Easter 2023: Welcome to the flip side….

Poor Matthew (Parris) doesn’t get it. I get why he doesn’t get it. And he isn’t alone. His problem is both relatively straightforward and relatively common. As Benjamin Franklin wrote in a letter to Jean-Baptiste Le Roy in 1789 “...in this world nothing can be said to be certain, except death and taxes” – and dead people stay dead. So I can forgive Matthew for being confused as to the significance of Jesus’ death. Writing in his Times column yesterday under the title “I’ll choose heroes before martyrs any day”, Matthew described Jesus as “the supreme example of a great man felled by midgets”. He was objecting to the notion that Jesus death proves or validates His teaching: “That Jesus was falsely accused and cruelly crucified does not make him a better man, or his teachings more true than if he had lived comfortably to ripe old age.. The depth of his suffering has no bearing on the validity of the Christian message..”. His basic thesis was that Jesus died a victim and His victimhood generated such sympathy that it prevented (and prevents) a proper analysis of what He taught. This rather implies that Jesus’ death was either a miscalculation or bad luck, but not in any way key to who He was or what He was seeking to do. But this indicates that Matthew has entirely missed the meaning and significance of Jesus’ death (for it has both). It is something that is easily done.

The reason he misses the point is that he is focussing on only half of the story. There’s lot about Jesus’ death that might make one rage (much as I was doing on Friday). At a minimum it certainly came as a huge disappointment to His earliest followers. But if Jesus simply died, coming to a horrible end, that could not possibly validate His message (to this extent I agree with Matthew). In fact it would convincingly invalidate His message. If He was merely a victim, He could be no example. For on its own, His death would proves nothing beyond Him being either a fool or a liar. Who would want to follow either? This is because He Himself was very clear about the place and circumstances of His death, and spoke about them repeatedly. But He also insisted that His death would not be the end. His original audience either did not hear Him, did not understand Him or did not believe Him. That inner group of disciples, so traumatised by the events of “good” Friday, were every bit as incapable as Matthew at putting it all together. They were so sure that dead people stay dead, and Jesus was certainly dead. So that was that. But then they should also have known that this is not entirely true. Among their wider number was a man called Lazarus. Lazarus had died, but Jesus had raised Him from the dead. You would have thought that this might have caused them to pause and ponder when a number of women reported to them that Jesus tomb was empty on the Sunday morning following Jesus’ Friday death, and that they had been told that the reason the tomb was empty was that Jesus was alive.

We are able to gain bit of an insight into the thought process (or rather the lack of thereof) going on inside the heads of the first Christians that particular Sunday. Luke records a conversation that two of them had with a seemingly ignorant stranger, as they trudged, depressed, from Jerusalem to the village of Emmaus (Luke 24:13-35). They had placed their hopes in Jesus, but these had been dashed by His death. So certain were they that His death had marked the end of those hopes, that they had totally discounted clear evidence that something remarkable had happened. They had heard the report of the women that Jesus’ tomb was empty. And they knew that this was not wishful thinking on the womens’ part, because it had been confirmed by others (i.e. men). They knew that the same demonstrably reliable witnesses (the women) who had reported the empty tomb also claimed to have been told that Jesus was alive. But of course that was ridiculous. Perhaps what might have swayed them was the evidence of their own eyes. If they themselves could have seen Jesus then they would believe. Indeed that would transform the whole situation. This is a common misconception. Because, as it turned out, they could see Jesus. Indeed they were talking to Him; He was the seemingly ignorant stranger they were talking to.

To cut the story short (you can read it for yourself in Luke 24) eventually they recognise the risen Jesus. The rest, as they say, is quite literally history. Jesus alive transforms everything. Now His death is not a tragic miscalculation, nor is it the triumph of midgets and lesser men over a great man. In fact His death is demonstrated not to be the death of just a man at all. But it is His resurrection that validates His own claims, that He did not lose His life but gave it. He died not as a victim, having had death imposed upon Him (by either men or God), but as a willing substitute and sacrifice. His death is not unimportant (merely the prelude to resurrection), but He stresses twice that it was a necessary means through which he accomplishes what had been set for Him, prior to returning to the glory that had always been His. His resurrection demonstrates that He was not at all just another good man and religious teacher from whom we might learn useful things. His resurrection demonstrated that He was uniquely the God-man who had pioneered the way by which death could be overcome for all those who would trust and follow Him. His resurrection is the flip side of the story of his death that Matthew either misses or, perhaps more likely, dismisses.

Because it just can’t be true. Except, of course, it is. All the evidence is there. But then, as the two on their way to Emmaus demonstrate, it is not now, nor has it ever really been, a matter of evidence, of knowing stuff. It’s about recognising Him.

Easter 2023: How come the world still spins?

The death of a child, a spouse, a parent, comes as a shattering blow. It is one that I haven’t experienced personally yet but I know that one day I will. However, what I have observed in others is the way their world just stops. And then complete incomprehension: why hasn’t it stopped for everyone else? Do they not know what’s happened? Are they simply unaware? Or do they not care? How can this be? And so it goes on. It would be less than human if such a loss did not induce, at least for an instant, anger, compounding the grief. But then the death of any particular individual will not be known to the vast bulk of humanity. And consider the numbers involved; it is estimated that just over one hundred people die every moment of every day. It is a tragedy that not every single one will be mourned – there have always been those who die alone and unknown. But many will be mourned, and there will be those who grieve. For those impacted there will always be that question: How can your world continue to spin when mine has come to a shuddering halt?

I found myself wondering about this at church this morning. Although it is a Friday, it is “good” Friday, hence I was in church. Some other time perhaps I will investigate why this particular day on which we remember Jesus giving up His life in appalling circumstances is called “good” (here’s what I came up with previously). So much about that day is grotesque. The injustice of it. Jesus is declared innocent by His human judge, the Roman governor Pilate, three times in quick succession. The case brought against Him collapses under the weight of its own absurdity. One of His two fellow accused, a thief, recognises that while two of the three of them that day were being justly punished (albeit by crucifixion), Jesus had done nothing deserving death. Even His Roman executioner comes to appreciate something of Jesus’ uniqueness (albeit after the event). And yet, there He hangs, there He suffers, there He dies.

I want to explode. I want to point an accusing finger at those limp, wet disciples, and shout: how could you? Judas betrayed Him the previous evening, and Peter had repeatedly denied Him. The rest of the little band of His closest disciples had scattered. Only some women (including His mother) and John are left to watch Him die. He had invested years in a core group of twelve, patiently, painstakingly, teaching and shaping them, feeding them and occasionally rescuing them. They had heard amazing words, they had seen amazing things. And now, outrageously, they are nowhere to be seen, just when you think He might need them most. More startling still is Jesus’ restraint. When Judas and a mob arrived in a garden where Jesus had been praying to arrest Him, a fight had almost broken out. Violence started, but was stopped just as quickly by Jesus Himself. Could He have escaped if He’d let Peter and the rest “get stuck in”? Perhaps. Did He need their assistance? He certainly didn’t want it. But consider. He’d calmed storms, fed thousands and raised the dead! He could have snuffed out the very existence of those who now laid their hands on Him. And yet He didn’t. My immediate response is to ask: why didn’t you? Why didn’t you stand up to such obvious injustice? Why didn’t you make the likes of Judas and the rest pay there and then? I would have.

If I’m confused by Jesus' response, I’m stunned by God the Father who had spoken of His love for, and His pleasure in, His Son. I know that the incarnation takes us to the edge of, and well beyond, human understanding; how can one person be both God and man? But the claims made by Jesus are clear. He had willingly come from the Father’s side, at the Father’s behest, something long planned. Just as the Father took pleasure in the Son, so the Son sought to please the Father. And yet this Father watches this Son unjustly defamed and abused. Part of me me wants to cry out: how could you? Never mind stopping the world spinning, I wonder why God didn’t rip the earth from its axis and hurl it like a discarded marble across the galaxy. He is God after all, and this is His Son being abused and insulted.

As if all of that isn’t bad (or confusing) enough, as Jesus hangs on a cross, the Father apparently abandons His Son, who cries out in agony because this abandonment is so excruciating. And this only part of what is going on; things that those original observers could see, hear and infer. There are those things transpiring that are unseen and so extraordinary that if God Himself had not revealed what was really going on, one would hesitate even to hint at it. It is Paul who writes in 2 Corinthians 5:21: “For our sake he [God] made him [Jesus] to be sin who knew no sin...”. Why? Part of me is outraged at how unfair this all is. How are we to understand it?

But neither my understanding or my feelings are of much interest. My perspective isn’t the one that matters. God is God, He is not me and He is not like me. In fact He is so unlike me (and you) that the very words that we use, human words, cannot communicate accuracy the fullness of what He is like, even if we could understand what He is like in the first place. We mustn’t slip into the misunderstanding that God is just like us, but bigger. He’s not; He is of a completely different order of being. But because we cannot know everything about Him, does not mean we can know nothing. That’s because He has revealed Himself using human language and images that we can understand. Why did He restrain Himself when His Son was brutally taken and crucified by mere creatures? Because this was the means by which that very rebellion could, in justice, be forgiven by God who is just. Breathtakingly, the world still spins on its axis, not because He is somehow indifferent and doesn’t care or love, but precisely because He does. And He does so with a perfect passion unlike anything that is ever true of us. So he watches as He had always watched, because as He is outside of time, the death of His Son has been and is always before Him.

Part of our problem is that we are time-bound and temporal; for us time is linear. Although this story isn’t over, and our picture is incomplete, we’ll have to ponder and wait until Sunday. Then we’ll learn why the world kept, and keeps, on spinning.

Easter 2023: The calm between storms…..

It is unclear what Jesus and His disciples did during the middle of what has come to be called “Holy Week”. In part this is because ancient writers were not as obsessed by high resolution chronologies and itineraries as were are today. But it is possible to work out what happened during most of that particular week.

At the beginning of the week, on the Sunday as we would say, Jesus had entered Jerusalem in the most public manner, riding on a young donkey. He was arriving in a manner which had all sorts of resonances for those who knew their Old Testament. The people of the day came out in force. The Gospel writers record crowds welcoming Him, with waving palm branches and shouts that would have further wound up Jesus’ enemies in the religious establishment of the day. They had been after Him for while, necessitating Jesus avoiding Jerusalem and Judea at one point in His ministry. But apparently no longer. Knowing exactly what they were up to, He heads to what they assumed to be their seat of power. Some of them, particular Pharisees who were still on speaking terms with Him, asked Him to calm some of His more enthusiastic admirers. He politely declined.

He came not just to Jerusalem, but right to the temple in Jerusalem. Then as now, the temple was as much a powder keg as place of worship, it was political as much as spiritual. Jesus had been there before of course, but this time was different. The temple had become a hub of (probably not very honest) commerce, and Jesus wasn’t having it. He drove out animals that were being sold for use in the temple services as sacrifices, and overturned the tables at the “bureau de change”. This no doubt annoyed those with a financial interest, but it was the last straw for His religious opponents. They now looked for a way to “destroy” Him. These were not the actions of man looking for a quiet life, nor those of someone being driven by events. These were the actions of someone who knew exactly what was going on, who knew what was going to happen; He was driving events.

So by midweek, maybe they all just needed to rest up. They probably found a degree of peace and quiet in Bethany, perhaps at the home of Lazarus, Martha and Mary. A rest would have been a good idea for the disciples. It gave them a chance to contemplate the things Jesus had been saying, as well as the strange case of the withered fig tree. There would be lot’s more to think about. While those who were out to get Jesus plotted and schemed, He would continue to teach in and around the temple. At the end of the week, when they all came together for their Passover celebration, He would teach just the inner group of disciples in the most intimate of settings (what we know as “the Last Supper”). What is clear throughout is that Jesus knows that events are unfolding to a timetable. Although uninterested in the kind of chronology of hours, minutes and seconds that tends to obsess us, there was another chronology that was being followed.

One of the striking features of John’s account of these events are the continuing references to time. In fact John structures the first chapter and a bit of his Gospel around a sequence of seven or so days. This is a clue that time is going to play an important role in his recounting of events. Early on, he records Jesus as saying “...my hour has not yet come” (John 2:4). The time not being right will be mentioned again (7:30; 8:20), and then in the week in question the language changes. Early in the week Jesus says “Now my soul is troubled, and what shall I say? ‘Father, save me from this hour’? No, it was for this very reason I came to this hour.” (John 12:27). By the end of the week He will know “this hour” is about to arrive, indeed arrive within literal hours. He knew what time it was. He had always known.

So midweek, with a number of momentous events behind Him, and knowing what lay ahead, perhaps there was some time to pause. Was it frustrating to watch the disciples just going about, apparently missing almost entirely the significance of what was was happening and what they were seeing and hearing? We don’t know. I hope not. Because that’s me a lot of the time even now. They didn’t get it as it was happening, no matter how explicit He had been (and He had been fairly explicit). But they would after the event, although admittedly with Divine help.

Knowing that here and now, midweek, prior to all that will be said and sung this coming weekend for us, perhaps a pause to draw breath and prepare for what’s to come is no bad idea.