Your Easter Body

Some friends were having my wife and I over for a party not too long ago. When I arrived fashionably late I could tell a lively discussion was already going on. I was greeted with “Aaron, I’m glad you’re here; we have a theological question.” 

It’s not uncommon for theological questions to come up among these friends, particularly when beer is involved. 

“Aaron,” my friend asked in a sincere tone, “do Catholics believe in a resurrection of the body?”

At first I thought it was a setup to a joke instead of an actual question. I say that only because this friend is himself a devout Catholic; but I quickly realized he was serious. 

“Yes" I replied, "don't you recite the creeds in worship?"

“Oh, like the Apostles’ Creed, yeah I love the Apostle’s Creed” he replied.

“So, you recall the line that says, ‘I believe in the resurrection of the body.” 

“Well, yeah” he responded, “but I usually don’t say that part. That’s gross.”

Allow me a side note here. I think that is a good way to approach the creeds. If we’re honest with ourselves, as this particular friend seems to be, then we know we don’t always believe every word of every creed every time. Not every pillar of doctrine is on firm ground in our lives. The beauty of the creeds is that even when you don’t believe parts of it, there are others who are saying it for you. The creeds anchor us in communal faith while simultaneously allowing the space to affirm each person’s unique personal faith.

OK, back to the resurrection of the body.

The majority opinion at the party was that the idea of a resurrected body was too gross to support; it was too gross to be good news. We’re fine with the idea of eternity in an abstract perfect heavenly realm; but when resurrection is rooted in actual earthen soil and flesh, many of us have a big problem. Two problems, actually. 

The first issue is zombies.

Our only frame of reference for resurrected bodies are the fictitious reanimated corpses seeking bloody sustenance from the living. We lack the creativity to envision just how beautiful a restored and resurrected earthly existence would be.

The second issue, however, is actually rooted in real everyday lived experience. It is a much more dangerous and subtle problem that we must confront. The issue is that we do not believe that human bodies are sacred. 

We despise our own bodies so much that the thought of living in them for eternity is upsetting. We would rather be Disembodied spirits floating in the spiritual ether of some etherial time and space continuum. We prefer to contemplate a reality that we cannot even wrap our minds around over rather than cling to the promise that would keep us firmly in our resurrected bodies on a renewed earth for eternity.

Many forces have conspired to teach us that bodies are not sacred.  

We are inundated every day with a multitude of micro-aggressions aimed towards our bodies. Beautiful people sell us products, smile at us on airbrushed magazine covers, and live out perfect happily-ever-after adventures with other beautiful people on our digital screens. Too often we look in the mirror and only see the things we wish were different so that we could be as happy as the beautiful people who seem to have everything. 

We have spent our lives judging our bodies. And throughout our lives our bodies have been judged. There is always some part of our bodies that we feel should be smaller or bigger, or removed entirely. Our discomfort with bodies is so pervasive that you’re probably deeply uncomfortable at this point, thinking “Why is Pastor talking about bodies, that’s inappropriate!” 

Our constantly-judging minds are also put to work against other peoples’ bodies. We regularly mistreat people based on appearance. 

“That person looks too old to be of any value.” 
“That person looks too young to be worth my time.”
“That person is too attractive to be intelligent.” 
“That person is too ugly to be intelligent.”
“That person’s skin is too dark, he must be dangerous.”
“That person looks too poor to be of any benefit to me.”

The valuelessness of bodies is one of the threads of the fabric of our society. While much blame can be put on advertisers, Hollywood, critical parents, masochistic power structures, biased 24-hour news media, school bullies, as well as the pervasiveness of ageism, sexism, and racism; the Christian church has also played a historical role in perpetuating the false dichotomy between an inherently good spirit and an inherently bad body, and it comes up this time every year.

There is both a history and a temptation to view the Passion of Jesus not as a tragedy, but as the real triumph of Jesus’ life. Many point to the destruction of Jesus’ body as the moment of salvation; as if the ruthlessness with which Jesus’ body was abused equates to, or earns, God’s atoning love. We have internalized the awful idea that each open wound, each drop of blood, and each thorn pressed into the skull is a downpayment Jesus makes on our behalf to appease an angry God. 

The problem in glorifying the destruction of Jesus’ body is that it means denying that all bodies are holy, sacred, and worthy of protection. Even Jesus’ body. If someone thinks God only attributed value to Jesus’ body in its destruction, it would be very easy for that person to think that the destruction of any body could be appropriate or even useful. 

If we think that salvation comes through the violent destruction of Jesus’ body, what keeps us from destroying others’ bodies…or our own bodies? It is no surprise that our culture has a violence problem. What is less widely known is that our culture has a body image disorder problem. I don’t know how many people gathered here today have intentionally inflicted self-harm, but research that indicates “approximately 15% of teens reporting some form of self-injury [such as intentionally cutting or burning one’s skin]. Studies show an even higher risk for self-injury among college students, with rates ranging from 17%-35%” (http://www.mentalhealthamerica.net/self-injury).

We have a body problem because we think of our bodies as obstructions rather than God-infused organisms that have made every sight, touch, taste, smell, sound, thought, emotion, and adventure possible. 

I would like to share a reflection by Hillary McBride, from a recent episode of The Liturgists Podcast, which frames the complicated nature of our relationship with our bodies.

Bodies are beautiful. A resurrected eternal body? That is not gross; that is good news.

Easter Sunday is a day for Christians around the globe to celebrate the human body. Not a culturally-imposed idealized “perfect” body; not the lashed and bloody body of Jesus hanging on a cross; but rather the resurrected physical body of Jesus Christ. 

Christians don’t tell a story of a spiritually-resurrected Jesus who was released from the bondage of his body. Rather, we tell the story that Jesus’ body was resurrected from death and that Christ will return in bodily form to resurrect all of creation in a physical resurrection.

God values the human body enough to have incarnated God’s self in a human body. God values the human body enough to have brought it back from the dead. The fact that you exist is a miracle and a testament to God’s divine love and the worthiness of all creation. The fact that your neighbor exists is a miracle and a testament to God’s divine love and the worthiness of all creation. The faith that we will be embodied forever in perfected, resurrected bodies is good news with clear implications for how we treat ourselves and others today.

May you be free and old to celebrate your body, just as it is, with every wrinkle, pain, disease, discoloration, and hair folicle (or lack thereof). May you treat others as if their bodies are to be honored and respected. May you treat all of creation as various embodiments of the divine. And may you live embodied in the good news that He is risen!

Amen.

Good Friday Message & Prayers of Lament

We are gathered here this evening to acknowledge that God has died. 

It is a strange practice liturgical Christians have – to carve out a time each year to live in the midst of this truth. It is so strange that most Christians do not observe Good Friday at all. “Why pretend that God is dead?” they say. “God had defeated death. Even when we die it will be a blessing because we’ll spend forever with God” they say. They paraphrase scripture, saying, “Death has lost its sting.” 

Would you really say “death has lost its sting” to the man who is no longer a spouse but a widow. Tell that to a mother who still occasionally refers to her deceased child in the present tense. Tell that to the person who just received a stage four terminal diagnosis of cancer. 

People don’t like Good Friday because it’s about death. They are content to gloss it over, deny its pain, and refuse to dip their toes into its dark abyss. This approach to death is incredibly destructive. More destructive than death itself. 

Leo Tolstoy, the great Russian novelist, wrote one of the most provocative and eloquent stories about death in his work, The Death of Ivan Ilych. In this story, a well-to-do man in middle age is suddenly and reluctantly forced to acknowledge the reality of his impending death. The prospect sends him reeling and initiates two struggles: 1) an inner struggle about what his life meant and regret for how he wasted it pursuing worldly accolades; and 2) an external struggle with the people in his life who refuse to acknowledge that he is, in fact, dying. As Ivan Ilych moves from denial of death towards acknowledging its inevitability, he begins to resent those around him who carry on in complete denial of both death’s presence as well as Ivan’s emotional peril. These people are incapable of comforting or caring for Ivan. It is, however, in his death that Ivan’s life is brought into focus; and these important lessons are available to us in Tolstoy’s writing.  

The Death of Ivan Ilych is a cautionary tale warning us not to end up like the obtuse friends and relatives the dying Ivan Ilych resented. Gathering to worship on Good Friday is an opportunity for us to stop running around pretending like death isn’t real. On Good Friday we refuse to gloss over God’s death, we refuse to jump ahead to the resurrection. Good Friday is a day to pause and look upon the cross not as a symbol of victory, but an instrument of torture and destruction upon which God was put to death. We remember loved ones who have died and even contemplate our own death. All of this leads us to two immutable truths, 1) we will die; and 2) God has experienced this also.

This day is called Good Friday because in admitting both that we will die and that God has died, we are brought to the truth that God has gone before us and will be with us in our death. God teaches us how to die and be present with those who are dying. When the time comes for our own death there will be some who refuse to acknowledge its truth. But God will be present with us in our pain, terror, and sadness because God has experienced this firsthand.

I remember the first time I contemplated death. I was around ten years old and was on vacation visiting family in Arizona. One morning I scooted to the backseat of my grandpa’s minivan in preparation for a day trip and out of the blue I had the thought, “One day I’ll be dead.” I imagined total darkness. No thoughts, no emotions, no other people, just nothingness. I was devastated not only on account of the sheer terror of contemplating mortality for the first time, but I was also devastated because I thought that as a Christian I was forbidden to have such thoughts and fears since I was going to be in heaven with Jesus forever. So, there I was on a family vacation through the desert and I was oscillating between horror and shame. 

It is a travesty that my religious upbringing overtly and covertly taught me that death is a shameful topic to wrestle with. At its best, religion uncovers the reality that exists under the layers of crap culture piles up around us. But at its worst, religion embraces the crap and makes people feel ashamed when they dare to question whether there is something even more true and beautiful underneath it all. Questioning and fearing death is one of the common threads that binds humanity together. We don’t need answers, rather, we need safe spaces where we can come together and ask the questions we’re too afraid to ask on our own.

Our culture does an incredible job of using every tool at its disposal to cover up the reality of death. Products are sold promising to make us live longer. Doctors are under significant pressure to offer treatment for terminal diseases even when such treatments compromise quality of life. Morticians literally use tools to cover up the reality of death by painting layers of makeup on dead bodies. And religious people of all stripes use the false certainty of religion to view death as a jumping-off point for eternal glorious life. This frees religious people to blow themselves up and kill others in order to enter heaven, or, just as damaging, go around either telling others (or just secretly thinking) that everyone who doesn’t believe like they do is bound for eternal damnation. Also just as damaging are those well-meaning platitudes of, “She’s in a better place” or “God just needed another angel” or other similar sentiments we employ which circumvent the grieving process and ignore the pain and grief that surrounds death.

Christianity, at its best, observes Good Friday and invites people to contemplate the reality of our own death as well as God’s death.

Brian Zahnd, in his excellent book Sinners in the Hands of a Loving God, writes, 

“Who is this tortured man, nailed to a tree, suffering a violent death? Incredibly, Christians say this is God! The crucified God. If we don’t find this scandalously shocking, we have grown far too familiar with the crucifixion of Jesus. The crucifixion of Good Friday isn’t an economic transaction; it is the torture and murder of God. This isn’t a business deal to balance the celestial books; it is a crime of cosmic proportions. Before the cross is anything else, it is a catastrophe. It is the murder of pure life and blameless love!” (Zahnd, 83).

When we look at the cross we see who God is. And who is God? God is dead. How shocking. How embarrassing. In Jesus’ death, the temple curtain is torn, revealing that the inner sanctum of the temple – the holy of holies – is completely empty. 

If Jesus had just kept his head down and played the role assigned to him by the powers and principalities, this fate could have been avoided. All Jesus had to do was give his blessing on the world’s power schemes, propensity towards violence, and distrust of the other. All Jesus had to do was avoid helping people who didn’t deserve to be helped. He could have let people starve and hung out with the powerful players rather than the undesirables and outcasts. Had he done that he could have lived a long life, and with the blessing of the religious and political powers of his day, perhaps he even cold have made some money and enjoyed himself. But Jesus chose the path that led to death. And he had the audacity to invite us on the same journey.

Our usual practice at Cross of Grace is to have you come up later in the service and place something on or near the cross. Often it is a sign of our sinfulness; something that we feel is separating us from God’s love and presence - something we trust is forgiven in some way by Jesus’ death on this cross. This evening, however, you have nothing to confess. Instead, you are invited to come to the cross and lament that God is dead. Bring your anger, fear, and disappointment. All sorts of promises were attributed to God; promises about justice, power over our enemies, health, and long life in a land of milk and honey; but God has not lived up to God’s end of the bargain. God could have snapped divine fingers and removed all pain, suffering, injustice and death from this world. But we look around and know that there is pain, suffering, injustice and death in this world that God does nothing about. And for such things we are bold to pray…

God who died,
The disparity among nations around the globe makes your promise of justice and equity ring hollow. The 12% of the world’s population that lives in North America and Western Europe accounts for 60 percent of private consumption spending. Meanwhile, other nations are being ravaged by civil war, famine, and genocide. Your privileged disciples are unsure how to affect change and secretly content with the imbalance. Lord, in your mercy,
Hear our prayer.

God who died,
As much as we’d like to believe your Spirit guides the church and makes it holy, it is always in the hands of imperfect leaders whose insecurities and anxieties infect the systems. Most bishops and pastors are more concerned about pension plans than standing up against the destructive powers and principalities. Every year more and more people see the church as an obstacle to discipleship rather than an asset. Lord, in your mercy,
Hear our prayer.

God who died,
You promise your presence and forgiveness in the sacraments of baptism and communion. But it doesn’t seem like baptism makes much of a difference in people’s lives. Sometimes we eat the bread and drink the wine of communion and you still feel as dead as you were on the cross. Are you really there? Lord, in your mercy,
Hear our prayer.

God who died,
Everywhere we look we see division. The church is certainly no exception. Every week we pray for unity within the church and unity with other religions, but the gap only seems to increase. Lord, in your mercy,
Hear our prayer.

God who died,
You are the creator of a universe whose immensity and sheer unknowability is frightening to think about. It makes us feel unimportant. Are we unimportant? Are you even aware that we exist? Lord, in your mercy,
Hear our prayer.

God who died,
You are the divine physician and great healer. So why do some suffer horrendous deaths even while your name is on their lips? Do you choose to save some people and not others?  Lord, in your mercy,
Hear our prayer.

God who died,
You are the champion of the poor and oppressed. That’s what got you killed. Your death exposed the empty threats of the powers and principalities; and yet they continue to reign today. Help us see them as mere illusions of power so that we are better able to serve those in need. Lord, in your mercy,
Hear our prayer.

Into your hands, O Lord, we commend all for whom we pray, even though we are not always sure you are listening. Amen.