Resurrection: Certainty or hope?
This past weekend was the first time in a few years that I joined a church for Easter. I’ve started attending a local United Church of Canada church, led by classmates of mine from my days at Atlantic School of Theology. We’ve all grown a little wiser, a lot greyer, and way more curious than in our studying days.
Good Friday was about sorrows. As we heard Matthew’s story of Jesus’ arrest, interrogation, and crucifixion, we meditated on the question: What sorrows do we experience today? As I listened to the story, I carried in my soul the struggle of the Mi’kmaw people who are fighting to maintain their historic fishing rights, the grief of nearby families of people killed by a mass shooter who had gotten away with domestic violence and weapons charges for years, the fear caused by racial profiling by police and government agencies, and my own complicity in racist and colonial acts of violence. I also carried the destruction of God’s creation, as stones and oceans cry out. And I saw all these things at the foot of the rough wooden cross at the front of the room.
Early on Easter morning, I sat with those friends around a campfire next to a highway and heard the story of our creation, our many downfalls, and our salvation, that “love will never die.” We ate bread baked on stones, drank grape juice, felt the last of the winter winds on our faces, then sang and danced together.
While the resurrected Christ was ever present, symbolized by the cross prominent in the sanctuary, I did not have to witness and imagine the whips and nails. I was not asked to cry, “Crucify him!” in a script. And, yet, I felt a sorrow deeper than I had ever felt on a Good Friday, with a joyful release and hope on Sunday morning.
A few years ago I sat in a car with my friends Terry and AJ as they drove me home after a grueling weekend of leading Easter services. AJ declared, “I do not need a physical resurrection in order to worship God or be a Christian. It’s just not necessary for me.” I quickly objected (you can do that with AJ), “Oh no! I need a physical resurrection. I need skin and bones and nails. Otherwise, what’s the point?”
Since then, I’ve asked that question a lot. What’s the point? Why is it so necessary that something as mystical and profound as the resurrection of the dead be dependent on Jesus’ resurrected body being a matter of historical fact?
There. I said it. And I feel the defenses in my body raise as I sense the anger, yes, but, more definitively, the smugness of those rolling their eyes and dismissing me as “happy clappy” or just unfaithful, maybe even giving up on faith.
I’m not going to engage in a cross-examination of my beliefs, but I will offer this thought that has brought me a lot of comfort as I have faced this question.
On a recent episode of the You’re Wrong About podcast, criminal justice journalist Josie Duffy Rice said we prefer retribution over rehabilitation because “we like certainty more than hope.” Rehabilitation of any kind is an exercise in hope. We don’t know the outcome of any rehab, whether it aims to help someone walk again or reject a life of crime. Certainty is not necessary. Hope is.
When I read the Bible, I don’t see a lot about certainty.
But I see a lot about hope.
P.S. For those who like historical fact, especially when it is depicted in art, I’ve been learning a lot from this series by John Dominic Crossan and Tripp Fuller. Access is by donation. The Easter Stories: Celebrating, Questioning, & Explaining the Easter Stories with John Dominic Crossan
