Morning Meal

When any of us say the words, "my death," out loud, we are immediately shushed by our relatives and friends.  My husband wanted to talk about his death for years and we wouldn't let him.  My sons actually rolled their eyes as he tried to prepare us.  None of us had any idea he was actually dying.  Not until the last few hours could I let that knowledge up from the dark where it had lived, manacled and starved, for some time.

I suspect it may have been the same for Jesus.  His disciples wouldn't hear of his death.  Maybe they even rolled their eyes.  No wonder he wept.  Had they been able to receive it, he could have not only explained to them the central point of his ministry but given them the comfort they so needed:  Death is swallowed up in Life.

Now, in this season of Lent, I think it is important to listen without denial or anger or impatience as Jesus once again tries to tell us about death -- his and ours -- and give us comfort.  What can I hear of that Easter story?  Sadness and tears, surely.  But there is also this:  God is ready at the very point of death, in the depths of our despair, in spite of our dire predictions, to astonish us with the radiance of a rising sun.  A new life.  A new world.

Death is a passage, that we know, and also a passing, in which a door seems to close behind us.  Beyond that it is not given to us to know.  Except this:  We believe in a God of surprise.  A God of empty tombs.  A God whose last meal shared with us was not a sad supper, but a morning meal prepared for us, waiting for us on the shore of a great sea.

What do I make of the various accounts of resurrections throughout literature, including the Bible?  Do I think Lazarus' body, already decomposing, was made whole and immortal so that Jesus' band of followers might believe?  Or was it only temporarily revived to make a point?  I guess if I can conceive of quarks popping in and out of existence, I can conceive of whole organisms doing the same, although I don't expect to see such an event in my lifetime.  And yet, Jesus' resurrection remains for me the central point of his life and work.  Taken literally or figuratively, it tells me that death is not the victor.  That what God has to give, he continues to give.  That there is no reason to die of grief.

Jesus' resurrection leaves me with more questions than it answers.  It is not a trick I can learn.  Instead, it teaches me that I do not have all the answers, that I do not know the end of the story I am in, and that perhaps it does not have an end.  I expect that I, too, will not be in the tomb where I have been laid, but that I will be somewhere else: at breakfast by the Galillean Sea, or swaying with the breeze in the treetops, or sitting at the feet of my Teacher, continuing to grow in knowledge and grace as creation unfurls and arches out forever.  I hope there will be someone to say, as Jesus said about Lazarus, "Loose her and let her go."

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