Glynn Cardy 16th April 2023
The first story we have of resurrectional transformation is from Galatians 1 where Paul simply says God was pleased to reveal their son to me. Some 75+ years later the author of Acts puts a narrative around it with Saul/Paul on his way to persecute a Jesus group, a bright light, a falling down, struck by blindness, and a voice asking, ‘Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?’ No horse.
The power of this experience – and why I call it a resurrectional transformation – is that it was the catalyst for an enormous change in Paul, and subsequently for the Jesus movement that he then devoted his life to. We never hear of a bright-light-and-voice experience again. Note though, in the Galatians’ telling that Paul spent many years processing this experience, becoming resurrected, before he began his itinerant ministry of preaching and encouragement.
I use the phrase ‘becoming resurrected’ not to make a comment on the after-death physical body of Jesus, but on the transformational journey of Paul and the Jesus movement at large. Following Jesus, both before his death and after his death, was a journey of self and group discovery, of self and group empowerment.
The second story we have of resurrectional transformation is also from Paul, in 1 Corinthians 15. This passage gives a list of people to whom an ‘appearance’ was made by the Risen Jesus. A list of more than 500 people, including Paul himself. Paul’s inclusion here was important in establishing his apostolic credentials in the fierce argument around Gentile inclusion and requirements.
Note the essence of that argument is still ongoing. Is our movement, Christianity, our church, only for people who look like us, act like us, and who don’t make us comfortable? Can our movement, our church, open our doors and our leadership positions to a person of the female gender, any gender, or none? What are the boundaries? Are there boundaries? And, if so, who sets them and polices them?
This passage from 1 Corinthians again makes clear that an after-death ‘appearance’ of the Risen Jesus was not to help his followers to believe in the supernatural (they did anyway), or to have modern-day scholars muse on the nature of this appearance or apparition, but in order to give an apostolic mandate to empower and encourage the movement at large.
Interestingly, all 500+ were, in Paul’s reasoning, apostles. Including women. Whereas in the Roman Catholic and Orthodox traditions, the argument goes that ‘the Twelve,’ all men, were the only apostles, and therefore no woman shall be ordained priest, bishop, or pope/patriarch. With that logic you could say that everyone wishing to be ordained needed to be a Galilean Jew too! One day, hopefully one day soon, this whole house of boys-only picture cards will come tumbling down.
It is hard to say chronologically which resurrectional transformation story came next. Mark’s gospel and the gospel of Thomas have no appearance traditions – though Mark has an appendix of sorts added much later. It’s interesting to read that appendix and note Jesus telling his followers off, and condemning those who don’t believe in him. Growling at people isn’t empowering, for them or you.
Matthew’s and Luke’s appearance traditions suggest a similar source (called Q) but also independent material. So, they both have an empty tomb, an angel or two, women as the first witnesses, Peter running in, then the Jesus apparition eating, encouraging, commissioning, and blessing at least 11 people. John’s Gospel also knows these stories, and puts Thomas in the mix.
The three stories that stand out as unique, and only found in one source, are the stories of Mary Magdalene in the garden, the road to Emmaus, and the BBQ at the beach.
Mary, despite the attempts of a ‘men-in-charge’ agenda that sought to denigrate her and then dismiss her, was a significant leader in the early movement. Thomas Aquinas, would call her ‘the apostle to the apostles.’ Like Paul, we now know she had a peripatetic ministry, preaching and encouraging, performing miracles and testifying to the authorities. In John’s Gospel it is Mary who is the first witness to the resurrection. The first one called by name. The first one to experience a resurrectional transformation in herself.
The ‘men-in-charge’ agenda grew in influence throughout the period the New Testament was written in. So, by 100 years or so after Jesus’ death we have the writer of 1 Timothy (who wasn’t Paul!) saying, ‘But I suffer not a woman to teach, nor to usurp authority over the man, but to be in silence.’ Terrible words that would lead to a terrible history of denying the ministry of some half of the human race! Tragic. This ‘men-in-charge’ agenda however is evident throughout the Bible, with significant and powerful leadership by women (think of Deborah in the Book of Judges) being the exception rather the rule.
So, what is surprising is that the stories of women witnesses to the resurrection, like Mary Magdalene, managed to survive the editorial culling, mansplaining(?), of the gospels as they were retold, handed down, and later canonized.
But is it really a surprising, following the topsy-turvy thinking of Jesus, that (to paraphrase St Paul) God would choose what (who) is considered weak, powerless, and unreliable to confound, to discombobulate, the strong, the powerful, and their notions of reliability?
This theme is also found in the story of the road to Emmaus. While the dialogical nature of the encounter between the unrecognizable Risen Jesus and the two travellers is underlined – sharing thoughts, feelings, and hospitality – and in the sharing coming to a point of discovery, enlightenment – the unknown identities of the two travellers is often overlooked. Who were they? Were they disciples, but not of the twelve? Were they a husband and wife? Why were they chosen for this most special of encounters?
They were unknowns. They were nobodies. They didn’t go on to have their names dropped in conversation, or have books written about them, or have leadership positions offered to them. They were just ordinary. For the topsy-turvy message of Jesus, contra to Paul with his apostolic authority arguments, is that the resurrectional transformation on offer is not just for the big people, or the people who will be big, but for the small people, who will always be considered small. Small people can experience empowerment, and do lots of small things because of it.
And then there is the BBQ saga, in John 21. The boys are back in town, down on the lake, Lake Kinneret (Galilee), fishing. As you do, when life has gone sour. You even take some advice from a stranger on the shore. As you do when your luck’s not in. But then the luck comes in, and they are pulling and heaving, and then thinking, ‘Hey don’t we know that stranger?’
Back on the shore there’s a fire, and fish and bread are cooking. And Jesus is tending it, and telling them to come have breakfast. Food first, then korero. And the talk was about love, and feeding, and following. With a few bits and bobs thrown in. And Peter heard it, from his ears to his tears to his heart.
I understand this Johannine resurrectional transformation story, to be not so much about the forgiving and restoration of the great Peter, the first Pope and all that and all that. I understand it as a simple story about a bunch of common guys who had lost direction, lost faith, were grieving, and in that down-zone went fishing. Together. Then, as you do with fishing – no matter how big or small or not the catch – they sat and ate and talked and shared and loved and found something. Something uncommon. A thing called hope.
I think you could talk about all these resurrection ‘appearances,’ bright lights, gardeners, etcetera, as about finding hope. Not the hope that Jesus the man has come back to life and will forever hold your hand. (Remember those words to Mary: ‘don’t hold on to me’). Not that sort of ‘bring-back-the-past’ hope. Comfy though it would be.
No, rather the hope that is found in the small things. Like the tales of women, the smile of a gardener, the talk as you walk down the road, the wonder of sharing food, the love that friends have who hang around and won’t let you be alone in your grief. All small stuff, but sacred stuff, all seemingly small pennies but mattering to those who have not got a lot.
Thomas Aquinas talked about the resurrection as ‘waking up.’ Not Jesus waking up, but we waking up, becoming aware of, awake to, both the suffering and the joy in the world. And then to join in, participate in, alleviating that suffering through works of justice and mercy. Those who don’t wake up Aquinas saw as ‘asleep,’ drifting, detached, in a despairing passivity waiting for some authoritarian God or leader to do the work and rescue humanity. Those who do ‘wake up’ become resurrected, join the insurrection, become hope-builders.
And that’s what I think happened with Paul, with Mary, with two unknowns, and with Peter. Hope-builders for a world in need.
Becoming Resurrected
Glynn Cardy 16th April 2023
The first story we have of resurrectional transformation is from Galatians 1 where Paul simply says God was pleased to reveal their son to me. Some 75+ years later the author of Acts puts a narrative around it with Saul/Paul on his way to persecute a Jesus group, a bright light, a falling down, struck by blindness, and a voice asking, ‘Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?’ No horse.
The power of this experience – and why I call it a resurrectional transformation – is that it was the catalyst for an enormous change in Paul, and subsequently for the Jesus movement that he then devoted his life to. We never hear of a bright-light-and-voice experience again. Note though, in the Galatians’ telling that Paul spent many years processing this experience, becoming resurrected, before he began his itinerant ministry of preaching and encouragement.
I use the phrase ‘becoming resurrected’ not to make a comment on the after-death physical body of Jesus, but on the transformational journey of Paul and the Jesus movement at large. Following Jesus, both before his death and after his death, was a journey of self and group discovery, of self and group empowerment.
The second story we have of resurrectional transformation is also from Paul, in 1 Corinthians 15. This passage gives a list of people to whom an ‘appearance’ was made by the Risen Jesus. A list of more than 500 people, including Paul himself. Paul’s inclusion here was important in establishing his apostolic credentials in the fierce argument around Gentile inclusion and requirements.
Note the essence of that argument is still ongoing. Is our movement, Christianity, our church, only for people who look like us, act like us, and who don’t make us comfortable? Can our movement, our church, open our doors and our leadership positions to a person of the female gender, any gender, or none? What are the boundaries? Are there boundaries? And, if so, who sets them and polices them?
This passage from 1 Corinthians again makes clear that an after-death ‘appearance’ of the Risen Jesus was not to help his followers to believe in the supernatural (they did anyway), or to have modern-day scholars muse on the nature of this appearance or apparition, but in order to give an apostolic mandate to empower and encourage the movement at large.
Interestingly, all 500+ were, in Paul’s reasoning, apostles. Including women. Whereas in the Roman Catholic and Orthodox traditions, the argument goes that ‘the Twelve,’ all men, were the only apostles, and therefore no woman shall be ordained priest, bishop, or pope/patriarch. With that logic you could say that everyone wishing to be ordained needed to be a Galilean Jew too! One day, hopefully one day soon, this whole house of boys-only picture cards will come tumbling down.
It is hard to say chronologically which resurrectional transformation story came next. Mark’s gospel and the gospel of Thomas have no appearance traditions – though Mark has an appendix of sorts added much later. It’s interesting to read that appendix and note Jesus telling his followers off, and condemning those who don’t believe in him. Growling at people isn’t empowering, for them or you.
Matthew’s and Luke’s appearance traditions suggest a similar source (called Q) but also independent material. So, they both have an empty tomb, an angel or two, women as the first witnesses, Peter running in, then the Jesus apparition eating, encouraging, commissioning, and blessing at least 11 people. John’s Gospel also knows these stories, and puts Thomas in the mix.
The three stories that stand out as unique, and only found in one source, are the stories of Mary Magdalene in the garden, the road to Emmaus, and the BBQ at the beach.
Mary, despite the attempts of a ‘men-in-charge’ agenda that sought to denigrate her and then dismiss her, was a significant leader in the early movement. Thomas Aquinas, would call her ‘the apostle to the apostles.’ Like Paul, we now know she had a peripatetic ministry, preaching and encouraging, performing miracles and testifying to the authorities. In John’s Gospel it is Mary who is the first witness to the resurrection. The first one called by name. The first one to experience a resurrectional transformation in herself.
The ‘men-in-charge’ agenda grew in influence throughout the period the New Testament was written in. So, by 100 years or so after Jesus’ death we have the writer of 1 Timothy (who wasn’t Paul!) saying, ‘But I suffer not a woman to teach, nor to usurp authority over the man, but to be in silence.’ Terrible words that would lead to a terrible history of denying the ministry of some half of the human race! Tragic. This ‘men-in-charge’ agenda however is evident throughout the Bible, with significant and powerful leadership by women (think of Deborah in the Book of Judges) being the exception rather the rule.
So, what is surprising is that the stories of women witnesses to the resurrection, like Mary Magdalene, managed to survive the editorial culling, mansplaining(?), of the gospels as they were retold, handed down, and later canonized.
But is it really a surprising, following the topsy-turvy thinking of Jesus, that (to paraphrase St Paul) God would choose what (who) is considered weak, powerless, and unreliable to confound, to discombobulate, the strong, the powerful, and their notions of reliability?
This theme is also found in the story of the road to Emmaus. While the dialogical nature of the encounter between the unrecognizable Risen Jesus and the two travellers is underlined – sharing thoughts, feelings, and hospitality – and in the sharing coming to a point of discovery, enlightenment – the unknown identities of the two travellers is often overlooked. Who were they? Were they disciples, but not of the twelve? Were they a husband and wife? Why were they chosen for this most special of encounters?
They were unknowns. They were nobodies. They didn’t go on to have their names dropped in conversation, or have books written about them, or have leadership positions offered to them. They were just ordinary. For the topsy-turvy message of Jesus, contra to Paul with his apostolic authority arguments, is that the resurrectional transformation on offer is not just for the big people, or the people who will be big, but for the small people, who will always be considered small. Small people can experience empowerment, and do lots of small things because of it.
And then there is the BBQ saga, in John 21. The boys are back in town, down on the lake, Lake Kinneret (Galilee), fishing. As you do, when life has gone sour. You even take some advice from a stranger on the shore. As you do when your luck’s not in. But then the luck comes in, and they are pulling and heaving, and then thinking, ‘Hey don’t we know that stranger?’
Back on the shore there’s a fire, and fish and bread are cooking. And Jesus is tending it, and telling them to come have breakfast. Food first, then korero. And the talk was about love, and feeding, and following. With a few bits and bobs thrown in. And Peter heard it, from his ears to his tears to his heart.
I understand this Johannine resurrectional transformation story, to be not so much about the forgiving and restoration of the great Peter, the first Pope and all that and all that. I understand it as a simple story about a bunch of common guys who had lost direction, lost faith, were grieving, and in that down-zone went fishing. Together. Then, as you do with fishing – no matter how big or small or not the catch – they sat and ate and talked and shared and loved and found something. Something uncommon. A thing called hope.
I think you could talk about all these resurrection ‘appearances,’ bright lights, gardeners, etcetera, as about finding hope. Not the hope that Jesus the man has come back to life and will forever hold your hand. (Remember those words to Mary: ‘don’t hold on to me’). Not that sort of ‘bring-back-the-past’ hope. Comfy though it would be.
No, rather the hope that is found in the small things. Like the tales of women, the smile of a gardener, the talk as you walk down the road, the wonder of sharing food, the love that friends have who hang around and won’t let you be alone in your grief. All small stuff, but sacred stuff, all seemingly small pennies but mattering to those who have not got a lot.
Thomas Aquinas talked about the resurrection as ‘waking up.’ Not Jesus waking up, but we waking up, becoming aware of, awake to, both the suffering and the joy in the world. And then to join in, participate in, alleviating that suffering through works of justice and mercy. Those who don’t wake up Aquinas saw as ‘asleep,’ drifting, detached, in a despairing passivity waiting for some authoritarian God or leader to do the work and rescue humanity. Those who do ‘wake up’ become resurrected, join the insurrection, become hope-builders.
And that’s what I think happened with Paul, with Mary, with two unknowns, and with Peter. Hope-builders for a world in need.
