Signposts of Hope

INTRODUCTION

We watch a lot of Disney movies at our house. I have four kids, 6 years old to 12 years old, and the exploits of princes and princesses are well-documented and well-regarded.

When you’ve seen as many of these as I have, as many times as I have, you start to notice a pattern. It’s called The Hero’s Journey. And in fact, it is an intentional and integral plot device in every Disney movie, and actually most epic adventure movies out there.

Here’s the basic premise of every Disney movie ever:

Mundane existence - Hero is moping about, feeling like there’s more to life (Aladdin’s an orphan on the street, Snow White is a servant, Hercules is a small town peasant, Belle lives in a poor provincial town)

Call to Adventure - Hero sings a soaring song, something about needing to find meaning and purpose (I want adventure in the great wide somewhere, When will my reflection show who I am inside, Look for the Bear Necessities, I just can’t wait to be king)

Supernatural aid - some measure of magical mentoring and support comes to help and support the Hero (Fairy godmother, dwarves, a pig and a meerkat, a snowman)

Gauntlet of challenges and temptations (Fight some monsters, learn to sail a boat, sing a song with marauders, win an archery contest)

The Abyss: Hero experiences some sort of death, real or symbolic (poisoned, pricked, locked away, swallowed by a whale, frozen)

Resurrection: Hero triumphantly conquers all, usually through true love which inspires an others-centered courage to defeat evil and overcome death itself.

Happy Ending: Hero rides off into the sunset, often married or joined to a family, ready to return to the normal everyday, but better, stronger, more sure of what matters.

I was struck this week thinking about how often Disney heroes die, and how vital resurrection is to the story. It’s hugely important to all of them. It’s the ultimate plot device. And based on this programmatic drilling, it would be tempting when reading the story of Jesus and coming to the end of his epic saga to read his resurrection and derive the same conclusion: Resurrection makes for the best happy ending. Yay, Jesus is alive, now he can ride off into the sunset and we can go about our business and wait for the sequel.

But what if I told you that the bodily resurrection of Jesus Christ is not about endings, but about beginnings?

THE FIRST DAY OF THE WEEK (John 20:1-10)

John 20:1–10 CSB

On the first day of the week Mary Magdalene came to the tomb early, while it was still dark. She saw that the stone had been removed from the tomb. So she went running to Simon Peter and to the other disciple, the one Jesus loved, and said to them, “They’ve taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we don’t know where they’ve put him!” At that, Peter and the other disciple went out, heading for the tomb. The two were running together, but the other disciple outran Peter and got to the tomb first. Stooping down, he saw the linen cloths lying there, but he did not go in. Then, following him, Simon Peter also came. He entered the tomb and saw the linen cloths lying there. The wrapping that had been on his head was not lying with the linen cloths but was folded up in a separate place by itself. The other disciple, who had reached the tomb first, then also went in, saw, and believed. For they did not yet understand the Scripture that he must rise from the dead. Then the disciples returned to the place where they were staying.

John starts the events of the resurrection in this way: On the first day of the week. Now, this observation by John may not seem very amazing. It’s just Sunday, right? Isn’t John just stating the obvious?

Well, he is and he isn’t. If you go all the way back to the beginning of John’ account of Jesus, he starts like this: “In the beginning was the Word… All things were created through [the Word] and without [the Word], not one thing was created that has been created. In [the Word] was life, and that life was the light of mankind. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it” (John 1:1-5). Sound familiar at all? It sounds a lot like the very first week of the creation story on the very first pages of the Bible: In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. The land was wild and waste, darkness covered the watery chaos, and then the Spirit of God hovered over the face of the waters. And God’s Word fills the void. Light is created; life is created; and light overwhelms the darkness. The created order is spoken into existence (Gen. 1:1-5). This is the first day of the first week; the age of humanity has begun. And it starts out great, and new and exciting. But it’s doesn’t last long. Humans take the good beauty of the earth and distort it. And they take the rightly ordered ways of the earth and they disorder them, fighting one another to take their place at the time. The relationship between man and literally everything else turns ugly and unjust, because we get selfish and take what we want for ourselves. And things fall apart. And it becomes clear that there is only way to make all of this right: A new age must dawn. A new creation must take place.

On the first day of the week. This woman named Mary nears the tomb where Jesus lays. He had been nailed to a cross on Friday, executed for crimes he was innocent of. His followers had buried him, not in the ground, but in an above ground tomb set into a garden, belonging to a wealthy man in town. It was still dark. Within Mary, and within Jesus disciples, there is this swirling chaos, darkness hovering over everything. In fact, they had just seen the sky go curiously dark the afternoon Jesus was crucified. Strange. Mary’s mind and emotions are in turmoil. This Jesus was a healer, a miracle worker, they had called him Messiah, the anointed king, the one who would put an end to their exile and who would bring about a new age of prosperity and human flourishing, like their prophets had foretold. And now, here he is, dead. Mary watched him breath his last.

In the darkness of the day, and in the darkness of the soul, before the dawn of the first day, Mary comes to the garden. The stone that had sealed the mouth of the grave had been removed. The mouth stood agape, and death was silent, because the Word could not be found. Mary immediately runs and tells two disciples: Peter, who had mere days ago denied ever knowing Jesus, and this other guy who was clearly Jesus’ favorite (and the author obviously has NO BIAS here; hint: it’s John). Both of them start running to the tomb, but favorite disciple is also a superior athlete and surely loved Jesus more, so he got there first (again, not biased in any way of course). As they arrive, they are dumbstruck: the tomb is empty, but for a pile of linens, neatly folded. Jesus is gone, and he’s naked! (Just kidding, that’s not the point). But while they believed Mary, they were still confused. Because their hearts were still darkened by death. For them, the first day had not yet dawned.

But the imagery rings clear. Light has overcome darkness. Life has overcome death. The Word, which had gone silent, has now reentered the world. And as he stands, as he rises from the grave, Jesus enters into the world as the firstfruits of a new creation. In fact, the resurrection story of Jesus becomes the story of all mankind. Jesus—the only perfect and good human, the Son of God, whom God the Father said of him that he was well pleased (in other words, he saw that he was good)—he was broken and smashed beyond belief, beaten and bruised and disfigured. And God took that physical reality, rescued it, and restored it, so that this risen Jesus wan’t just in the same state as before, but was actually renewed. In rising bodily, Jesus the God man moved beyond the reach of corruption and decay. Having tasted death, and being raised from it, Jesus will never again experience pain or sorrow. But here’s the kicker, the powerful declaration that resurrection is not the end, but the beginning: What God did for Jesus at Easter, he will do for the whole of creation. He will take the physical reality that has been broken and smashed beyond belief, and he will rescue it and restore it so that it is not just in the same state as it was before, but will be renewed beyond the reach of corruption and decay. God will make all things new, made alive by his spirit. That is the story of the Bible. The resurrection of Jesus is not at the end, but in the middle, because his renewal becomes the pattern for all of creation.

The resurrection of Jesus is the beginning of the new creation. So what that mean for you and me? How does encountering the risen Christ affect us? John shows us the way through three short stories that follow: right here, Jesus is going to bring new creation hope to a demonic, a skeptic, and a traitor. And when he does, he reveals to the world what resurrection truly means.

THE DEMONIAC BECOMES A DAUGHTER (John 20:11-18)

John 20:11–18 CSB

But Mary stood outside the tomb, crying. As she was crying, she stooped to look into the tomb. She saw two angels in white sitting where Jesus’s body had been lying, one at the head and the other at the feet. They said to her, “Woman, why are you crying?” “Because they’ve taken away my Lord,” she told them, “and I don’t know where they’ve put him.” Having said this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not know it was Jesus. “Woman,” Jesus said to her, “why are you crying? Who is it that you’re seeking?” Supposing he was the gardener, she replied, “Sir, if you’ve carried him away, tell me where you’ve put him, and I will take him away.” Jesus said to her, “Mary.” Turning around, she said to him in Aramaic, “Rabboni!”—which means “Teacher.” “Don’t cling to me,” Jesus told her, “since I have not yet ascended to the Father. But go to my brothers and tell them that I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.” Mary Magdalene went and announced to the disciples, “I have seen the Lord!” And she told them what he had said to her.

Mary is standing outside the empty tomb, and she is sobbing. She is mourning the loss of her King. Already beaten down and devastated by his death, now he has been taken away. Stolen from her. Suddenly these two angels appear before her and call her Woman. They ask why she is crying and she tells them her murdered king has been stolen. As she turns, she sees a man, standing in the garden (naked? Let’s not take it that far). The man asks her the same question the angels just asked: “Woman, why are you crying? Who is it that you are seeking?”

John’s new creation story does not waste words here: Mary mistakes the man for the gardener, the one responsible for tending the ground and causing it to bear fruit and multiply, to flourish with beauty and life (Gen. 1:28). In a way, Mary is not wrong. She asks this man, who she does not recognize, who is different somehow, where he put the body of her king.

With one word, Jesus transforms the woman. He calls her by her name. Mary.

Now, the gospels tell us just a little about Mary’s former life. When she first met Jesus, she was afflicted with seven demons (Mark 16:9). To be oppressed seven demons is an ancient way of saying that Mary was hopeless in her suffering, imprisoned by her hurt and pain, to the highest degree imaginable. It is likely that she showed severe signs of mental illness and rage. Society would have certainly cast this woman into the gutter. We don’t waste time on people who can’t contribute, who can’t fit in, who have issues. Not only are they dismissed, ignored, thrown out, but they are whispered about, gawked at, spit on. Yet it was Jesus who first saw her humanity, who recognized the demonic forces that pulled her down, and who claimed authority to cast them from her. Jesus healed Mary. He restored her humanity.

And now, as the risen Christ, the new gardener, stands before her, he calls her by her name. She cannot recognize him, but he recognizes her. He knows everything about her. He sees her as the daughter of God that she is. As soon as he says her name, Mary, she turns around and sees him, her eyes are opened, and she runs to hug him.

It is one of the fascinating twists in the story of resurrection that a woman becomes the first evangelist, she who testifies to the risen Lord. But it is more than that. This woman, she of seven demons, of trouble and sorrow and ill repute, she bears witness to the first fruit of new creation.

Jesus takes the desperate, the afflicted, the enslaved, and transforms her into a witness of His glory. The Demoniac becomes a Daughter.

THE SKEPTIC SURRENDERS (John 20:19-29)

John 20:19–29 CSB

When it was evening on that first day of the week, the disciples were gathered together with the doors locked because they feared the Jews. Jesus came, stood among them, and said to them, “Peace be with you.” Having said this, he showed them his hands and his side. So the disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord. Jesus said to them again, “Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, I also send you.” After saying this, he breathed on them and said, “Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.” But Thomas (called “Twin”), one of the Twelve, was not with them when Jesus came. So the other disciples were telling him, “We’ve seen the Lord!” But he said to them, “If I don’t see the mark of the nails in his hands, put my finger into the mark of the nails, and put my hand into his side, I will never believe.” A week later his disciples were indoors again, and Thomas was with them. Even though the doors were locked, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” Then he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here and look at my hands. Reach out your hand and put it into my side. Don’t be faithless, but believe.” Thomas responded to him, “My Lord and my God!” Jesus said, “Because you have seen me, you have believed. Blessed are those who have not seen and yet believe.”

Once again, John mention here, it’s the first day of the week. That’s a clue that we are about to witness some new creation stuff right here. The disciples of Jesus are huddled together in this upstairs room where they had just shared a sacred Jewish meal only days before with their friend—his last meal, in fact. The door has been locked behind them, because they are considered enemies of the state, aiders and abettors to a man recently convicted and executed for treason. Just like that, Jesus stands among them (that word for stand by the way? It’s the Greek word for resurrection). Jesus blesses them, and sends them into the world, to go forth and multiply and spread the dominion of God’s kingdom over the earth (Gen 1:28, again). Then—watch this—he breathes on them. That seems weird. But John records it because he gets the picture. All the way back in Genesis 2:7), when God is forming Adam, the first man, he gathers the dust of the earth, and then God breathes the breath of life—literally, the spirit of life—into him. God animates man with his own spirit, flowing through him and inspiring life and moving him to act. Jesus now stands among men, the first fruit of a new creation, his breath the very breath of God himself, and he gives the Spirit of forgiveness and power to his disciples, animating them and inspiring life and moving them to act, to carry out his mission into the world, which just so happens to be the mission of the first man, but this time, it is renewed. It’s differing somehow. It’s empowered.

But there’s a disciple missing: Thomas. Thomas was a brave follower of Jesus. One time, Jesus is heading into Judea, where the religious leaders had been plotting to kill him. And no one thinks this is a good idea. But Jesus is planning on raising his friend from the dead, so he has to go. So Thomas turns to his friends and says, “Let’s go too, so that we may die with him” (John 11:16). That’s not a word of resignation, but of commitment; of brave faithfulness. Thomas believed in Jesus so much that he was willing to risk his life to follow him. It seems that Thomas was so dependent on Jesus that he wanted to stay as close to him as he could, even if it meant death. In fact, just a few days ago in that Upper Room, Jesus is telling the disciples that he will be taken and killed, but not to worry, because he is going to prepare a space for them all. And Jesus tells them, you’ll find me; you know the way. Then Thomas jumps in, willing to follow, but always the careful planner, Thomas needs the roadmap. He asks Jesus, “Lord, we don’t know where you are going, how can we know the way?” (John 14:5). Thomas was looking for a set of rules, a direction, a plan. What can I do to get what you have? Where can I go to find your place? And Jesus responds and says, there is no place, there’s nothing you do to get the life you are seeking. It’s me. I am the way, the truth, the life. You don’t get to the Father but through a relationship with me. Through trusting me, through believing in me. (John 14:6).

But Thomas watched Jesus die. The way, the truth, the life, it left him. How could Jesus let that happen? How could Thomas have been duped like that? Was this all just a scam? We sometimes call Thomas a Doubter, but I wonder how much of it is doubt so much as disillusionment, deconstructed. Major pillars of hope and trust just came crashing down as Jesus’ lifeless body was taken down from a wooden cross. The nails that drove through Jesus’ wrists and ankles put holes in Thomas’ belief. Following stopped making sense. Thomas was in it now—he was implicated along with the rest—but Jesus was dead, and his faith along with him. He was no dummy. He would need proof next time.

Jesus gives it to him. A week passes by and the disciple are again in that sacred room, the doors locked for their safety. Again, Jesus stands among them, and blesses them. He turns to Thomas and offers him the proof he seeks. And he adds this encouragement (the Greek puts it this way: “Don’t be faithless, but faithful.” It is as if Jesus’ death and abandonment of his disciples had emptied them of their trust, their commitment to a cause that they held dear. But, when Jesus rises from the grave and stands among them, a new and different sort of creature, he fills them with a new and different sort of trust and commitment. The belief in Thomas moves from the Messianic hope that would restore his embattled nation to something else entirely. He cries out,My Lord, and My God! The Skeptic surrenders. The holes are not patched; they are redefined. Jesus’ scars are no longer indicative of his shame, but of his sympathy. Jesus’ risen and scarred body mirrors Thomas scarred heart; broken, questioning, battered, but yet full of life, full of meaning, full of purpose. His God stands among him, his hope changed. Russell Moore writes: “The Resurrection is not the overturning of the cross, as though crucifixion were defeat and Resurrection a contradiction of that defeat. The Resurrection does not annihilate the old creation. It reconfigures it.” Tradition tells us that Thomas becomes an evangelist in India, starting churches until he himself is martyred for his faith. Resurrection shows him the way. Merrill Tenney puts it this way: “Thus belief in a risen Christ made a mourner into a missionary, a penitent into a preacher, the bereaved friend into an apostle of love, a timid and shrinking coterie of disciples into the fearless heralds of a new movement, and a doubter into a confessor.”

Jesus stands among the disillusioned, the deconstructed, the faithless, and he fills them with faith and hope. The Skeptic Surrenders.

THE TRAITOR IS TRANSFORMED (John 21:15-19)

John 21:15–19 CSB

When they had eaten breakfast, Jesus asked Simon Peter, “Simon, son of John, do you love me more than these?” “Yes, Lord,” he said to him, “you know that I love you.” “Feed my lambs,” he told him. A second time he asked him, “Simon, son of John, do you love me?” “Yes, Lord,” he said to him, “you know that I love you.” “Shepherd my sheep,” he told him. He asked him the third time, “Simon, son of John, do you love me?” Peter was grieved that he asked him the third time, “Do you love me?” He said, “Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you.” “Feed my sheep,” Jesus said. “Truly I tell you, when you were younger, you would tie your belt and walk wherever you wanted. But when you grow old, you will stretch out your hands and someone else will tie you and carry you where you don’t want to go.” He said this to indicate by what kind of death Peter would glorify God. After saying this, he told him, “Follow me.”

One more story. We come back to the slow disciple. The less favored one, the poor athlete. Peter. Peter’s fishing with his friends (he planned on being a loner, but his friends needed his company). And it’s a dud of a day. No fish to be had, and these are pro fisherman, it’s their livelihood. Then then man walks up the shoreline and calls out to them and tells them to fish on other side of the boat. They do, and the net is teeming with fish. They look at each other; apparently this has happened before. They’ve only known one man to hold authority over the sea and everything in it. And he had just risen from death a week ago.

The faster, smarter, more loved disciple turns to Peter, already having figured this out, and suggests that it’s their king. This time, Peter decides he’s not going to get beat by John again, so he dives into the water and swims back to shore. He and the other disciples and this man now quietly eat breakfast together, the men staring this person, pretty sure its Jesus, but no one wants to be the first one to blurt it out, so new and different in appearance and form—like a totally different man is before them, but somehow the same. They just knew it was him.

Jesus turns to Peter and asks him a question, three times: Do you love me? This is the man Jesus had once called Rock, because he was so sure, so strong, so hard-headed. He claimed in front of the temple of Caesar Augustus that Jesus was Lord and King, not him. He refused to let Jesus wash his feet, then, when he got the picture, he begged Jesus to wash his whole body. This is the man who, as Jesus is being led away to his death, steals a sword and slices off a guards ear in defense of his king. Then, when all of his friends have scattered, this is the man who sneaks in close to the high priest’s house a close eye on Jesus, to be near him to the end. If anyone is a faithful and true friend, it’s Peter.

But all of that was in Peter’s own personal strength and power. It was his vision that drove him, his will that guided him, his courage that upheld him. And when it finally, truly got tested, Peter betrays his friend. Someone sees him and asks if he knows Jesus, the man on trial. Peter denies knowing him. But his thick Galilean accent betrays him. Another person calls out and says, hey, your one of Jesus’ friends aren’t you? And this close, personal friend of Jesus, one of his closest, denies knowing him. Finally, a woman, a relative of the guard Peter injured, accuses him of being there. At this point, Peter panics. He curses and swears and declares he does not know Jesus. He is not his friend. He wants nothing to do with him. Peter, the faithful, steadfast disciple, the rock, crumbles under pressure. He is no friend to Jesus. At this point, one of the gospel writers notes that Jesus turns and looks straight at him, mid-trial, amidst accusations being tossed at him. Jesus looks up beyond his accusers and sets his eyes on his former friend, the traitor. Peter was a pretender, his strength, when tested, was not much to speak of.

But here, when the risen Jesus asks Peter if he loves him, he is not condemning him. He does not bring up his failure. He does not remind him of his weakness. He does not spit in his face for being such a terrible friend, though you might think he has every right to do so. Instead, Jesus renews him. He reconciles. He restores Peter’s faith, not with courage, but with love. He makes Peter new. Before this, Peter had a mission. He was going to break down the gates of hades, free captives, bind Satan him, and lead people to freedom. But this is a new week, a new age, and the resurrected Jesus gives a resurrected mandate. Feed people, comfort them, care for them, guide them. Jesus takes a warrior of nations and traitor of friends, and turns him into a shepherd of souls. The fisherman becomes a fisher of men. He would willingly, humbly, graciously, die for Jesus, and would glorify God in all of it.

Jesus gently restores the stubborn, the hard-headed, broken and busted, the abandoners, the scared, and the weak, and offers a new and better identity. The Traitor is Transformed.

CONCLUSION

Why would Jesus choose these three people as the signposts that point to new resurrected life? Why not pick stronger, more faithful people, with better reputations and pedigrees, more capable and more responsible? Because resurrected life is not about amplifying the greatness you already possess. It’s about taking broken creation and making it beautiful. It’s about making right that which was made wrong. It’s about beauty and justice. Jesus stands in body and spirit, raised to life, and he begins multiplying, taking grief and scars and betrayal and making new creation, healing hearts and minds and bodies. Resurrection is not the end. It’s the beginning. And it’s not about going to heaven when you die. It never has been. It’s about walking in the newness of life right now.

There’s a bit of Mary in all of us, moments of affliction and pain and oppression that define us and label us as useless, broken, defective. We become nameless victims, the product of our pain. But Jesus reaches forward and calls us by name. With a word, he restores our humanity and offers us his love. And we become resurrected people.

There is a bit of Thomas in all of us, walls of hurt and pain that fuel our doubts and fears. But Jesus turns to us with His scars, the wounds on His body that was beaten for us and says to us, “Peace be with you.” In a sense, this is what we do every time we gather together for the Lord’s Supper. We are pulled each other from despondency and despair back to the body and blood of Christ. We are reminded anew of His love for us.

There’s a bit of Peter in all of us, pressures and weights that we bear our own because we so desperately want to fulfill some expectation placed on our shoulders to be all we can be, to conquer peaks, to become world-changers, world-beaters. And it crushes us, breaks us; we bend under the weight and choose easier paths that betray loved ones, break trust, and fracture families. But Jesus sits down next to us and reminds us of his love, that never fails, that never changes, that never leaves. He takes the weight from our shoulders, he brings comfort and restoration. And he beckons us to merely love others the same way.

To say that Jesus is is risen is not to say that a dead corpse has come back to life, but that God’s future—one marked by a new, resurrected world—has already invaded this one in Christ. That future becomes your future, As the risen Jesus stands out of the grave and offers you his hand, to stand him, not in your own strength, but in his.