resurrection

Once when Jesus was praying in private and his disciples were with him, he asked them, "Who do the crowds say I am?" They replied, "Some say John the Baptist; others say Elijah; and still others, that one of the prophets of long ago has come back to life." "But what about you?" he asked. "Who do you say I am?"



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So, tell us, what really happened? You have told the story nearly a thousand times by now. But it's a good story, so you tell it again. 'When he raised me from the dead,' you say, 'I heard someone calling my name, but I did not know who. Then a bright light pierced through the dark, and I heard him say Lazarus, come out! I followed the voice and found myself again in the land of the living.' Sometimes they ask, 'But what of the stench? The smell of rotting flesh?' You recall that there was indeed a terrible odour, but to your surprise it came not from you, but from the grave. Once the grave-clothes were stripped away, people were amazed to find your skin and flesh were not withered or rotten, but soft and smooth; brand new, like a baby's.

The news spread like wildfire. People flocked from all around to see you. You hear them gasping as you make your way to the well, camping outside the house to catch a glimpse of you opening the shutters. It became somewhat of a nuisance really. The first few days you did your best not to leave the house. Eventually Martha pointed out that you couldn't hide forever and you'd have to leave the house at some point, and the sooner you satisfied their curiosity the sooner you could all be rid of the crowds. They no longer camp outside your house, but their curiosity doesn't seem to be diminishing at all. Almost everyday you get some awe-struck man or woman approaching you in the market, and you oblige, of course. It's not everyday you get to talk to a dead man. Still, you can always tell a kind of disappointment in their eyes once they have met you - and you know it is because of how ordinary you seem. They seem to expect rays of light to shoot from your eyes and gold to drop from your mouth. Even Mary and Martha were a little estranged at first, weren't sure of how to act around you. Even you at one point, after having made sure the house was empty, standing at the edge of the bath, tried to see if you could walk on water, which did not go very well. It hasn't taken much time for things to go back to normal, with Martha continually pestering you to help out around the house. 'Woman!' You feel like saying. 'I was only dead last week!'

The question at the front of their minds - that is always on their tongue is, naturally, 'what is it like to be dead?' And your answer never fails to underwhelm them. 'It's not like anything, really. It's like being asleep. A sleep with no dreams.' 'Did you meet God?' 'No.' 'Did you see Moses?' 'No.' 'What about my grandfather, was he there?' They are always expecting flames, clouds, harps, cherubim. But the honest answer is that if there was anything of the sort, you don't recall it. All you recall is a nothingness that seemed to have no beginning and no end, a darkness that gave way to light, no memory or emotion or experience of time or even space. Total silence, an absolute void, and then his voice calling your name. But they aren't interested in that stuff.

The other thing you have noticed is that members of the Council keep giving you dirty looks in the market and the street, as if it were your fault that you died and were resurrected. As if you plotted the whole thing just to spite them. The townsfolk have by now begrudgingly accepted the fact that you're basically still a normal human being. But it isn't true that you're exactly the same. When Jesus raised you from the dead, it seems, he didn't raise all of you. Some of the old, the unworthiness, the guilt, the unkindness and selfishness it seems, remained in the grave. Sometimes you catch yourself going back to the old ways. Falling into old habits. But when you first emerged from the grave, you discovered you were still yourself, but also that you were different. You saw the world with new eyes. With a sense of wonder. You carry with you this inner peace. You no longer have any fear of death. When you read the scriptures, the words seem to hold new meaning. And they stay with you throughout the day. After the resurrection, whenever you prayed or read the word, you felt connected. Cleansed. You felt joy.

You think of the nights afterwards spent with Jesus, and how he treated you no differently. He acted as if he had simply loaned you a shekel, not given you new life. You think fondly of that last night with him, talking and laughing, breaking bread with your friend, conqueror of the grave. You wish every night could be that night again.

And yet you know you owe him an immeasurable debt. It's not true that you don't remember anything. You remember being very ill, and that they had sent for Jesus. You believed, without doubt, that he would come to your rescue, even as the life drained from your lips. 'Do not be afraid,' you told them, even as your sisters wept. Even as the sickness caused your tongue to be dry as sand. 'Do not bother with the funeral arrangements,' you said. 'Do you not trust in Jesus to rescue his friends?'

But where were you when it was him who needed rescuing? You listened to the crowd screaming 'Crucify him!' You watched as the nails went into his hands, you watched as he hung there dying, as he breathed his last. Mary says that Jesus wept outside your tomb. And now it is him in the grave, not you.

The next morning, the skies were clear. You listened as the birds sang their song and green leaves rustled with the wind, oblivious to your grieving heart.

When you first heard about the empty tomb, of course you had to see for yourself. You didn't even think to doubt her. You had never run so fast in your life, tripping only twice. You ran like a madman. You stopped at the mouth of the tomb and stared into it. You hesitated, reluctant to go in, fearing that death would recognise you and claim you again. But eventually you dared to enter, and seeing the linen and the cloth lying there, you dared to hope.

And now Mary claims to have seen him. If not for the empty tomb, you would assume she has gone mad with sorrow, but she is not sorrowful in the least. In fact, her face glows with joy. And not just Mary but the others as well. They claim to have met him, to have shared meals with him. They say they have felt with their own hands where the nails have pierced his. Can it be true? A man claiming to be the son of God, put to death by sinners, and now risen from the dead. They say that he appears to disciples in houses, in the streets, in prisons, by the lake. And what if it is true? This tale as ludicrous and preposterous and impossible as hearing a dead man speak. The question remains, what will you believe?