Coram Deo: Living Before the Face of God

Resurrection Ripples...

 
"We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time."
-T. S. Eliot, “Little Giddings” from Four Quartets

Have you ever experienced déjà-vu?

You know what I mean, the experience of thinking that a situation that you find yourself in has occurred before? It is that moment when familiarity and uncertainty collide. Where you are is a place that feels both old and new at the same time. At first glance, that is what some of the disciples are going through at the start of the 21st chapter of John.

When six of the disciples decide to join Peter on a spontaneous fishing trip, their intent seems to be passing the time. Jesus told them to wait for him in Galilee. They’ve had two encounters with the risen Christ already. Who knows if there will be a third or a fourth visit? Jesus assured them that there was more to come but when would it arrive? When would Jesus appear again? What was next for them?

Time passes faster and waiting gets easier when you go back to something familiar.  Together they went back to the life they had left and a trade that they had spent most of their lives learning and mastering—fishing. They returned to their past, to a time before Jesus called them to follow him. Where they ended up was not where they expected but was nonetheless a place with which they were very familiar.

Technically the definition of déjà-vu is “the illusion of having already experienced something actually being experienced for the first time.” For the disciples, what happened that morning by the shore of Galilee was no illusion. And as night gave way to dawn, it was not the first time they experienced such an encounter together.

Night fishing. Empty net. Been there, done that. A voice from the shore tells you to recast just one more time. At the sun breaks through the horizon, you make the catch of the day—the kind of haul that threatens to sink your boat and burst your nets. We’ve heard that one before.

As you labor to bring the weight of your bounty to the beach, you believe that you are the founder of the morning’s feast. But the sight of a charcoal fire and the smell of broiled fish knock you to your senses. Loaves and fish. This reminds us of something. And then that same voice from the shore calls out “Bring what you have but breakfast has already been prepared!” All of this--it feels like the first time but it’s different even as it is familiar.

Encountering the dead man walking is like that. You’ve seen Jesus before, you recognize him, but all the same you want to ask, “Who are you?” You get so fixated on how different he is that you miss what is really going on—Jesus hasn’t changed, Jesus is changing you.

Resurrection life is like that. We become so engaged in the day-to-day rhythm of our lives that we barely notice what happens in the brief transition from night to dawn—when the death gives way to life, when the extraordinary breaking through the ordinary. Living a post-Easter existence means being reoriented by the presence of the risen Christ. It is having our senses heightened to the ripples of grace that are cascading into the smaller moments of our existence. It is realizing that our nets are empty until God fills them, that what we bring before Jesus isn’t something he is lacking but something that he’s already provided. It is answering the invitation to join a meal that has already been prepared and a table that has already been set.

The Benefit of the Doubt

Father Brendan Flynn: “You haven't the slightest proof of anything!”

Sister Aloysius Beauvier: “But I have my certainty…”

This series of quotes is from the recent movie “Doubt.” Based on a Tony and Pulitzer Prize award winning play, “Doubt” centers around the conflict between the principal of a Catholic school, Sister Aloysius, and the new priest assigned to the parish, Father Flynn. Specifically, they are at odds over the truth about what happened to a student in the school. More broadly though, their disagreement is about old and new, the status quo and change, conviction and uncertainty.

The presence of doubt in a world of certainty is part of the human condition. When confronted by the witness of his fellow disciples about the resurrection of Jesus, Thomas had his doubts (John 20:24-30). He insisted upon having physical proof—the ability to not only see but also touch the wounds of his crucified master. Thomas got more than he bargained for—an encounter with the living Christ, a Spirit-filled confession of faith and a label that has stuck with him ever since—Doubting Thomas.

Poor Thomas. How would you like to become a cliché, a nickname associated with every person with who persists in being a skeptic? Thomas doubted. Don’t be like Thomas. Doubt is bad. Belief is good.

We often champion giving each other the benefit of the doubt. We recognize and protect another person’s uncertainty--his or her need for more information. There is perceived advantage in not rushing to judgment. Suspending belief for the sake of more investigation is a sign of prudence, isn’t it?

Why then doesn’t Thomas get the benefit of the doubt?

Interestingly, Thomas does not get the short shrift outside the church. For outsiders to the faith, for skeptics and those disenfranchised from the church alike, Thomas is a breath of fresh air. Thomas represents the permission to question, to have reservations and to remain uncertain. Maybe, just maybe, the more pointed question that Thomas’ story draws out for us is this, why is there no benefit for doubt in the church?

We in the Christian community pride ourselves on writing and signing faith statements as a basis for membership and even employment within the church. Much of our evangelism is built on the principle of evidence that demands a verdict. Belief in God, belief in the risen Jesus, belief in the presence of the Holy Spirit is often reduced to small, simplistic equations.

We rarely if ever, invite let alone provide space for doubt. Can you imagine putting an addendum on a faith statement for listing the doubts of the community? Much of popular Christian apologetics offers no quarter for skepticism. Like the other disciples, we tell the Thomases in our lives, “We have seen the Lord!” The proofs, we argue, are obvious, all one has to do is accept and believe. We frown disapprovingly as Thomas turns to us and says “I have my reservations, my doubts. I need to see more.”

Such unbelief is very unattractive to many of us. Skepticism carries negative connotations within the body of Christ but are doubt and unbelief the same thing?
Is Jesus rebuking Thomas when he says “Because you have seen me, you have believed; blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed” or is there something more to his words?

Maybe we need to listen a little more closely to the dead man who is walking among us--the risen Jesus Christ. I don't perceive a rebuke in his words, I perceive a beatitude--a word of blessing. Jesus blesses those who will wrestle with doubt, who will not have the point of contact that Thomas does. They will not be rebuked for their doubts, they will be blessed with belief in the midst of their doubts.

Resurrection life is not divorced from doubt, it emerges from out of uncertainty. This world of skepticism that we live in, this world that many of us lament over, is just the kind of world that God is looking for—it is just the kind of world that Jesus brings resurrection life out of. Belief is not a human effort, it is a response to a divine gift. Belief is not a possibility apart from the revelation of God in the risen Christ.

Blessed are those who realize that there is not as much distance between their certainties and their doubts as they might have expected. Blessed are those who discover that the burden of proof is a heavier weight to carry than the benefit of doubt. Blessed are those who when confronted by the living Jesus, are empowered to confess with Thomas, even in the midst of their skepticism, "My Lord and My God!"

Dead Man Walking...

 No one expected Jesus to be resurrected. Death was always a possibility—not a likely one if he was the Messiah—but no one expected the resurrection of Jesus. If you read the Gospels carefully you’ll notice two repeated comments that support this assertion. Fear is the consistent reaction of the disciples. Alarmed. Startled and frightened. They were not prepared for a dead man walking…

The second comment made by every Gospel writer except for John is that Jesus had to open their minds so that they could understand what had happened to him. Jesus had to take the disciples through the Scriptures so that they could understand the meaning of the resurrection. What had happened to Jesus and its significance were not self-evident—it defied conventional wisdom and yes, even religious belief.

We in the Christian community try to paint the resurrection of Jesus as such an obvious expectation of the Scriptures. No one saw it coming in Jesus’ day and time but everyone ought to read the Bible and get it right away. We portray the implications of Jesus’ resurrection as being so easy not only to accept but also to surrender one’s life before. No one who was there knew what to make of Jesus’ resurrection—how it changed their own lives, let alone the world. But everyone should understand how things are different, how we are different because of the empty tomb, how the world is different.

The boilerplate formula looks something like this:

Jesus’ resurrection = Jesus went to heaven = believe in Jesus = you’ll go to heaven.

Unfortunately this formula isn’t as self-evident in the Scriptures as one might think. More importantly, this formula falls way short of encompassing what Jesus commanded his disciples to witness to with their lives. This formula doesn’t even come close to what the Holy Spirit inspired the early church to proclaim by their existence.

We need to let go of slogans and formulas and spend some time reflecting on the dead man who is walking among us. We ought to listen and talk to the risen Christ rather than trying to resurrect the Church through the latest marketing campaign or evangelistic crusade. To know the risen Jesus is to know that resurrection life isn’t merely a future expectation, it is a present reality with implications for the future. Following the resurrected Christ is more than keeping one’s eye on heaven, it is witnessing and participating in the intersection of heaven and earth now. It is living into the future as it breaks into the present.

Living between the times has never been easy. Like all births, the birth of a new creation can be overwhelming---not always what you expect or what you are ready for. Nothing can be more frightening than when our formulas for life break down or when our frameworks for perceiving the world become too small. Old habits, old patterns, old lives—all die hard. Living by resurrection can be more challenging than we realize. Running scared is often more tempting than facing our fear.

We are being called to embrace our fear of a new creation rather than running scared from the promise of resurrection life. We are being challenged to discover what the risen Jesus reveals and the Holy Spirit continually affirms even now. Living the resurrection doesn’t begin tomorrow and it isn’t the life of tomorrow—
resurrection life begins today.

Resurrection Reality...

Today we celebrate the resurrection of Jesus Christ!
Today is the vindication of the suffering love of a crucified God!
Today is our assurance that today is not the end of the story---it is only the beginning!
Today is the beginning of a new heavens and a new earth!
Today is Easter Sunday!

"Seven Stanzas at Easter"
by John Updike

Make no mistake: if He rose at all
it was as His body;
if the cells’ dissolution did not reverse, the molecules
reknit, the amino acids rekindle,
the Church will fall.

It was not as the flowers,
each soft Spring recurrent;
it was not as His Spirit in the mouths and fuddled
eyes of the eleven apostles;
it was as His flesh: ours.

The same hinged thumbs and toes,
the same valved heart
that–pierced–died, withered, paused, and then
regathered out of enduring Might
new strength to enclose.

Let us not mock God with metaphor,
analogy, sidestepping, transcendence;
making of the event a parable, a sign painted in the
faded credulity of earlier ages:
let us walk through the door.

The stone is rolled back, not papier-mâché,
not a stone in a story,
but the vast rock of materiality that in the slow
grinding of time will eclipse for each of us
the wide light of day.

And if we will have an angel at the tomb,
make it a real angel,
weighty with Max Planck’s quanta, vivid with hair,
opaque in the dawn light, robed in real linen
spun on a definite loom.

Let us not seek to make it less monstrous,
for our own convenience, our own sense of beauty,
lest, awakened in one unthinkable hour, we are
embarrassed by the miracle,
and crushed by remonstrance.

The Space Inbetween: A Reflection For Holy Saturday

Today is awkward. It is the day after. Yesterday Jesus was mocked, killed, nailed to a cross of wood, and left to die like a common criminal – while we watched. The evidence of our crime, of our sinful humanity is a broken and lifeless body. Our fingerprints are all over it. It is the day of desolation. Yesterday as nails pounded flesh in wood, as each breath became more labored, as a heart stop beating, all our dreams were shattered. The hopes we once had have been wrapped in linen, their memory lingers in the perfume and spices we have prepared.

The day after death. God is dead and yet we live. Without God, we have become the living dead. Living only to wait for death. As we roll the stone over the tomb of Jesus, we feel the weight of the stone before our own future. Our days are numbered. Our time is short. Holy Saturday, Easter Eve – the day has an empty feel about it.

Jesus’ absence from this physical space today confronts us directly.  It forces us to ask ourselves many questions as we seek to discern God’s will for us and struggle on with life’s uncertainties. On this day, we consider the possibility that our faith can lose its meaning, that we can “lose Christ” through our own faulty choices.  Today, we realize our limits, the questions for which we do not have an answer, the problems for which we have no solution. Here is the aftermath we finally stop and reflect on the meaning of it all.

A bloody cross. A lifeless body. The stillness of death. We are spent. He has paid it all but we are spent. He has carried the weight of our anger and our sorrow. He has confined himself to the limits of our logic and creativity. We have exhausted all possibilities. We have put it all on him. We have nailed all of it to the cross. And we have nothing left.

We have nothing left—but to wait. Today is the Sabbath. There is no work to be done. There is only waiting. We hope in the face of hopelessness. We long for meaning before that which appears to be meaningless. God is dead. His eyes are closed. He is not breathing. He is not here. Today is the Sabbath. We rest even though we feel restless.

We sit suspended between the tragedy of Good Friday and the triumph of Easter Sunday. We rest in the crucible of faith. In the midst of our puzzlement, we believe that today is a pregnant pause and not an epilogue. We hope because we dare to believe that the death of God in Jesus Christ, God’s revelation of his uncompromising solidarity with us is the most certain evidence that all is not lost, that there is more to the story. We may have nothing left but the riches of God’s grace are inexhaustible. We may not have an answer but the foolishness of God is wiser than our greatest wisdom.

And so we wait. We wait through the failure of Friday, through the silence of Saturday, for the answer of Sunday. We are right where God wants us to be--with nothing left to lose. Maybe now that we’ve lost everything we can gain a full understanding of all that Jesus truly was, of all that life and death truly meant. Maybe now that God has died for us—the idol we try to make God into, maybe now we can perceive the God who is infinitely greater and more than we dare allow God to be. Maybe now that we’ve lost our voice, now that all the screaming and shouting is over, the demands for proof, we can hear God in the whisper of an empty tomb, we will see God in the risen Christ.

We close with the verse of T. S. Eliot:

I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope
For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love,
For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith
But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.
Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought:
So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing…

In order to arrive there,
To arrive where you are, to get from where you are not,
    You must go by a way wherein there is no ecstasy.
In order to arrive at what you do not know
    You must go by a way which is the way of ignorance.
In order to possess what you do not possess
    You must go by the way of dispossession.
In order to arrive at what you are not
    You must go through the way in which you are not.
And what you do not know is the only thing you know
And what you own is what you do not own
And where you are is where you are not.

-Excerpt from Four Quartets, “East Coker”