Rise and Run to the Risen Christ This Easter
From the sermon preached on April 5, 2026
Boston is a city of runners. The Boston Marathon, Heartbreak Hill, VO2 maxers on every block: we know how to train our bodies. But this Easter, the question Pastor Jan Vezikov put to the room at Mosaic Boston wasn't about mileage. It was this: what are you actually running toward? Rising and running to the risen Christ means turning away from spiritual emptiness and toward the One who is alive — not as a metaphor, but as a real act of faith, one step at a time, even if those faith muscles haven't been used in years.
What Does It Mean to Love Jesus the Way Mary Magdalene Did?
Mary Magdalene is mentioned fourteen times in the New Testament, more than almost any other follower of Jesus outside the twelve apostles. But her defining hour is Easter morning. While the male disciples had scattered (denied, betrayed, abandoned), Mary was at the cross, at the burial, and at the tomb before dawn on the first day of the week, carrying spices to finish what Joseph of Arimathea had started. She couldn't sleep.
What drove her wasn't duty. It was love forged by what Christ had done for her specifically. According to Luke 8:1–3, Mary had been inhabited by seven demons before she met Jesus. In first-century Jewish thought, seven was the number of complete control; whatever that oppression looked like in practice, she knew what it was to be dominated from the inside. And then Jesus Christ spoke, and the demons were gone. He healed her, forgave her, accepted her, and loved her.
So when the stone was rolled away and the body was missing, she didn't go home to process it. She ran to Simon Peter and the Apostle John (John 20:1) with the news. Love that has been forgiven much moves fast. The honest practice here is simple but costly: ask yourself what Jesus has actually saved you from, not in abstract theological terms, but specifically.
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Can Jesus Forgive You After You've Failed Him the Way Peter Did?
Peter's story on Easter morning is harder to sit with than Mary's, and that's the point. He wasn't at the cross. He was the one who (when a servant girl recognized his Galilean accent and identified him as one of Jesus's disciples) called curses down on himself and swore he'd never known the man. Three times. This was the guy Jesus had called the rock, the one who had declared he would go to the cross with him.
When Mary's news reached him (the tomb is empty, the body is gone), something desperate fired inside Peter. In Luke 24:12, the text says simply: Peter rose and ran. He didn't know what he'd find. He wasn't yet convinced of anything. But the logic running through his head was this: if Jesus came back from the dead, then everything he said was true; and if everything he said was true, there might still be a chance, even for someone who had done what Peter had done. Pastor Jan put it plainly: Peter ran like a man told there's a one-in-a-million shot at forgiveness and decided that was enough.
Peter stooped into the empty tomb, saw the grave clothes folded neatly, and went home marveling. Not believing yet. Just running toward the possibility. If there's something in your past that makes you feel disqualified, let Peter's sprint be your permission to move anyway.
If you want a no-pressure place to ask honest questions about forgiveness and faith, check our Explore Christianity page here.
What Fuels the Race God Has Set Before You?
Mary ran to the tomb, ran to the disciples with the news, and then ran back. While Peter and John went home (and eventually went fishing), Mary was still at the tomb, weeping. She wasn't leaving until she found him. In John 20:10–18, she does. She mistakes the risen Jesus for the gardener until he says one word: her name. She hears it in a voice she knows from the moment her demons were cast out. "Raboni" (teacher) is all she can manage before she falls at his feet.
Jesus tells her not to cling to him, and the reason matters. It isn't a rebuff; it's a promise. He has to ascend to the Father so that the Holy Spirit can come, and when the Spirit comes, she will have an intimacy with God that no physical proximity could match. The clinging she feared losing would become unnecessary because she would never lose his presence again. That's the fuel the sermon calls us to run on: not willpower or tradition or the discipline of the spiritually elite, but the love of Christ already proven at the cross and vindicated at the empty tomb.
Hebrews 12:1 calls believers to run with endurance the race set before them, looking to Jesus. Galatians 2:20 frames it as Christ himself living through those who belong to him. Psalm 119:32 puts it simply: "I will run in the way of your commandments when you enlarge my heart." The enlarging comes first; the running follows. Ask for the heart enlargement, then take the next step with whatever capacity you have.
Three Ways the Easter Story Shows What Running to Christ Looks Like
1. Run Like Mary — Out of Love for What Christ Has Done
Background: Mary Magdalene had been freed from seven demons by Jesus. Her devotion was not abstract; it was proportional to what she had been saved from.
Practice: Name specifically what Christ has freed you from. Let that be what moves you, not obligation or habit.
2. Run Like Peter — Even From Guilt and Failure
Background: Peter had denied Jesus three times and had every reason to believe he was disqualified. He ran anyway, on the slim hope that forgiveness was still possible.
Practice: Take one step toward Christ even if you don't feel ready. The empty tomb is already there. The grave clothes are already folded.
3. Run on the Love of Christ — Not on Your Own Fuel
Background: The sermon's point is that the Christian runs on something entirely different from self-discipline: the resurrection love of Jesus, poured out through the Holy Spirit, that expands the heart and increases capacity to love over time.
Practice: Ask God to enlarge your heart (Psalm 119:32) rather than trying harder with the heart you already have.
What the Resurrection Means for Those Running Hard in Boston
Boston is already a city acquainted with endurance. The marathon runs right through the Longwood Medical Area, past the neighborhood where Mosaic Boston meets on Sunday mornings. Thousands of people train for months for that race (early starts, disciplined pacing, the long grind up Heartbreak Hill), and if you've ever stood at the finish line on Boylston Street, you know what it looks like when someone crosses it completely spent and completely alive at the same time. Mosaic Boston, located in the Longwood Towers area and a short walk from the Green Line D Longwood stop, holds services at 9:15 a.m. and 11:15 a.m. on Sundays. You don't need to have it figured out to show up.
Rise and Run — The Tomb Is Already Empty
The Easter message is not that you need to get your life together before you come to Christ. It's that Christ rose before anyone believed it, before Peter trusted it, before the disciples understood it. Mary ran to a risen Jesus she didn't yet recognize; Peter ran toward forgiveness he couldn't yet claim; and the resurrection didn't wait for either of them to be ready. It called them by name and sent them running.
Frequently Asked Questions
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Mary Magdalene's devotion to Jesus was rooted in what he had specifically done for her — freeing her from seven demons and restoring her mind, her dignity, and her life. To love Jesus the way she did means connecting your faith to what Christ has actually saved you from personally, not just holding a general religious belief. Her love was proportional to her forgiveness, which is why the principle holds: the one forgiven much loves much.
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Peter denied Jesus three times on the night of the crucifixion, calling curses down on himself and swearing he'd never known him. And yet when news of the empty tomb reached him, Peter rose and ran. The resurrection meant the debt had been paid, including his. If the risen Christ restored Peter, who failed as publicly and completely as it's possible to fail, the answer to whether he can forgive your specific failure is yes.
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The sermon draws on the story of Lazarus in John 11, a dead man who still had to take a step with a dead leg when Jesus called him out of the tomb. The step comes before the full resurrection of feeling. You don't need to feel alive to move toward Christ; you move, and the life follows.
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The sermon points to John 10:3, where Jesus describes himself as the good shepherd who calls his own sheep by name. Mary Magdalene recognized the risen Christ not by sight but by his voice saying her name, a voice she had heard before when he cast the demons out. We train our ears to recognize that voice by reading Scripture, because everything Christ says is in harmony with what he has already said in his Word.
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The sermon draws a sharp contrast between Christianity as mere tradition (something you do, a background habit) versus Christ as the center of life, the way he was for Mary Magdalene. She didn't love Jesus for what she got from him; she loved him for who he was. Religion runs on obligation; running to Christ runs on the love of someone who has been genuinely forgiven and genuinely found.