Gospel writer Luke recounts stories of the ‘Jesus encounters’ following Christ’s resurrection. As evidence, they are important - we want belief founded on reason. But these testimonies are not ‘proofs’. They are told experiences of a community in trauma. What might we learn from them?
Photo by Ehimetalor Akhere Unuabona on Unsplash
When Jesus died, the followers left behind did not sit and discuss what had happened, as might those in confirmation class. The group was ripped apart. Its members witnessed extreme violence, grief, betrayal.
When we recall Jesus’ false arrest and murder, we are poised for sorrow to turn to joy. We know what happens on Easter Sunday! For the first disciples, there was no such assurance.
People respond to trauma in different ways. Initial shock, denial, ‘numbing out’ and detachment are normal. Later responses include mood swings, anxiety, anger, depression, flashbacks, insomnia, intense fear and withdrawal. Some gospel accounts hint at these symptoms among Jesus’ friends. His presence brought healing and peace but the appearances do not seem clear. The bereaved struggle to understand and recognise him; even when they do, some doubt.
If you can remember a time of grief or shock in your own life, and you wish to do so, spend some time with it now.
~
Somehow, the community of Christ’s followers moved from being traumatised to confidently proclaiming and witnessing. How?
Perhaps Jesus’ behaviour when he met them helped. Here are three features of the encounters:
He is present, showing his scars. He doesn’t shrink from the physical impact of death but offers it to them. They can touch the wounds and see the healing. Re-living and remembering in a contained, safe place enables the start of a healing process where traumatic memories are opened, reordered and put to rest.
Jesus says: “See me, touch me, it happened. It was real.”
~
He explains, going through the events, connecting them with other things he had said and with the Hebrew scriptures cherished by the community. Those in trauma go through cycles of working through what happened and why: could we have stopped it? could we have done something different? what if we’d ….. ?
The explanatory process makes time for questions to rise and fall away.
~
He eats with them. The fish and bread meal speaks volumes, drawing the group back to a last supper and the words:
‘this is my body which is given for you, do this in remembrance of me’.
and perhaps also to five loaves and two fish that became a crowd-feeding miracle. Eating together can say, quietly, Life is Possible Again.
Presence; explanation; sharing food. Can you remember times when some or all of these things helped you process suffering? If you wish to do so, spend some time with those memories.
~
At Pentecost, the gospels tell us, Jesus followers were filled dramatically with God’s Spirit and began to courageously proclaim what had happened to them. This is roughly two months after the resurrection, a period similar to the length of time it takes for traumatised people to begin to reengage with life. A time of dislocation is needed for recovery.
As Jesus appears to his friends, he does more than prove he’s alive: he proves they can keep living. They can remember, at table, the joy and the sadness; they can remember that life emerges from death.
~
In these resurrection appearances, we are reminded of the Divine promise that there is no darkness, no place, no grave that hides us from God’s life-giving love. It cannot explain away tragedy, loneliness, grief or even answer all questions. It can say: God persists, braves the horror of broken bodies, meets us in our trauma and asks us to sit and eat. Here is Holy work.
The arts are a way to make space for pain, grief and suffering in a way that is beautiful, safe and redemptive. Sometimes, hearing, seeing or sensing something moving, created by another person, allows us to make peace with our own emotions. If you have a favourite film, poem, painting or other art form that moves you, you may like to spend some time with it this week.
One song that marries the beauty and pain of love and loss is Jacques Brel’s fabulous Ne Me Quitte Pas. You can watch him perform it here, and the lyrics translated from the French are here.