Preface
Those who are wise will find a
time and a way to do what is right, for there is a time and a way
for everything, even when a person is in trouble. Indeed, how can people
avoid what they don’t know is going to happen? None of us can hold back our spirit from departing. None of us
has the power to prevent the day of our death. There is no escaping that
obligation. (Eccl. 8:6-8)
Carl McCunn, an
affable man with a love of the outdoors, moved to Alaska in the late 1970’s. He
took a trucking job on the Trans-Alaska Pipeline where he made good money and
concocted an adventure that still bewilders the 49th state. At the
age of thirty-five, he embarked on a five-month photographic expedition in the
wilds of Alaska. Friends described how seriously he prepared for the quest,
devoting a year to plan-making and detail-checking. He solicited advice and
purchased supplies. And then, in March 1981, he hired a bush pilot to drop him
at a remote lake near the Coleen River, some seventy miles northeast of Fort
Yukon. He took two rifles, a shotgun, fourteen hundred pounds of provisions,
and five hundred rolls of film. He set up his tent and set about his season of
isolation, blissfully unaware of an overlooked detail that would cost him
dearly. You see, he’d made no arrangements to be picked up, and overlooking
that particular detail would ultimately cost him his life.
His unbelievable
blunder didn't dawn on him until August. We know that because of a hundred-page
loose-leaf diary the Alaska state troopers found near Carl’s body the following
February. In an understatement the size of Denali, McCunn wrote: "I think
I should have used more foresight about arranging my departure." As the
days shortened and air chilled, he began searching the ground for food and the
skies for rescue. He was running low on ammunition. Hiking out was impossible.
He had no solution but to hope someone in the city would notice his absence. By
the end of September, the snow was piling up, the lake was frozen, and his supplies
were nearly gone. His body fat began to metabolize, making it more difficult to
stay warm. Temperatures hovered around zero, and frostbite began to attack his
fingers and toes. By late November, McCunn was out of food, strength and
optimism. One of his final diary entries reads, "This is sure a slow and
agonizing way to die."
Isolated with no
rescue. Trapped with no exit. Nothing to do but wait for the end. Chilling. Literally.
And puzzling. Why no exit strategy? Didn't he know that every trip comes to an
end? It's not like his excursion would last forever. Ours won't, either. Hearts
will feel a final pulse. Lungs will empty a final breath. Unless Christ returns
before my appointed time, I will die. And so will you. As Fred Kuehner said in
his book, Fundamentals of Faith, "Death
is the most democratic institution on earth. . . . It allows no discrimination,
tolerates no exceptions. The mortality rate of mankind is the same the world
over: one death per person." Or, as the psalmist rather frankly observes,
"No one can live forever; all will die. No one can escape the power of the
grave." (Psalm 89:48)
Young and old,
good and bad, rich and poor. Neither gender is spared; no class is exempt.
"None of us has the power to prevent the day of our death."
(Ecclesiastes 8:8) The geniuses, the rich, the poor – no one outruns it, and no
one outsmarts it. Julius Caesar died. Elvis died – we think. John Kennedy died.
Princess Diana died. We all die. Nearly 2 people a second, more than 6,000 an
hour, more than 155,000 every day, about 57 million a year. We don't escape
death.
The finest
surgeon might enhance your life but can't eliminate your death. The Hebrew
writer was particularly blunt: "People are destined to die once."
(Hebrews 9:27) Exercise all you want. Eat nothing but health food. Pop fistfuls
of vitamins. Stay out of the sun. Stay away from alcohol. Stay off drugs. Run a
marathon. Train with a triathlete. Do your best to stay alive and, still, you will
die. Death seems like such a dead end. No pun intended. That’s until we read
Jesus' resurrection story. "He is not here. He has risen from the dead as
he said he would." (Matthew 28:6)
It was Sunday
morning after the Friday execution. Jesus' final breath had sucked the air out
of the universe. As his body seemed to be moldering in the grave, no one was
placing bets on a resurrection. His enemies were quite satisfied with the job
they’d done. The spear to his side guaranteed his demise. His tongue was
silenced. His last deed was done. They raised a toast to a dead Jesus. Their
only concern was those pesky disciples. So, the religious leaders made a request
of Pilate: "So give the order for the tomb to be made secure until the
third day. Otherwise, his disciples may come and steal the body and tell the
people that he has been raised from the dead." (Matthew 27:64)
But no concern
was really necessary. The disciples were in meltdown. When Jesus was arrested,
"all the disciples forsook Him and fled." (Matthew 26:56) Peter
followed from a distance, but soon caved in and cursed Christ. John watched
Jesus die, but we have no record that John ever gave any thought to seeing him
again. The other followers didn't even linger; they cowered in Jerusalem's
cupboards and corners for fear of the cross that bore their names, just like
their teacher’s.
No one dreamed
of a Sunday morning miracle. Peter didn't ask John, "What will you say
when you see Jesus?" Mary didn't ponder, “What will he look like?” They didn't
encourage each other with quotes of his promised return. They could have. At
least four times Jesus had said words like these: "The Son of Man is being
betrayed into the hands of men, and they will kill Him. And after He is killed,
He will rise the third day." (Mark 9:31) You'd think someone would have mentioned
this prophecy and maybe done the math. "Hmm, he died yesterday. Today is
the second day. He promised to rise on the third day. Tomorrow is the third day
. . . Friends, I think we'd better wake up early tomorrow." But Saturday
saw no such plans. On Saturday the Enemy had won, courage was gone, and hope had
“caught the last train to the coast.” (American
Pie, Don McLean.) They planned to
embalm Jesus, not talk to him.
“When the
Sabbath was over, Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome bought
spices so that they might go to anoint Jesus' body. Very early on the first day
of the week, just after sunrise, they were on their way to the tomb and they
asked each other, ‘Who will roll the stone away from the entrance of the tomb?’”
(Mark 16:1-3) Do you see an Easter parade here? A victory march? Hardly. More
like a funeral procession. It may have been Sunday morning, but their world was
stuck on Saturday. So, it was left to the angel to lead them into Sunday. “There
was a violent earthquake, for an angel of the Lord came down from heaven and,
going to the tomb, rolled back the stone and sat on it. His appearance was like
lightning, and his clothes were white as snow. The guards were so afraid of him
that they shook and became like dead men. The angel said to the women, ‘Do not
be afraid, for I know that you are looking for Jesus, who was crucified. He is
not here; he has risen, just as he said. Come and see the place where he lay.’"
(Matt. 28:2-6)
God shook up the
cemetery. Trees swayed, and the ground trembled. Boulders bounced, and the
women struggled to maintain their balance. They looked in the direction of the
tomb only to see the guards – scared stiff, paralyzed and sprawled on the ground.
Hard to miss the irony here: the guards of the dead appear dead, while the dead
one appears to be living. And the angel sat on the dislodged tombstone. He did
not stand in defiance, or crouch in alertness. He sat. Again, the irony. The
very rock intended to mark the resting place of a dead Christ became the
resting place of his living angel. And then the announcement. "He has
risen." Three words in English, but just one in Greek: Egerthe.
So much rests on
the validity of that one word. If it’s false, then the whole of Christianity folds
like a cheap suit. But, if it’s true, then God's story has turned your final
chapter into a preface. If the angel was correct, then you can believe this:
Jesus descended into the coldest cell of death's prison and just when the
demons began to dance, Jesus pressed pierced hands against the inner walls of
the cavern and shook the cemetery. The ground rumbled, the tombstones tumbled
and out he marched, the cadaver turned king; the mask of death in one hand and
the keys of heaven in the other. Egerthe.
He has risen! Not risen from sleep. Not risen from confusion. Not risen from a stupor
or from slumber. Not spiritually raised from the dead; physically raised.
The women and
disciples didn't see a phantom or experience some gushy sentiment. They saw
Jesus in the flesh. "It is I myself!" he assured them. (Luke 24:39)
The Emmaus-bound disciples thought Jesus was a fellow pilgrim. His feet touched
the ground. His hands touched the bread. Mary mistook him for a gardener.
Thomas studied his wounds. The disciples ate fish that he’d cooked, and bread that
he’d baked. The resurrected Christ did physical deeds in a physical body.
"I am not a ghost," he explained. (Luke 24:39) "Handle Me and
see, for a spirit does not have flesh and bones as you see I have." (vs. 39)
The bodily
resurrection means everything. If Jesus lives on only in spirit and deed, the
he’s but one of a thousand dead heroes. But if he lives on in flesh and bone,
he is the King who pressed his heel against death’s head. And what he did with
his own grave he promises to do with yours: empty it. Death is not the final
chapter in your story. In death you will step into the arms of the One who
declared, "I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me
will live, even though they die; and whoever lives by believing in me will
never die." (John 11:25-26)
Winston
Churchill believed it. According to Churchill’s instructions, two buglers were
positioned high in the dome of St. Paul's Cathedral. At the conclusion of the
service, the first one played taps – the signal of a day completed. Immediately
thereafter, and with the sounds of the first song still ringing in the air, the
second bugler played reveille – the song of a day begun. Appropriate. Death is
not a pit but a passageway, not a crisis but the turn of a corner. Dominion of
the grim reaper? No. It’s the territory of the Soul Keeper, who will someday
announce, "Your dead will live, your corpses will get to their feet. All
you dead and buried, wake up! Sing! Your dew is morning dew catching the first
rays of sun, the earth bursting with life, giving birth to the dead."
(Isaiah 26:19) Let reveille play.
Grace,
Randy
No comments:
Post a Comment