Jesus (60 page)

So we have to move onto a more supernatural explanation, which has to do with what the Risen Christ looked like.

To the question of what Jesus looked like after his resurrection we may have to respond in the way that my New Testament professor did when asked about the precise contours of Jesus's inner life. “What was going on in Jesus's mind at this point?” asked a student. “We have no idea,” said our professor. Likewise, we have no idea what Jesus looked like after the Resurrection.

But he must have looked like
something
. As I've noted, in some theological circles it is common to suggest that the post-Resurrection experiences of the disciples were not so much about actual appearances as about “shared memory.” That is, the real “resurrection” came after the disciples remembered and discussed what Jesus meant to them—as well as his powerful words and deeds during his earthly ministry. Revivified with the power of this communal remembrance, the disciples were then emboldened to preach the word. In this way Jesus's spirit was, in a sense, “resurrected” among them. He didn't need to rise physically from the dead; he lives anew in their shared memory and commitment to continue his work.

This may be similar to what happens in the wake of the murder of a beloved political or spiritual leader, like Martin Luther King, Jr., or Archbishop Oscar Romero, the slain Salvadoran leader, or Dorothy Stang, the American sister who worked with the landless poor in Brazil before her martyrdom in 2005. In reflecting together on the words and deeds of the charismatic leader, their followers are filled with a renewed sense of purpose and are empowered to carry on his or her mission.

Thus, in a sense, the person “lives.”

This theological approach to the Risen Christ may be an attempt to make the incredible events of the Resurrection more credible to a modern audience, who would presumably have less trouble accepting this explanation than the notion that someone physically rose from the dead, as the Gospels report. And indeed, in the story of the Road to Emmaus the disciples gather at the end of the story to share their experiences of the Risen Lord. So “shared memory” is important for the community of believers.

But particularly when we look at the disciples, the idea of a shared memory doesn't seem a credible explanation of the Resurrection at all. Remember that the Gospel of John notes that the disciples were so frightened that they barricaded themselves behind locked doors, “for fear of the Jews.” They had good reason to be fearful.
If the Romans and Jewish authorities dealt that way with the man whom the crowd wanted to make king
, they must have thought,
what will they do to us?
Even
before
the Crucifixion Peter shrank in fear from being identified as one of Jesus's followers. Imagine how their fears would have intensified after witnessing the Romans' brutal execution of their master.

With only one exception, all of Jesus's male followers were so fearful that they shrank from standing at the foot of the cross, unable to accompany Jesus during his final hours. Some of their reluctance might have stemmed from an inability to watch the agonizing death of their friend, but more likely it was out of fear of being identified as a follower of a condemned criminal, an enemy of Rome. (The women showed no such fear, though the situation may have posed less danger for them.)

The disciples, then, were terrified. Does it seem credible that something as simple as sitting around and remembering Jesus would snap them out of this fear? Not to me. Something incontrovertible, something dramatic, something undeniable, something visible, something tangible was needed to transform them from fearful to fearless. To me, this is one of the strongest “proofs” for the Resurrection. The appearance of the Risen Christ was so dramatic, so unmistakable, so obvious—in a word, so
real
—that it transformed the formerly terrified disciples into courageous proclaimers of the message of Jesus. In John's Gospel, the disciples move from cowering behind locked doors to boldly preaching the Resurrection even in the face of their own death. To my mind, only a physical experience of the Risen Christ, something they could actually see and hear (and in the case of Thomas, touch) can possibly account for such a dramatic conversion.

Doubtful fishermen and quarreling disciples simply talking about Jesus and sharing their memories, no matter how vivid, would not effect that kind of dramatic change. Certainly the idea of shared memory, whereby the disciples recalled together what Jesus had said and done, would have aided their faith, but it wouldn't have convinced them of the unmistakable reality of the Resurrection. The men and women of first-century Palestine needed to experience something—see something—they would never forget: something that would sustain them through years of ministry, suffering, and in some cases martyrdom.

And what they saw was Jesus, raised from the dead.

B
UT WHAT HE LOOKED
like is hard to pin down. Some of the Gospel stories are confusing on this point, seemingly at odds with one another. In some post-Resurrection stories, Jesus seems distinctly
physical
. In one instance, he asks for something to eat.
⁸
In another, as we have seen, he shows Thomas his wounds: “Put your finger here and see my hands,” he says.
⁹
Therefore can we conclude that the Risen Christ had a body, and so it was easy for the disciples to recognize him?

Not exactly—because in other Gospel passages the disciples have a hard time identifying him at all. As we just saw, on Easter morning Mary Magdalene mistakes him for the gardener, until he says her name. Then suddenly, like the disciples en route to Emmaus, she recognizes him and says, “
Rabbouni!
” In another appearance the disciples are fishing on the Sea of Galilee and even when Jesus calls to them from the shore, they seem not to know him (or recognize his voice), until they draw closer to the shore. Then suddenly the Beloved Disciple grasps who this is and says to Peter, “It is the Lord!”
¹⁰
In these cases, it seems that Jesus has a body, but not a recognizable one.

But in still other stories Jesus seems distinctly
unphysical.
He suddenly appears in a locked room (i.e., he walks through walls) or, as in the story of Emmaus, he simply vanishes in front of their eyes. What's going on?

Here we tread on mysterious territory. As we've seen, many parts of the Gospel story are familiar to us and can be more or less understood two thousand years after they occurred. Even though none of us lives in first-century Galilee, we know what it feels like to be sick, what a farmer does, and what a lily looks like. Most of us have seen a sheep, been on a boat, and had a sick relative. Many of us have been fishing. We've all seen violent storms, maybe even over a lake. Many parts of the Gospels are part of our experience.

But the story of Road to Emmaus poses an unanswerable question: What does someone look like after rising from the dead? None of us can say. We are walking on unknown ground, and what we say about his appearance is mere speculation.

Only those who saw the Risen Christ could say what he looked like, and their descriptions, passed along through the Gospels, indicate that, above all, it was hard to describe. Theologians sometimes refer to Jesus's appearance in his “glorified body,” a state that is both physical (he still has a body) and wonderfully transformed (his new body is unlike other bodies and is difficult to recognize). It's a helpful way of thinking about it: there is a body, but it is glorified, created anew by God. And remember that Jesus wasn't simply “revived,” as if he had been unconscious: this new body will never die.

For me, the seemingly contradictory descriptions (physical/spiritual, recognizable/unrecognizable, natural/supernatural) indicate two things: the difficulty of describing the most profound of all spiritual experiences and the unprecedented and non-repeatable quality of what the disciples witnessed.
¹¹

In the first case, you need only speak with someone who has gone through a life-altering experience to grasp the difficulty in describing what happened. Imagine speaking with a woman who has just given birth. “What was it like?” you might say. “Well, it was wonderful!” she says. So it was joyful. “But also frightening,” she might say. So was it joyful or frightening? “Well . . . both.” Just as I was writing this chapter a friend wrote to say that her niece had sent her an e-mail after the birth of her first child. It read: “Full of unexplainable love. And exhausted to the bone.”

Some things are difficult to describe, even for the most articulate, and sometimes the descriptions seem contradictory. It's hard to put big experiences into words.

How much harder it must have been for those who were the first ones—the only ones—to experience the Resurrection firsthand to describe the greatest event in history. At least in the case of giving birth, there is some precedent. Other mothers can say, “Yes, I know just what you mean,” even if their own experiences differ. But to whom could the disciples appeal when describing Jesus's appearance?

Their experience of the Risen Christ was unique. So it's not surprising that the descriptions seem at once convincing and confusing.

Here, at least for me, is another sign of the authenticity of the Gospels. Had the evangelists been concerned with providing airtight evidence, rather than trying to report what the disciples saw, they would have paid more attention to ensuring that their stories matched. But the evangelists, as I see it, were more concerned with preserving the authentic experiences of those who saw the Risen Christ, confusing as they might sound to us.

L
ET
'
S STEP BACK ON
the road to Emmaus. Maybe now it's easier to understand how the disciples could not know Jesus in his “glorified body.” They could not recognize him until “the breaking of the bread,” when his identity became manifest.

There are many reasons for own our inability to recognize God. Like the two disciples on the road to Emmaus, we might be too focused on the past. Perhaps the disciples didn't recognize Jesus (apart from the strangeness of his glorified body), because they were stuck on the events of a few days before. Rather than paying attention to what the stranger was telling them, or looking at what was in front of them, or listening to the Living Word, they were focused on death. They may have been stuck in the past.

When I hear stories about people who are unable to forgive, I often think of the Road to Emmaus. A friend of mine once described another person who was unwilling to forgive someone as “unable to climb out of the hole he is in.” It's easy to feel consumed with past hurts; but when we're mired in it, we may not recognize the new things that God has in store for us. Ironically, it is at such times when we are most in need of God's help.

The disciples' inability to recognize Jesus is understandable. Cleopas and the other disciple accompanied Jesus during his ministry and saw how the crowds responded to his preaching. They might have started to think, almost despite their better judgment, “Could this be the one?” Perhaps when they saw Jesus perform his first miracle, they allowed themselves to think, first tentatively, then with growing confidence, that this was indeed the Messiah. Their expectations rose as they spent time with him, witnessed more of his miracles, and noticed his growing fame. Finally, when Jesus entered Jerusalem, they probably thought that surely this was the final stage in the coming of the Messiah.

But then disaster strikes. Jesus is executed like a common criminal. Shame. Confusion. Terror. Everything stops. How hard it must have been for them to talk with the stranger about all the good things Jesus had done, now that it was all for nothing.

“We had hoped” are words of total dejection. Not only have things gone badly, but the months they spent with Jesus now seem a waste of time. The two disciples might be leaving Jerusalem because things turned out so disastrously. Barclay says, “They are the words of people whose hopes are dead and buried.”
¹²

So the sadness of Cleopas and his friend is natural. Yet a certain hopelessness may be preventing them from seeing Christ. And the fact that Jesus has not met their expectations leads them to conclude that his mission has failed. Their sadness and their sense of what should have happened may prevent them from seeing who walked beside them and from fully accepting the story of the women who reported his resurrection. They are stuck.

The disciples understand what it means to feel loss. But here is something we often forget: the Risen Christ understands it too. It is quite possible that, as he died on the Cross, he thought,
But Father, I had hoped that my ministry would be a success. I had hoped.
After the Resurrection, Jesus does not forget his human experiences; he carries them with him. And he is still human.

And so the Risen Christ tells the two disciples that hope is never dead and nothing is impossible with God. Then he shows them this by revealing himself fully. Seeing this, they are filled with joy. Hope has been rekindled and so their hearts burn. Their first impulse, as always in the Gospels and with us, is to announce the Good News.

The Resurrection shows us that there is always hope. Whether or not we can see it, it is there. Or, more precisely, he is there.

Y
EARS AGO ON A
retreat, my spiritual director asked me to pray about this passage. The past few months had marked a difficult time in my Jesuit life, and I felt beset by problems in my ministry. It was easy to imagine myself as Cleopas's companion, dejected and forlorn.

In my prayer, the road to Emmaus was sandy, bordered by a high, grassy embankment on our left side. Cleopas and I tramped along silently. Presently Jesus approached us. He wore a dark hood; his face was down, obscured as he greeted us. When he asked what we were talking about, I gave the answer from Luke, “Are you the only stranger in Jerusalem who does not know the things that have taken place there in these days?”