul lifted beyond the earthly plane by the love of God.

Church musicians understand something of this mystery. So much of our work is hidden: hours of rehearsal, quiet preparation, notes practiced in empty churches. And yet, on this day, what was hidden is revealed. What was rehearsed in silence is released into song.

The Resurrection proclaims that death has been overcome. Jesus is truly risen – and in him, so are we.

Throughout Lent, we united ourselves with Christ in his suffering. We set aside the Alleluia. We sang in restraint. We allowed silence to speak. If we were one with him in his suffering, then today we are one with him in his risen joy. The Alleluia returns – not as decoration, but as proclamation.

Still, today’s Gospel offers a surprising truth. The first response to the empty tomb is not music, but fear. Mary Magdalene, Peter, and the beloved disciple run from the tomb bewildered and unsure. They lock the doors, for they did not yet understand the Scripture that Jesus had to rise from the dead.

The Resurrection was the last thing they expected.

Church musicians know this feeling well. We sing of the Resurrection year after year, yet we still encounter moments of doubt, fatigue, and uncertainty. We proclaim hope even when our own hearts are still catching up with the music. 

The Acts of the Apostles shows what happens next. Those who once hid behind locked doors begin to sing a new song. Their lives become a continuous Alleluia, proclaimed not only in words but in witness. They suffer for this song, yet they do not stop singing. Now they understand the Scripture that Jesus had to rise from the dead.

Saint Paul reminds us that Easter is not only something we sing – it is something we embody.

“Let us celebrate the feast,” he writes, “not with the old yeast of malice and wickedness, but with the unleavened bread of sincerity and truth.” Music offered without love is empty sound; music shaped by sincerity becomes prayer. 

Our world remains unsettled and anxious. Even our church communities can feel fragile. Yet every time we sing the Easter acclamations, every time we give voice to Resurrection hope, we stand as witnesses at the empty tomb.

We have no proof of the Resurrection except the testimony of those who encountered it – and then could not remain silent. That testimony now passes through us: through breath, through pitch, through gathered voices lifted in faith.

Remember the butterfly.
From the stillness of the cocoon comes flight.
From silence comes song.
From the empty tomb comes life.

Christ is risen. Alleluia!