Resurrection is Everywhere
On rising suns, smug churches, and empty tombs (Faith and Deconstruction)
The resurrection of Christ is a central doctrine of the Christian faith. Some might even call it the most crucial doctrine—the hub that makes the spokes of all other Christian teaching possible. Back when I considered myself an evangelical Christian, I thought it was more important than Christmas despite not having hundreds of songs written about it over the centuries and weeks of build-up each year. To be clear, I still enjoyed Christmas more, but Easter—or as super-spiritual types like to call it, Resurrection Day—is what the exclusivity, and therefore the entirety, of Christianity hinges upon. Or so I once believed.
Think about it: this Mediterranean man, born miraculously of a virgin, taught some truly revolutionary principles, claimed to be the son of God—claimed, in fact, to be God himself—and had his life struck down in the most brutal manner of execution possible. But then—again, aided by divine miracle—he rose from the dead. He came back to life. The tomb in which he was buried is now empty. He is the phoenix risen from the ashes. It’s a hell of a good character arc in the story of God. Inspiring, even.
But is it literally true? Is it an historical fact? Does it matter?
Back when I was part of the conservative evangelical church, I thought the most potent tool in my apologetic arsenal was being able to tell someone, “My God is alive. Where is yours?” It was a rhetorical question, for the assumed answer was, of course, “dead.” Apologetic arsenal sounds more thrilling and confrontational than it actually was; I thought about it more than I actually used it, because I never was good at or comfortable with sharing my faith. Proselytizing—which is what it was, though we evangelicals never called it that—put a knot in my stomach.
I was an evangelical who sucked at (read: hated) evangelizing. But the few times I ever posed such a pompous question to an actual non-Christian, they’d look at me like I was the one who’d come back from the dead. I was dumb, ignorant, and young enough back then to believe my good intentions absolved me of my callousness. A good line doesn’t negate being a jackass. I’m not sure what I expected them to say: “Wow, thank you, man. I am now going to go home and rethink my entire worldview and existential philosophy!”
Aside from the gospel writings that attest to the supernatural events of Easter, there are many statements made by the apostle Paul attesting to the critical importance of the resurrection to the Christian faith. Next to the words of Jesus, I’m not sure there’s someone whose words were given more credibility in the theology-gripped churches I attended than Paul. I might as well lay my cards on the table now: I disagree with the man who had the original Damascus moment. I disagree with him on numerous things, but for obvious reasons, I’m going to focus on his statements about the risen Christ.
Before that, if you’ll allow me, a structure-breaking, just-for-the-record digression: the phrase “risen Christ” has been ruined for me, as has the designation of Easter Sunday as “Resurrection Day.” People are free to use whichever phrases they wish to describe deeply personal holy days, but for me those particular combinations of words spark up the conservative evangelical trauma buried deep inside me (you might say I can feel it rising within).
I had never heard Easter called Resurrection Day until around 2003, when the church I was attending hired a completely new pastoral leadership team. When that first Easter rolled (sorry, the puns aren’t going to stop, apparently) around, they made a big push to call it by the new name. They’d shake hands with congregants and, smiling, wish them “Happy Resurrection Day!” Even as a good little nineteen-year-old Southern Baptist, I detected a smarminess, a smug self-importance in the way it was said, at least by the gentlemen comprising this particular leadership team.
It was said with a tinge of “Our god can kick all the other gods’ asses” in its tone. Not quite MMA level, but heading in that direction. It was the same with “risen Christ.” The phrase often seemed to be employed in the context of a statement like, “the risen Christ has come to set the world back to rights, claim his people, and pour out his wrath upon those who have turned from him!” (Nothing ruins a good resurrection like a gentle sprinkling of wrath.) Pretty soon it felt like most of the church had taken on a tenor of smugness. It started feeling a little stuffy. Not necessarily the majority of individuals, more so just the general atmosphere, from the top down. Needless to say, it became a little off-putting, and I started to feel out of place. But it worked, apparently. That church is thriving today. Self-righteousness is contagious. I hope they’ve at least dialed the smugness down.
Anyway, back to Paul. The former persecutor of Christians said that if Jesus didn’t resurrect from the dead, then faith is worthless. If a Christian doesn’t believe in the literal, bodily resurrection of Jesus, he is to be pitied above all men, because then neither will we “rise” when we meet our death. And if that is the case (that the resurrection isn’t true), then what’s the point? He also said preaching is worthless if Jesus didn’t come back from the dead. I’d like to posit that a good deal of preaching is worthless anyway, whether Jesus breathed a single posthumous breath or not. (Paul gives his stark overview of all of this is 1 Corinthians 15:12-19.)
There have been times in my life when I believed whole-heartedly that Jesus did actually rise from the dead three days after he was crucified; times when I posted “He is risen!” on Facebook; times when I attended passion plays (amateur stage productions that trickle out every Easter about the death and resurrection of Jesus). It is clearly one of the pivotal stories of the Christian faith. Cleary, it was one of the pivotal stories of my faith.
But today, as I sit here writing this, I no longer believe that the bodily resurrection of Jesus was a literal, historical event. Is it meant to be taken literally? Maybe? Probably? I’m not sure, but I have no reason to doubt that the gospel writers (and Paul, obviously) intended to relay the resurrection as an event that actually happened, and I have no desire to go down rabbit holes about whether or not they were being intentionally deceptive. I’ve just gotten to the point where I don’t really think it matters. I harbor no ill will toward or opinion of those who believe in the story as historical fact, unless of course they use it as a cudgel against those who disagree. For most Christians, it’s the foundation of faith, and people should be able to believe whatever works for them.
But I cannot do it anymore. Trying to believe in the resurrection as history stopped working for me. It became a source of anxiety more than a source of inspiration. I’m not exactly sure when I stopped believing in it literally—I’ve had seasons of doubt here and there throughout my spiritual journey—but I know when I finally told myself it was okay to let it go, I felt liberated. When Jesus said, “The truth shall set you free,” I’m not sure this is what he meant.
But it’s not entirely accurate to say I stopped believing in the resurrection story completely; I’ve just changed the way I believe in it. Instead of an historical event I have to constantly be weighing the veracity of in my mind, I now believe in it as a symbol, I believe in it as a metaphor. And, for me, it’s made the story of the resurrection that much more powerful. Among other things, it’s opened my eyes to reflections of resurrection in the physical world around me: the beautiful disintegration of the world in fall and how it’s born again into the bounty of spring; dead leaves, dead grass, and dead waste used to bring life to a new plant or crop; living plants and animals that must die to sustain the life of the human race; the sunrise every morning as it escapes from the dead of night. I don’t need to believe in a literal risen Jesus in order to believe in the miracles of constant renewal that occur in our world. Resurrection is nothing if not persistent.
I realize that not believing in a literal resurrection is a form of apostasy to many Christians, but I’ve learned to be okay with that. I don’t really care—or at least I try not to—if people think I’ve taken a dive into the deep end of the heretical pool. I’ve chosen to believe in the resurrection in the way I do so I don’t feel the need to dismiss the whole thing outright as magical malarkey. It’s significance to me is literary, artistic, cultural, and yes, even historical. The story maintains an almost mythical power in my life. All of which is to say that it’s significance to me is still very much wrapped up in the personal, the existential, and the spiritual.
When I believed believed, I went through periods of doubt that caused me a lot of mental anguish. I thought if I didn’t submit my reason and rationality to credence in the literal resurrection of Jesus Christ, my faith was done for, as useless as a taco without a tortilla. That’s what was preached to me, and taught to me via Paul: “And if Christ has not been raised, our preaching is useless and so is your faith.” Whatever you think about Paul, you cannot accuse the man of being vague on this issue.
It has been a heavy burden lifted to no longer agonize over whether the resurrection literally happened or not. I still occasionally read or listen to the arguments on both sides, but I’m no longer trying to convince myself one way or the other. I do it because I can still be a bit of a nerd for theology. I used to listen to the arguments voraciously and with rapt attention, hoping to find that one little morsel of proof that could finally push me to the point of certainty about Christ’s resurrection. But rarely is anyone’s opinion going to be changed on either side of an issue that defies the laws of physics and nature.
Agonizing over whether the resurrection of Christ happened or not would be akin to me agonizing over whether George shooting Lennie in Of Mice and Men happened in real life. That’s not the point. The point is the power of a story well-told—a story well-told, to be sure, based on other well-told stories that came before. The point is the wisdom that can be gleaned and applied to one’s own life. And the great thing is every person who hears the story gets to make up their own mind about how much and what kind of wisdom and power it contains.
What the story of the resurrection symbolizes for me is hope. Hope that when we die we might somehow live on in a spiritual sense? Sure, I can get on board with that. That would be nice, and is a lovely thought, indeed. But more concretely, and completely antithetical to Paul, it symbolizes hope in this life. When you are down so low that you don’t feel like you’re ever going to be able to get up again, believe that one day you will. When you feel dead emotionally, physically, spiritually, intellectually, psychologically, you can be hopeful that if you keep going, one day you will come back to life again. When you’re in a season of disintegration, you can believe that a season of renewal is just on the horizon. In our darkest times, the resurrection tells us, “Just try and hold on a little longer.” None of this is to say that hope is easy to come by. It often isn’t. But good stories can help. (As can great poems, like Maya Angelou’s “Still I Rise.”)
At The Gospel Coalition, that dogmatic beacon of never being wrong, Trevin Wax writes about a hypothetical congregant who would still want to listen to sermons because they are encouraging, even if, hypothetically, Jesus didn’t rise from the dead. He says that Paul would respond in the following manner, which is most certainly correct, but I take this more as Wax himself responding: “We don’t preach the gospel because it’s helpful; we preach the gospel because it’s true. And ultimately, if it’s not true, it’s not helpful.” This is the same kind of smarminess that I detected in the new leadership team at my church in 2003. Wax writes with the same air of smugness that seemed to have infected the very heart of that congregation.
Something can be true in more ways than one. Books of fiction aren’t “true,” but they contain a multitude of truths that have endured over centuries. Songs aren’t “true,” but you’ll never find a more helpful friend than a song when you’re in need, and what could be truer than the comfort a song can bring? I can believe the resurrection was not a literal fact while at the same time believe there are beneficial truths that can be gleaned from the Easter story. But, according to Wax, if it is not the literal black-and-white truth, the gospel is a sham and Christianity is useless. He doesn’t just come across as defending what he believes to be the truth, he comes across like a fratboy trying to weed out those too weak-willed to make it through the hazing. “Hey man, if you can’t chug this hard truth down in five seconds, you probably don’t belong here.”
Later, he also writes, “Without the resurrection of Jesus Christ, every Christian funeral has been invalidated. There’s no hope of heaven. Everyone you’ve grieved is gone for good.” This is the kind of casual surety (bordering on cruelty) I can’t relate to anymore. He might as well have said if Jesus didn’t rise from the dead, there is no point to life (a sentiment I’m not sure he’d disagree with). So every funeral—excuse me, Christian funeral; non-Christian funerals are already meaningless—means absolutely nothing if a miracle occurring outside the realm of space and time didn’t actually happen?
Okay.
According to this line of thinking, if the resurrection didn’t happen, not only are you not going to heaven, you can’t even believe in heaven, because it doesn’t exist. The resurrection is apparently the only prerequisite for its existence. This is to say nothing of the various notions of heaven that people of various spiritualities believe, or don’t, believe in, or of the various ways people use their imagination to bring some semblance of peace and comfort to bear on their thoughts about death.
I’m beginning to wade into larger disagreements here, but I suppose I have such a strong reaction to Wax’s words because I used to believe them. Wax is free to still believe them—I suppose they are working for him. Where he crosses a line, however—and where a lot of evangelical Christian churches in America cross a line—is in attempting to make everyone who doesn’t view the resurrection story like he does feel like shit about it. That’s truly hopeless behavior.
Richard Holloway, former Bishop of Edinburgh and prolific writer and thinker on the subject of Christian faith, believes in the resurrection as a religious narrative vehicle for transformation—personal, psychological, societal. Action that leads to transformation is evidence of belief in the resurrection, not a narrow interpretation that leads only to literalism. He describes resurrection as “the determination to take the first step out of the tomb,” whether the tomb is of one’s own making or not, whether it’s mental, intellectual, or social. The tomb can be as small (personal) as a deeply ingrained fear about something, or as large (societal) as Rosa Parks inspiring a “whole people to walk out of the tomb of segregation.” Holloway writes, “My belief in resurrection means that I have to commit myself to the possibility of transformation, and however feeble I feel, take the first faltering step towards change.” Transformation starts small—and often in fits and starts—within individuals, and branches out into the communities we are a part of, whether religious, secular, or familial. Another word for belief in change, in transformation, in resurrection? Hope. “Right theology” has no bearing on the matter.
The theme and image of resurrection is often most powerful when wielded in the hands of word artisans, otherwise known as poets. One of America’s best, Kentuckian Wendell Berry, wrote a poem called “Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front.” It is a cutting indictment of the American status quo. It is about finding the beauty in our imperfect world, and defying what is ugly and what makes us treat others with ugliness. Perhaps his most sage wisdom comes in the last line of the poem, which distills itself down into two powerful words that color everything that’s come before: “Practice resurrection.”
It’s good advice. For the living, not the dead.