Easter Sunday invites us to reflect on resurrection, healing, and what true wholeness looks like in our communities. The resurrection of Jesus is not just an event we remember; it’s something we experience today—new life breaking through in unexpected ways.

In Luke 8:40-56, we read two intertwined stories of healing: Jairus, desperate for his twelve-year-old daughter’s life, and a woman who has suffered from chronic bleeding. These aren’t just stories about physical cures but reveal a deeper sense of salvation. The Greek word sṓzō, usually translated as “heal,” also means “save.” When Jairus pleads for his daughter he asks Jesus to “come and lay your hands on her, so that she may be saved, and live” (v. 23). When the woman reaches out to touch Jesus’ garment, her hope is that “If I touch even his garments, I shall be saved” (v. 28). Both are asking for more than a cure—they’re seeking restoration and new life.

The woman’s healing goes beyond the physical; Jesus stops to acknowledge her publicly. Her restoration isn’t only about her body but also about her place in the community. Jesus says to her, “Daughter, your faith has healed you. Go in peace.” That peace, shalom, restores her fully to both God and her neighbours.

Similarly, Jairus’ daughter isn’t simply healed; she’s raised from the dead. When Jesus arrives, people laugh in disbelief—she’s already gone. But Jesus calmly enters the room, takes her hand, and speaks life into her: “Talitha koum!” (“Little girl, get up!”). Instantly, life returns to her. And then, in a moment that’s wonderfully ordinary, Jesus instructs her parents to give her something to eat. This simple act reminds us that God cares deeply for our everyday needs and realities, and works for healing in the midst of our lives. When resurrection happens before breakfast, we become open to a world brimming with new possibilities.

These stories challenge our assumptions about healing, especially when we consider disability theology. Amy Kenny provocatively reminds us in her book, My Body Is Not a Prayer Request, that healing doesn’t always mean what we think. Often, we assume physical “cures” are what’s needed, but resurrection invites us to an alternate perspective—one where difference is celebrated, and everyone belongs exactly as they are. We all need healing. We all have relationships that need to be resuscitated, hopes to be reborn, or parts of ourselves that need to receive new life in Christ. But seldom will it be exactly what someone else thinks Jesus needs to do in our lives.

In my work with Karis Disability Services, I’ve witnessed the transformative power of communities shaped by this resurrection vision. A few years back I had an opportunity to be a part of a youth ministry in Ottawa connecting young people with autism with peers from a local church. Here, healing isn’t about changing people to fit society but about creating a space where authentic relationships flourish. This is what resurrection life looks like—barriers become bridges, and differences become strengths.

Embracing resurrection is countercultural. When we genuinely believe in Christ’s power to transform lives—ours included—we risk looking foolish. But Easter challenges us to step beyond comfort, embracing new ways of being that defy typical expectations of success, strength, and “normalcy.”

Easter morning invites us into a resurrection way of life. But resurrection also means letting go—of our limited dreams, prejudices, and fears—to receive something far greater. The Apostle Paul describes this beautifully: “I want to know Christ—yes, to know the power of his resurrection and participation in his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, and so, somehow, attaining to the resurrection from the dead” (Philippians 3:10-11, NIV).

So, what might it look like for our churches and communities to live out resurrection? It might mean seeing healing as working toward radical accessibility and establishing deep relationships. Genuine miracles happen when we build communities where everyone, disabled and nondisabled alike, are valued and celebrated. It requires listening closely and learning from each other’s experiences. It means opening our imaginations to Christ’s resurrection not only on Easter but every day of the year.

In Becoming Friends of Time: Disability, Timefullness, and Gentle Discipleship, John Swinton writes,

Within Jesus’ body diversity has become the new norm, and living faithfully in the midst of diversity is the expected way of being in the world. As people are baptized into the body of Christ, so they enter into a space of deep and radical belonging. Within the body of Christ, every body has a place, and every body is recognized as a disciple with a call from Jesus and a vocation that the church needs if it is truly to be the body of Jesus. [1]

This Easter, let’s press into being communities of resurrection—places where healing and salvation are not just individual experiences but shared journeys. Like Jairus and the woman, we approach Jesus with desperation and hope, trusting him to bring new life to our situations. Resurrection surprises us, inviting us to dream bigger, deeper, and more fully about what God has for us and for our world. Let’s live boldly into this reality, knowing that Christ’s resurrection power is at work, transforming our lives in ways more beautiful than we could ever ask or imagine.