Father Tim Lemlin
It has become a habit of mine that each time I visit with my family in Tucson, Arizona I also visit the grave in which my Dad and Mom are buried. Once there, besides speaking with them, I observe the changes in the gravesite. I notice the grass, the headstone, and the settling of the earth over their caskets. During one visit a question popped into my mind. "What would my reaction be if I found an empty hole where my Dad and Mom have been buried?"
I suspect that it would be the same as the women who approach the tomb just as the sun is beginning to rise. The closer they get to the tomb the more clearly they can see that the stone, which had been placed in front of the tomb's opening, has been moved. They are horrified. Someone has desecrated the tomb and has removed the body.
We can talk about resurrection. We can theologize about resurrection. We can declare openly and loudly our belief in resurrection. However, until we have experienced love that is undeserved and unearned, offered at a time when we are powerless, weak, and despairing, resurrection will have little or no effect on how we live our lives.
It was the end of October 1973. I was in my first year of theology at St. Bernard Seminary in Rochester, NY. It was the first time that I had been away from family and friends for such an extended period of time. I am an introvert and establish supportive friendships slowly. The network of supportive friendships that I had developed here in Rhode Island was stretched too far. I couldn't be sustained by them. I was really alone for the first time in my life. I was at the end of my ability - my power - to give meaning to my life. The tomb was empty and hope was only a word - a concept.
I found myself on the roof of one the dormitories feeling the strong breeze pushing me closer to the building's edge. As I gazed down at the earth far below I felt like a failure - a nobody. My life, as I knew it, had drained out of me and could no longer sustain me. Everything that had given me hope - life - was gone. I was empty and hollow.
I can't fully explain what happened next, but I do recall the wind that had been at my back now being in my face. The force that seemed to be pushing me to the edge was now cradling me, holding me, embracing me, and gently guiding me back to the door and stairwell.
The crucifixion of Jesus and the resurrection of Jesus can't be experienced apart from his life. Jesus identifies himself throughout his life with powerlessness. When he is tempted to take control - to assume a position of power - he refuses. When his disciples try to make themselves important (which they continuously do) Jesus undercuts their efforts - every time. Jesus experiences rejection and abandonment on every level of his life: by his church, by his political leaders, by his family, by his disciples, by his closest friends, and by God. He is stripped of more than his clothes. He is stripped of his entire identity. This is complete powerlessness.
When we focus on the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus apart from his life we can easily fall into the trap of concepts and ideas. These concepts and ideas (we sometimes call them theology) can cause us to feel emotional but they don't have the power to transform our lives. They don't have the power because they desperately keep us from experiencing the truth about ourselves: that everything that we believe ourselves to be we are not. We are simply decorated masks that hide empty space.
We experience this in Jesus when he cries from the cross, "My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?" He has no thoughts of atoning sin. He doesn't have any thought of sacrificing himself to God for us. Both of these speak of Jesus being in control - in power. He is not. He is rather experiencing what each of us must experience: our complete helplessness.
When I reflect upon my experience up on the rooftop, I see that it was a moment of transformation that had nothing to do with me. Everything upon which I relied (the church, friends, family and my mind) could not give me life. I was empty and abandoned. It was then, when all of my resources had been depleted, that I gained the freedom by the grace of God to know love.
The path to resurrection joy - to transformation - always leads through the death of our self created identity. There is no other way. Maybe this is why it is only Peter who comes to the tomb: Peter, who is still agonizing over his inability - his powerlessness - to do what he so boldly declared he would do (die with Jesus); Peter, who is stripped of his façade of courage and brought to a place of whimpering failure. Peter's experience makes him susceptible to begin to be in touch with the power of God to resurrect - to transform - who we are.
Jesus is our savior because he shows us what needs to happen in our lives for us to experience the transformative love of God. Jesus whose life is a failure, who is conquered, who is stripped of his dignity, who knows utter defeat, who is crucified as a criminal of his church and state, who is everything we have been told not to be, is ironically and paradoxically our model. Where he has gone we must follow.
