Sightings of the Departed
Simon had only ever really connected with his father over one thing. “Football”—or soccer, as we Americans call it. His father had played soccer in his younger days, and in his older days he watched it profusely. Simon followed the same team as his dad (Liverpool), and he would go on to indoctrinate—or “raise”—his own children to share this loyalty as well.
Some years after his father had passed away, Simon went to a match with his nephew. It must have been cold. Before the match, he got in line for a cup of steaming Bovril, which is like beef bouillon on steroids. Rich, thick, beefy. (I enjoyed a cup myself once at a freezing cold match, and it was like having lunch in a liquid.) As Simon waited in one line, he noticed in the line next to him a man who looked familiar—“the shape of his face, his nose, olive pock-marked skin, his double chin, his hair, his gait. Everything was identical.” It was his father. He stared at this man for the longest time, and although the man was looking back in his general direction, he never returned Simon’s gaze.
Later that night, in the quiet of the car as he drove his nephew home, he shared his story. His nephew said he’d seen him too.[1]
I’ve heard many similar stories from friends. Sightings of a departed loved one. Sometimes it is in an animal that the loved one adored, like a butterfly or bird. Sometimes it is in a feature of the natural world, like a tree or a cloud.
What is it that we see, I wonder, when we see a dear one who is gone? For one thing, we are seeing something very special. Anyone else who looks upon the same sight would see just a butterfly, or just a man with olive, pock-marked skin. But we see more. In the very same image, we see an eternal depth, a life that we loved and love still. We see our love. We see what our heart really believes in.
From Doubters to Believers
If you’ll permit me one further indulgence, to speak just a moment longer about Liverpool…. In 2018, they lost in the final match of the Champion’s League, which is the like the European soccer equivalent of the World Series or the Super Bowl. (It's a big deal.) Later, some footage emerged of the Liverpool coach dancing and singing with fans after the match. For outsiders, this was unfathomable. Didn’t they just lose? How could they be singing? When the Liverpool coach had first taken on the job, he had made a bold declaration that he hoped to turn the fans from “doubters into believers.” And clearly he had. Because these fans with whom he was singing, were not looking at their loss. They were looking upon something deeper. They were looking upon their love for the game, their love for their team, and their eternal joy, their eternal hope to return to that same summit. And in fact that is what happened. The next year, Liverpool made it back to the final match of the Champion’s League, and that year they won. (But if you ask me, their victory began much earlier. As early as a year before, when they lost.)
Are not our sightings of loved ones a similar phenomenon? Is it not that they touched us in a special way and transformed us, so that even in our loss we find ourselves singing? Is it not that they turned our hearts from doubters to believers? … And by “believers,” I do not mean thinkers who have accepted a set of doctrines. I mean hearts-on-the-sleeve followers, like fans who follow their team all across the continent, or like lovers who have given themselves in trust to each other. Our loved ones made us believers, and so we see them everywhere. We cannot not see them.
More Than a Divine Magic Trick
I could understand if, hearing all of this on Easter Sunday, you were led to wonder—But isn’t the resurrection of Jesus different than the sightings of our loved ones? Isn’t it more “real”? The gospels make clear that it was not simply an apparition of Jesus that his followers saw, but that it was Jesus in the flesh, a Jesus who ate and drank with them, a Jesus who invited them to touch his scars.
It is certainly true that the resurrection we proclaim is not a ghostly Jesus but a Jesus in the flesh. But if we were to reduce the resurrection to a divine magic trick of bodily resuscitation, to a supernatural phenomenon that proves beyond a shadow of a doubt God’s power, then I fear we would miss out on its good news. In today’s scripture, Peter is proclaiming the good news of Christ in a nutshell to a Roman (gentile) audience. Much of it is familiar, but one line jumps out at me. “God raised him on the third day and allowed him to appear, not to all the people but to us who were chosen by God as witnesses” (Acts 10:40-41).
Not to all the people…. Other scriptures attest similarly to this fact, namely that only the followers of Jesus saw the resurrected Jesus (e.g., 1 Cor 15:5-8). If the point of the resurrection was to prove to the world, particularly to the doubters, that Jesus was the messiah, then we have to conclude it did not accomplish its objective. But maybe that wasn’t the point.
No Resurrection Scenes…
Think back to the gospels and their portrayal of the resurrection. Not a single one shows us the moment that Jesus’ life returns to his body, the moment when breath enters his lungs again and he sits up and exits the tomb. The gospels do not show us the resurrection.
Instead, they show us scenes of recognition. In John, we have Mary Magdelene in the garden suddenly crying out in joy, “Rabbouni!” before she runs to tell the other followers, “I have seen the Lord!” (John 20:16-18). In Matthew, we have Mary Magdelene and Mary the mother of Jesus brought to their knees in wonder and worship when they recognize the risen Christ (Matt 28:9). In Luke, we have the Emmaus travelers whose hearts are suddenly set aflame when they realize they have seen Christ (Luke 24:3). And later in John, we have Simon Peter half-naked jumping into the sea, unable to wait until the boat reaches the shore where Jesus stands (John 21:7). The joy of the disciples in each of these recognition scenes practically leaps off the page—just as Peter has joyfully leapt off the side of that fishing boat.
Not Resuscitation, But Recognition
For me, these stories make clear that the resurrection of Jesus is not about resuscitation but about recognition. His resurrection is not presented as a physical miracle that decides our faith for us, but rather as a reality that flows from our faith. It’s not that seeing is believing, but that believing is seeing. We see that in which our hearts really believe. To whom does the resurrected Jesus appear? The very people whom he has already touched and healed, whom he has transformed from doubters into believers. And it’s no coincidence that they recognize him in precisely the same deeds of love that touched them in the first place, that turned them from doubters into believers. They recognize him in the breaking of bread, as on the road to Emmaus (Luke 24:35). They recognize him in the proclamation of peace and forgiveness, as in the locked room filled with fearful followers (Luke 24:36-37; John 20:19, 21-23). They recognize him in his tenderness and compassion, as with doubting Thomas (John 20:26-27). They recognize him in his invitation to love, as with Peter in his seaside conversation with Jesus (John 21:15-19).
Scripture tells us that soon enough—40 days later—Jesus would ascend into heaven. But his followers continued to see him. Okay, not the bodily Jesus—but the results are no different. Acts tells about Jesus appearing in dreams and visions, giving guidance and encouragement (Acts 9:10; 18:9-10; 22:17-21; 23:11). And repeatedly the writers of the New Testament claim that the followers of Jesus give flesh to his body. The point of these claims, that Christ remains with us spiritually, is not to give anyone proof of God’s power, but rather to show us that the followers of Jesus are real believers. Again, not as thinkers who accept a set of doctrines, but as hearts-on-the-sleeve followers, like fans who follow their team all across the continent, or like lovers who abandon themselves in trust to each other. They are true believers, and so they see Christ everywhere. They cannot not see him.
Easter, then, is not about a single event that happened in the past. It is about a new reality, a new way of seeing the world, that begins not with the resurrection but with a love that transforms us, a love that is as real in Jesus’ teaching and healing as it is in his death on the cross as it is in his resurrection after the cross. Jesus in his love has changed us in our hearts from doubters to believers, and so we see the possibilities of his love in all the world. The world is filled with eternal depth. We cannot not see him. This is the song that Paul is repeatedly singing, that God’s love is alive and transforming everything for the better. “See,” he says, again reminding us that resurrection is inextricably connected with recognition—“See, everything has become new!” (2 Cor 5:17).
Like the sightings of our departed loved ones, the recognition of the risen Christ is special. Anyone else looking upon the sight might see nothing of interest, nothing other than a ray of sunshine or a simple hug or a smile. But we see more. In the very same image, we see an eternal depth, a love that loved us and loves us still. We see what our heart really believes in.
Prayer
Christ of our hearts,Whose love is transforming us
From doubters to believers—
Today we celebrate your resurrection,
The way your love lives on and inspires
All creation with possibility and new life.
Where doubt or despair lingers,
Help us to see beyond the surface, beyond the grave, beyond closed doors
…
Help us to see your love
Making all things new.
In Christ, crucified and risen: Amen.
[1] Simon Critchley, What We
Think about When We Think about Soccer (New York: Penguin, 2017), 34-36.
No comments:
Post a Comment