"So if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation: everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new!" (2 Corinthians 5:17)There's an old story, found in different versions, about a monastery that had fallen upon hard times. It was once a great order, but because of persecutions and general disinterest it had dwindled to the extent that there were only five monks left in the decaying main house: the abbot and four others, all over seventy in age. It seemed to be a dying order.
In the deep woods surrounding the monastery there was a little hut that was often used as a hermitage by a rabbi from a nearby town. Through their years of prayer and contemplation the old monks had become intuitive enough to be able to sense when the rabbi was in his hermitage. "The rabbi is in the woods. He's in the hut again," they would whisper to each other.
In his distress at the thought of his dying order, it dawned on the abbot that he might visit the hermitage and ask the rabbi if he could offer any advice that might save the monastery. The rabbi welcomed the abbot into his hut, but when the abbot explained the purpose of his visit, the rabbi could only commiserate with him. "I know what you're going through," he said. "The people have no more spirit. It is the same in my town. Almost no one comes to the synagogue anymore." So the old abbot and the old rabbi wept together, read some of the Torah, and bonded in conversation. When the time came for the abbot had to leave he said, "It has been a wonderful thing that we should meet after all these years, but I have still not asked what I came here to ask you. Is there anything at all you can tell me, any advice you can give me that would help save my order?"
"No, I am sorry," the rabbi replied. "I have no advice to give. The only thing I can tell you is that the Messiah is one of you."
When the abbot returned to the monastery his fellow monks gathered around him to ask about what the rabbi said. The abbot answered, "Well, he couldn't help. We just cried and read the Torah together. He did say one thing just as I was leaving -- something very strange and cryptic. He told me that the Messiah is one of us. But I have no idea what he meant by that."
In the days and weeks that followed, the old monks pondered this and wondered whether there was any significance to the rabbi's words. "The Messiah is one of us? Could he possibly have meant one of us monks here? If so, who? Do you suppose he meant the abbot? Yeah, if he meant anyone, it was probably Father Abbot. He has been our leader for more than 30 years. Yet, he might have meant Brother Thomas. Brother Thomas is a holy man, and everyone knows he's a man of light. Well, he couldn't have meant Brother Stephen! Stephen gets cantankerous and crotchety at times. But come to think of it, even though he's a pain sometimes, when you look at it, he's pretty much always right. Often very right. Maybe the rabbi did mean Brother Stephen. But surely not Phillip. Brother Phillip is so quiet, a real nobody. Yet, almost mysteriously, he has a gift for somehow always being there when you need him. He just magically appears by your side. Maybe Phillip is the Messiah. Of course, the rabbi couldn't have meant me. No way, I'm just an ordinary person. Yet supposing he did?... Suppose I am the Messiah? O God, not me. I couldn't be that much for You, could I?"
As they reflected on it like this, the old monks began to actually live differently. They started to treat each other with great respect and kindness on the off chance that one among them might be the Messiah. And on the off off chance that each monk himself might be the Messiah, they began to treat themselves with great respect and kindness, as well.
Because of the beautiful forest surrounding the place, people still occasionally came to visit the monastery to picnic, to walk the paths, and even sometimes to go into the dilapidated chapel to meditate. Without really being aware, they sensed the aura of great respect and kindness that now began to surround the five old monks and radiated out from them to permeate the whole place. People began to come back to the monastery more frequently to picnic, play, and pray. They began to bring their friends to show them this special place. And their friends brought their friends. And so on...
Some of the younger men who came to visit started talking more frequently with the old monks. Eventually, one asked if he could join them. Then another. And another... Within a few years the monastery had once again become a thriving order and a vibrant center of light, life, and love -- all thanks to the rabbi's gift.
*****
This Holy Week, as we approach Easter, the crux of the church calendar and Christian faith, let us consider the many ways by which the resurrection into new life comes. Let us reflect on the plurality of forms by which new life in Christ shows up in our own lives. Sometimes Easter appears in the most unlikely of places and through the most improbable of means. There’s a post-resurrection account of Jesus in the Gospel of Luke that really speaks to me. It’s often called the Road to Emmaus. These two guys, Jesus’ followers, are walking to Emmaus, just outside of Jerusalem on the third day after the crucifixion. Jesus appears and begins walking and talking with them. But these guys don't recognize him as Jesus. Along the way Jesus kind of chides them about not understanding that the Messiah is supposed to suffer before entering into glory.
The men urge Jesus to stay with them for the evening because it's getting late. So he goes in to stay with them. Now, here’s the climax, and the part that really touches me:
“When he was at he table with them, he took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them. Then, their eyes were opened, and they recognized him; and he vanished from their sight.” (Lk. 24:30-31)These men didn’t see the risen Jesus, right away. They didn’t see him until -- table fellowship, the breaking of bread with one another. Isn’t this true also in our lives today?
In times of building community, in giving-and-receiving, in finding ways to embrace each other with respect and kindness -- even when it's difficult -- we experience the perfect pattern of God’s Love, just as Jesus Christ demonstrated. When we break bread with each other and support one another in fellowship (warts and all), when we are really present with each other in joys and sorrows, we rise into a new awareness of Christ's presence within and among us. This is resurrection.
All of this is possible because we are, at the core, blessed and beloved children of God, created with inherent dignity and worth as imago dei, encoded in our spiritual DNA. We are living presences embodying Jesus Christ in the world, writing new possibilities for humanity, individually and communally as the Body of Christ.
As we remember and celebrate the risen Christ this Easter, may we also envision the many avenues -- great and small -- by which this Easter experience brings the gift of new life.
