It Was Very Good

God saw everything that he had made, and indeed, it was very good. And there was evening and there was morning, the sixth day.

It was very good. The power of a word. Out of the silence, out of the void, God speaks the first words ever spoken: “Let there be.” And with those words, existence unfolds. The power of a word. Where would we be without language? Without communication? Some say it’s the gift of speech that sets us apart from the rest of creation. Three simple words began it all: “Let there be.” Let there be light. Let there be sky and sea, land and stars, birds and creeping things. When God speaks, things happen.

Creation is baffling. It’s baffling because we don’t have to be here. The universe would function just fine without us. And that unsettles both the scientist and the theologian. Genesis 1 reads like a hymn—lush, vibrant, and overflowing with details that don’t have to be there, but are. God doesn’t simply make things; God names them. The light is called “Day.” The darkness, “Night.” The sky above becomes “Heaven.” The ground beneath, “Earth.” And naming is just the beginning. God gives them purpose. The sun rules the day; the moon governs the night. The sea and soil are charged with bringing forth life. The fish swim, the birds soar, the beasts roam. God creates. God names. God calls.

Let there be light, not for its own sake, but so there might be day.

Let there be water, that it might teem with fish.

Let there be dry ground so we have sure footing

Let there be…

In each of us lives the mystery of creation—the how and the why.

How? Three little words: Let there be.

Why? Three little words: I love you.

Let there be, because I love you.

God creates us. God claims us. God calls us by name and gives us purpose. That’s the power of a word. We spend our lives searching for words to describe love. And sometimes, words just aren’t enough. Love is found in a child’s hug, a mother’s kiss, a silent smile. Sometimes it’s as small as a whisper. Sometimes it’s as grand as the Taj Mahal. And when words fail us, music begins. Art begins. Dance, poetry, invention—they’re all born from our yearning to express what we can’t fully say. What an amazing and dangerous power God has given to us. 

And on the seventh day, God rested.

It’s easy to overlook this detail in the resurrection story. We often rush from cross to empty tomb, from Friday’s despair to Sunday’s joy. But don’t forget: between those days, there is a Saturday. A silent, heavy Saturday. In the tomb. In the dark. In the stillness. It is a rest that feels nothing like sabbath, at least at first glance. But maybe… maybe it is.

In Jesus, God enters the story of creation not just as Creator, but as the Created. Word made flesh. Light born of light. The One who said “Let there be” becomes the One laid to rest in the earth the Divine once formed. This is solidarity, not defeat! God, who spoke light into being, now enters the deepest night. God, who once separated the waters, now lies submerged in death’s silence. God, who named the stars, now bears the name above all names—not from a throne, but from a tomb.

The sixth day was when humankind was created. “Let us make them in our image,” God said. In the image of the Divine, we were made. And then, after this culminating act of creation—after humanity is formed and blessed and given purpose—God rests. And Jesus, the archetype of humanity, the image of the invisible God, on the sixth day, he is crucified. And then, again, God rests.

Creation rests in the tomb.

And from that sacred rest bursts resurrection.

Resurrection is not a reset. It is not a rewinding of the tape or a wiping away of history. Resurrection is the fullness of God’s word echoing into its final stanza. It is the good becoming very good. It is not just creation restored—it is creation fulfilled. And everything we’ve been preaching, praying, and pondering in this series—everything about finding the good and helping it thrive—leads here.

Remember where we began? “Only God is good.” That was Jesus’ reminder to the rich young ruler. It’s not a denial of our capacity for goodness; it’s an invitation to see that all true goodness flows from God’s own being. We’re not called to invent good out of thin air. We’re called to uncover it, lift it up, nurture it—because it was there from the beginning. Hidden in creation. Hidden in each other. Hidden even in a sealed tomb.

Then we talked about how goodness is not transactional. It’s not earned or calculated. We don’t measure it by likes, shares, or net worth. Goodness is a gift, and gifts are not meant to be hoarded or leveraged. We give because we’ve received. We share because we’ve been shared with. This is the rhythm of the resurrection: Jesus does not rise for himself. He has been raised for the sake of the world. His life, his goodness, poured out for all.

We explored the courage it takes to do good in a world that often misunderstands or even resists it. “Do not grow weary in doing good,” Paul writes to the Galatians. That was the heartbeat of our series. Because let’s be honest—doing good can be exhausting. It can feel futile. Especially when evil seems louder, faster, better funded. But Easter is God’s promise that good does not die in vain. Goodness may be buried, but it will rise.

We said that to find the good is also to listen—to see with curiosity, not certainty. To ask questions before giving answers. And what could be more curious than resurrection? The women at the tomb didn’t show up to be convinced. They came with spices, with tears, with grief. But what they found was something they never could have predicted. Resurrection isn’t what they were looking for—but it’s what they found. This is the invitation of Easter: to stay curious. To let wonder lead the way.

And now, on this day of days, we say with confidence: Christ is risen. And we say it not as a footnote to our theology, but as the very heart of our belief. The good we’ve been seeking is not a concept—it’s a person. Jesus is what good looks like in flesh and blood. Jesus is the Word that spoke the world into being, now risen to speak peace over all creation. If what we do doesn’t look like Jesus, then it isn’t good. It isn’t about Paul or Moses or Kings or Presidents. If it isn’t good news to the poor, recovery of sight to the blind, release of the captive, and the pronouncement of the Lord’s favor upon the old who are dreaming and the young who see visions, it isn’t good.

You shall eat in plenty and be satisfied,

   and praise the name of the Lord your God,

   who has dealt wondrously with you. And my people shall never again be put to shame.

You shall know that I am in the midst of Israel,

   and that I, the Lord, am your God and there is no other.

And my people shall never again

   be put to shame.

Then afterwards

   I will pour out my spirit on all flesh;

your sons and your daughters shall prophesy,

   your old men shall dream dreams,

   and your young men shall see visions.

Even on the male and female slaves,

   in those days, I will pour out my spirit. Joel 2:26-29

What does resurrection mean in this moment, for us? It means the good is not gone. It means the tombs in your life—those places of loss, or loneliness, or fear—are not the end of your story. It means you are part of the new creation. The old has gone, the new has come. The Spirit that raised Jesus from the dead is alive in you.

And so, church, find the good—and help it thrive. In the classroom, in the boardroom, at the kitchen table, in the quiet moment with a neighbor. Find the good, not because it’s easy, but because it’s Easter. Because God saw all that God had been made—saw even the cracks, the failures, the crucifixions—and still said, “It is very good.” Rest in the love that began creation. Rest in the grace that fills the silence. Rest in the promise that resurrection is not just something that happened, but is happening.

Let there be light.

Let there be hope.

Let there be resurrection.

Let there be you. Beautiful you.

Christ is risen. He is risen indeed.

Alleluia. Amen.