A couple of weeks ago, back in my fifth Lenten reflection using Erik Varden’s The Shattering of Loneliness, I mentioned his use of the church father Irenaeus, particularly his “notion of God and man getting used to each other.” I think that’s a good picture of the entire Biblical story, really, from God walking in the Genesis garden to manifesting as a pillar and cloud in Exodus to the still and small voice of Elijah. I imagine the assertion that Jesus’ divinity was an odd pill to swallow, even as it made a good deal of sense to those who had followed him, and then to those who had seen Him after the resurrection. It’s no small thing that post-resurrection-Jesus appeared throughout the days leading up to His ascension. Paul makes a list of Jesus’ appearances as part of his discussion of resurrection in 1 Corinthians 15:
3 For what I received I passed on to you as of first importance: that Christ died for our sins according to the Scriptures, 4 that he was buried, that he was raised on the third day according to the Scriptures, 5 and that he appeared to Cephas, and then to the Twelve. 6 After that, he appeared to more than five hundred of the brothers and sisters at the same time, most of whom are still living, though some have fallen asleep. 7 Then he appeared to James, then to all the apostles, 8 and last of all he appeared to me also, as to one abnormally born. (NIV)
The resurrection is definitely a reality that the followers of Jesus had to get used to.
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Varden recently posted an Eastertide homily reflecting the the resurrection from John’s Gospel and one of those odd facts that’s always interesting but not one talks much about: the appearance of Jesus’ grave-clothes in the tomb. From the NIV:
6 Then Simon Peter came along behind him and went straight into the tomb. He saw the strips of linen lying there, 7 as well as the cloth that had been wrapped around Jesus’ head. The cloth was still lying in its place, separate from the linen.
Varden writes about the cloth (or napkin) “lying in its place”:
There’s a striking contrast in today’s Gospel between what goes on outside the empty tomb and the ambiance within. Outside there’s a great to-do. Everyone is in agitated motion. Mary Magdalene runs. The apostles run, one faster than the other. The snippets of conversations we hear let us sense great perplexity. The absence of the Lord’s Body, that had carried a Presence that changed everything, represents a total loss of orientation. The result is anxiety — and in isolated moments flashes of mad hope.
In the tomb reign order and calm. John and Peter see, when they look in, the linen shrouds used for the burial of Jesus, not just put away, but folded. As for the napkin that had covered his faced, it is carefully rolled up apart.
These details are important.
There’s not much time to linger in the tomb, of course. And yet, in a way, maybe all the time in the world. Lots to ponder, to think about, even if it wouldn’t be clear to the women and the apostles for a while. And yet John mentioned the details of the grave-clothes in a way almost too easy to take for granted. Varden continues:
They let us understand that God vanquished death without violence. Violence pertains to the world of human beings. God acts in peace. The evidence of the tomb suggests a peaceful awakening, as if the resurrection were a matter of course: ‘I have slept and taken my rest: and I have risen up, because the Lord has received me’ (Ps 3.6).
Jesus, rising from Sheol, serenely put off death as if were an old pyjamas for which he had no further use. He did not cast it off with disdain. He folded it neatly, showing even this last enemy (1 Cor 15.26) divine respect, a kind of tenderness due, not to death as such, that’s for sure, but to the wounds death has imprinted on human experience.
It’s an interesting assertion, obviously somewhat speculative, and yet somehow in light with the facts that John leaves with his readers. And, quite honestly, I’ll take whatever I can get when it comes to “getting used” to the reality of resurrection on the other side of death, not just for Jesus but for you and me, too. I like the prayer Varden closes his homily with, as he brings the Easter morning assertion into our day and time (and the day and time of all of us in the “fifth act” of God’s Story):
Brethren, let us then serenely, but decisively, fold away anything in our lives that may still pertain to the reign of death. Let us leave this in the tomb once for all. We are made to live. Let us not seek the Living One among the dead (Lk 24.5).
Happy Eastertide, indeed!
Space Enough, and Time 