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Low
Sunday: High Drama. Today is Low Sunday. After all the high drama of Holy Week and Easter, it is traditionally a flat time - a time when people - and the clergy especially - take a rest. Moving and powerful though Easter is, it can be exhausting. “No more drama please!” cry the clergy and anybody else who entered into the trauma of Holy Week and the passion of Easter. And also perhaps those who attended one too many service or made up one too many flower basket! It doesn’t always work out as we expect however. This week, for instance has been anything but low and flat for the Christian world. We’ve witnessed what must have been some of the most intensely moving and dramatic moments of our Christian lives as Pope John Paul II, before all the world, gave himself up to God. With the unnatural intimacy of television and newspaper we have seen the heartbreaking pathos of his appearance at the Vatican window last week, unable to speak and deeply frustrated; we have seen the beauty in his face when it was caught in repose; and we have witnessed the solemnity and passion of his final days when thousands stood vigil. Whatever we think of John Paul II’s views - and many here I’m sure would find them too conservative – it has nevertheless been deeply inspiring to see the courage, faith and grace of this great man as he coped so publicly with the indignities of old age, illness and finally death. Like Jesus, his ministry was public and deeply costly. His was the way of the cross. So it has been a week of drama. And it is also a day of drama here in Christ Church this Sunday for another reason – Amber is being baptised and we are welcoming her into our church community. For that reason alone we can celebrate, so welcome Amber! Liturgically, in fact, Easter Week is never meant to be flat. Each day of this week is meant to be a feast. The church vestments shine with white and gold and day-by-day the gospel readings tell of how the risen Christ appeared to his disciples, filling them with awe. However, just as Low Sunday very often finds us flat and exhausted, perhaps doubting the Easter message, so in each of these gospel resurrection encounters, despite the drama, Jesus finds frightened, confused, anxious disciples – not radiant with the certainty that he was alive, but traumatised by the fact that the very worst had happened: he had died. In today’s gospel reading Jesus appears to his disciples in the upper room where they are secretly hiding for fear of the Jews. They were scared. They were low. They were depressed. No one had told them that Easter week should be one of celebration. All they knew was that their beloved friend was crucified, dead and buried and they had done nothing except be cowardly and afraid. I can identify with these disciples. Even though the gospel message is one of resurrection, hope and love, I am sorry to say I am sometimes afraid and fearful. Maybe I have some fear about the future or about my family or perhaps I have some financial worries. Sometimes there is no obvious reason at all. I just feel afraid. I think many of us are like that – at times anxious and unnecessarily fearful. Sometimes of course there is a good reason for being afraid. When my father was dying for instance, I felt helpless and full of fear for him. He was in intensive care and I felt distanced by the tubes and machines of the unit. The worst was about to happen – he was going to die and I didn’t know what to do. My father had no fear of death. He was a man of deep faith, He loved God and looked forward to being welcomed into God’s arms. But at times I felt afraid and confused. Similarly, with John Paul II, although I am sure he welcomed death himself, nevertheless, many of his followers were deeply saddened by it and spoke of feeling lost. One man spoke of feeling he had lost a spiritual father. I am sure this was, in a small way, similar to how the disciples felt in that upper room after Jesus had died. Jesus’ faith in God was unshakable, but his disciples were scared. So Jesus came to them, right where they were and addressed their fear – “Peace be with you” he said. “Peace be with you”. He didn’t say “It’s OK, don’t worry, all will be well. Your lives will be easy and comfortable from now on.” He said “Peace be with you” But how could they be at peace when disaster had struck? Even those who had seen Jesus were still afraid. They didn’t believe their eyes. The worst had happened, how could they recover? The Scottish philosopher John MacMurray has something very wise to say about fear and religion which I have found helpful on many occasions: “The maxim of false religion,” he says “runs like this: fear not, trust in God and He will see that none of the things you fear will happen to you. “ That is the kind of thing we want to hear, but we know it’s not true. What real religion teaches, says MacMurray is: “fear not, the things that you are afraid of are quite likely to happen to you, but they are nothing to be afraid of.” That is scary: “Fear not, the things that you are afraid of are quite likely to happen but they are nothing to be afraid of”. We know this is true – sometimes the most horrible things happen to people, often people of great faith or to people we know or to ourselves. There seems to be no guarantee of protection just because we are Christians, but (and this is the important point) we are shown a way through the pain into healing and new life. The way of the cross is a way of transformation. One of the most dangerous distortions of Christianity teaches that real Christians should have prosperity, wealth and health as a sign that God is with us. According to this view there should be no fear or loneliness, no confusion or doubt. This is a total distortion. It is absolutely not true. Dark and difficult things can happen to us all and reactions of fear and doubt are part of our humanity, indeed are almost necessary for us to feel the power of resurrection. There could be no better example of this than the deeply moving picture this week of Pope John Paul II coming to terms with the frustration of his frailty and physical incapacity. The whole world watched the drama of disaster striking as he found he could no longer speak to his flock. Not for him the easy lie – “fear not, trust in God and He will see that none of the things you fear will happen to you. “ He must have dreaded the day when he could no longer speak at all. And it came. The message for him was, “fear not, the things that you are afraid of are quite likely to happen to you, but they are nothing to be afraid of.” And so, witnessed by the whole world, he surrendered himself up to God. There has been a tangible sense of resurrection beckoning beyond death for Pope John Paul II and I believe that is an experience that we are all meant to share. Whenever Jesus made a resurrection appearance, he met an atmosphere of fear and negativity – the women in Mark’s gospel were terrified out of their wits, the disciples on the Emmaus road were sad and disillusioned, Mary Magdalene was distraught, the disciples in the upper room were skulking behind locked doors, Thomas was in doubt. I like Thomas. He is wonderfully honest and I think we can all identify with him. I also like the fact that the disciples’ fear is not glossed over in the bible – it is part of their humanity. Only when they had admitted their fear, come to terms with their failure and inadequacy were they ready to go meet the risen Christ. That is so for us too. Like the disciples, to be ready to meet the risen Christ, it seems that we have to have been through some experience of loss whether loss of self, loss of vanity, loss of health, some bereavement, depression or loss of meaning. We must not try to anaesthetise ourselves against this experience for in it lies our salvation. The answer is often in the pain itself for it points to the way of the cross which is Jesus’ way and ours too. This is a hard message, but it is the heart of the gospel. When Jesus found fear and confusion in the disciples he gave them peace - not safety - peace. Jesus did not condemn Thomas for doubting; he accepted his doubt and showed him his torn hands and side. Jesus accepts our fear and confusion, our poverty and need and uses us, inadequate as we are, to bring God’s love to the world. We have felt the drama of death this week. In the baptism of Amber, let’s now celebrate the joy of new life.
Elspeth Strachan |
Christ
Church