(John 20:11–31)

 

Frozen in memories, or Proclaimed by Brothers

 

The New Creation, through Listening

(John 20:11–18)

 

    Mark speaks of a young man dressed in white, Matthew of an angel, Luke of two men dressed in white, and John of two angels.

The accounts of the Annunciation and of those who announced the Resurrection do not align with our way of telling the story.

To avoid a limited view of the victory of Life, it is important to understand that we are not celebrating the week of the Risen One’s appearances, but of his Manifestations [Greek text].

He does not merely appear to some – and not to others (depending on the lottery): he Manifests himself. We experience this.

And there is a new Creation: now one does not recognise Jesus when one sees him, but when one hears him (v.16).

The Lord makes himself seen not at the moment of the vision, but in the time of the Word, of the personal Call that causes the ancient gaze to ‘turn’ away from the irrelevant direction clinging to the image of ‘yesterday’.

The experience of the living Christ excludes memories to be cherished with tears.

It is a present and grounded relationship, convincing, rich in facets and accessible – direct. Decidedly better than that offered later by the apostles, without pierced hearts (nor proclamations).

But the face-to-face encounter remained closed, until it seemed as though one were seeking the dead or distant museum pieces – to be found almost as before and, at best, held onto without too much upheaval.

Conditioned by expectations that are too ‘conventional’, we would expect to track down Jesus in graveyards and the wrong places. But in John, the Ascension takes place on the very day of Easter (v.17) .

The very observance of archaic religious law [v.1: in this particular case, the Sabbath] seems to delay the experience of the disruptive power of rebirth, in the Spirit.

 

 

Gradually, within the early communities, those primordial personal energies were being reactivated—energies that not even the blackmail, intimidation and marginalisation of the institutional apparatus could touch.

The Incarnation continued, unfolding within the believers; awakening in them new creative states.

The faithful were riding the virtuous and exhilarating wave of a further fundamental change: now they felt themselves to be ‘brothers’ of the Risen One (v.17).

The relationship of ‘discipleship’ (Jn 13:13), which had grown into ‘friendship’ (Jn 15:15), became that of blood relatives who felt themselves to be ‘sons’.

[Jn 1:11–12: ‘He came to his own, and his own did not receive him. But to all who did receive him, he gave the power to become children of God; to those who believe in his Name’ – that is, who adhere to his entire word, life and work; even when problematic, painful or critical].

Thus began the explicit Proclamation, even though the truly vital and increasingly determined part of the ‘church’ proved to be the peripheral one, coming from the pagans [in the figure of Mary Magdalene].

It sought a life-giving redemption, and thus showed the right path to the assembly leaders themselves.

The Jewish-Christian community of the apostles was, in fact, entirely focused on seeking compromises precisely with the distant and conflictual religious establishment—that of power—which had sought to destroy the Master.

A hard-core ‘apostolic’ group, always lagging behind and in need of evangelisation: it is converted only by she who feels herself to be nothing (vv. 2, 18). And when she becomes aware that the realm of dead things will no longer seize her.

Woman: Authentic assembly in the Spirit.

An endless field of the humiliated, which nevertheless, in the Risen Christ, ‘sees itself’ and is set free; it gains new breath, overcomes despondency, disorientation and uncertainty.

 

Even today, filled with the Infinite, like pilgrims, the dreamers from the margins and the periphery seek their way.

They set themselves in motion with passion, to rekindle and make every fibre of the human being resound – previously governed by a world of calculated alternatives.

It is once again the experience of ‘Mary Magdalene’, who, by taking courage, can complete the perceptions and thoughts even of the top students.

The Risen One is always somewhere else entirely… compared to what the expert or an averagely religious soul, unprepared for change, expects.

His Person has unexpected, unconventional and unconventional features – like life, waiting to be discovered.

These are unfamiliar profiles – to be grasped and internalised, sometimes almost without a struggle.

Only a call by name – his direct Word, the personal Appeal – makes us realise that, under external influence, we were perhaps chasing a Lord [of the past, or a fashionable one] who was too recognisable, to be commemorated just as before.

To be carried in our saddlebags as always, with a closed and ordinary love, born of pain.

The search for our Rabbuni can also arise from a sense of loss, or from the blows we have suffered – but it is punctuated by Easter encounters and stages of new awareness.

New insights that shatter reassurances.

He remains a lukewarm stranger – at room temperature – to those who allow themselves to be swayed by limited (pre-packaged) ideas and presume to understand him through knowledge, recognise him with their eyes, or use him as a sleeping pill.

 

The Risen One is radical newness: an inner wound and a surge of energy. A journey that embraces and takes on all that is human and all of history.

He acts within us by shattering every sense of security; precisely that which still keeps us trapped within our small circle.

And whilst we struggle in the tension of the elusive [which cannot be made our own], it is in the thrill of perceiving the treasures of atypical and personal insights that regenerated life attracts and opens wide, astonishing us.

Only in the experience of being reborn and passing it on is the Spirit unleashed, which inspires and energises – and the Living One does not remain a stranger or someone about whom we have already formed an idea.

‘I have sought and seen the Lord!’ [v.18: meaning of the Greek text].

Christ is not experienced through mysticism, nor through reminiscences and trinkets; nor in an intellectual manner, or by merely performing pious commemorative rites on the body.

There is an unprecedented situation.

But who notices it? Despite the neglect they suffer, only the bridal souls – the little-regarded ones.

 

 

To internalise and live the message:

 

What transformation has taken place in you and in your neighbour when you accepted the Call and the invitation to the Proclamation?

How has the Person of Christ made you aware that you are fully desired: an inalienable subject, by Name?

 

 

The Lord’s Day, and Thomas: without hysteria

 

The Manifestation, the Spirit, the remission

(Jn 20:19–23)

 

    John’s Pentecost suffers no temporal delay whatsoever (v. 22); nevertheless, Luke’s account also highlights the link with Easter, of which it is, in essence, nothing more than a further specification.

Pentecost is not a matter of date, but an event that occurs ceaselessly within the gathered assembly; where a Peace—a fullness of joy brimming with reconciliation—is made present, which establishes the Mission.

Jesus had not promised an easy life. But the ‘locked doors’ indicate that the Risen One has not returned to his former existence: he has been raised to the divine state, to a form of total life.

The complete configuration of his being is not of the order of flesh and bone; it eludes our senses.

“Resurrection of the flesh” does not mean an improvement on previous conditions. From a man [as from a seed] has blossomed a form of life that subsists in God himself.

The disciples rejoice at seeing the wounds (v.20). Their reaction is not surprising: it is the dizzying perception of Presence, which gushes forth and pours out from their inner senses.

The Risen One who reveals himself is the same Jesus who gave life as a gift, in the Spirit.

The Father’s World bears his Name – that is, his entire history, wholly real.

The heavenly World is no longer that of religions. It is neither exclusive, nor fanciful or abstract; nor is it sterilised.

 

The Manifestation takes place on ‘one of the Sabbaths’ (v.19), signifying that the disciples can encounter and see the Risen One whenever they gather together on the Lord’s Day.

Thanks to the Gift of the Spirit (v.22), his own are sent on a Mission to continue and extend the Master’s work – with particular emphasis on the work of the forgiveness of sins (v.23).

At the time, it was widely believed that people acted wickedly and allowed themselves to be corrupted by idols because they were driven by an impure instinct that began to manifest itself from an early age.

People deluded themselves into thinking they could overcome, or at least keep at bay, this evil spirit through the study of the Torah – but it was easy to see the failures: the Law’s instructions, though correct, did not provide the strength to walk that path.

After so many failures, even on the part of kings and the entire priestly class, it was expected that God himself would come, precisely to free us from impurity, through the outpouring of a good impulse.

Throughout the ancient world [including classical culture: Ovid in particular], people wondered about the meaning of this human blockage.

Deep down, humanity found itself united and torn between intuition and the desire for good, and the inability to put it into practice (cf. Rom 7:15–19).

No religion or philosophy had ever realised that it is in discomfort and imperfection that the most precious malleable energies, our uniqueness, and the non-conformist solution to problems lie.

Through the mouth of the Prophets, God had promised the gift of a new heart – of flesh and not of stone (Ezek 36:25–27).

An outpouring of the Spirit that would renew the world, enliven and make the desert fruitful.

On Easter Day the prophecies were fulfilled.

Christ’s ‘breath’ recalls the moment of Creation (Gen 2:7; cf. Ezek 37:7–14).

 

We stand at the origin of a new humanity of mothers and fathers who bring forth life – now capable of bringing forth only life, eliminating death from the face of the earth.

Jesus creates the new man, no longer a victim of the invincible forces that lead him to evil, despite his deepest aspirations.

He imparts an enterprising, clear, alternative, self-assured energy that spontaneously drives one towards the good.

Where this Spirit comes, sin is annihilated.

This was the first ecclesial experience: the unequivocal action of divine Power, which became present and active in fearful people who were held in no account whatsoever.

Throughout the book of the Acts of the Apostles, the protagonist is precisely the impetuous Wind of the Spirit.

 

Up to this point, the concept of the forgiveness of sins was absent in John. But the meaning of the expression in v. 23 is not strictly sacramental.

Neutralising and overcoming transgressions concerns everyone who engages in the work of improving life in the world.

In short, we are called to create the conditions whereby, by tilling the soil of hearts, all may open themselves to divine action.

Conversely, the inability to do good drags on: in this way, sin is not ‘forgiven’.

The Shalom received by the disciples must be proclaimed by them and passed on to the world.

It is a Peace that is not the worldly fruit of calculated and astute compromises: the only powerful means to be used is forgiveness.

Not so much for tranquillity and ‘permanence’, but rather to introduce unknown powers, to accentuate life, to bring to the surface those aspects to which we have given no space; to convey a sense of adequacy and freedom.

In everyone and for all times, the Church is called to make effective the Lord’s complete and personal Gratis.

Like a Gift in the Spirit: without ever ‘holding on to’ (v.23) problems, nor making them the paradoxical protagonists of life [even of the assembly].

Such is the priestly, kingly and prophetic dimension of the fraternal Community. Such is its Newness.

 

 

Victory of the Risen One, Church of free people

 

Without hysteria

(Jn 20:24–31)

 

    The passage has a liturgical flavour, but the question we glimpse between the lines is stark. We too want to ‘see him’.

How can one believe without having seen?

And indeed, how could the identification of the one subjected to torture with the lived beatitude—and with divinity itself—be self-evident?

This is the most widespread question from the third generation of believers onwards, who not only had no opportunity to know the Apostles, but many of whom did not even know their disciples.

The evangelist assures us: compared to the first witnesses of the Resurrection, our situation is by no means at a disadvantage; on the contrary, it is more open and less subject to particular influences or circumstances.

We must go deeper than immediate experience.

Even the direct disciples struggled greatly, trying to move from one vocabulary and grammar of revelation to another; and from ‘seeing’ to ‘believing’.

Unfortunately, there are common features, such as Mary Magdalene’s search in the places of death. Or here the doors carefully bolted, where one cannot enter without forcing the locks – but above all, significant differences.

In particular, we reiterate the most pressing question. How do we move from ‘seeing’… to ‘believing’ in one who has been defeated, indeed subjected to torture?

 

We do not believe merely because there are truthful witnesses.

We are certain that life overcomes death because we have ‘seen’ it for ourselves; because we have undergone a personal recognition.

Indeed, He does not present Himself as a leader, but repeatedly ‘in the midst’ (vv. 19, 26).

In the collection of the Appearances of the Risen One [the so-called ‘Book of the Resurrection’] John sets out the conditions of Easter faith.

He recounts the witness of the early churches (morning and evening, and eight days later) as well as that of the disciples who accept the missionary mandate.

Then as now, perceiving realities hidden from the casual glance, and internalising the willingness to make an exodus towards the peripheries, depends on the depth of faith.

Nor does the willingness to stake one’s life follow from this, in order to build a kingdom with values that are the opposite of those common, ancient, imperial religious values.

 

At the time the episode of Thomas was written, the dimension of the eighth day [Dies Domini] had already taken on a predominant form, as opposed to the Sabbath of the early Messianic groups who were radically Judaistic.

‘Shalôm’, however, is still understood in the ancient sense: it is not a wish, but the present fulfilment of the divine Promises.

Messianic ‘Peace’ would have evoked the defeat of fears, liberation from death; reconciliation with one’s own life, the world, and God.

‘Shalôm’—here—comes as a surprise: it springs from the gift of self taken to its very limit; beyond one’s capabilities.

The wounds are part of the character of the Risen One.

Any image that does not explicitly convey the signs of the excessive gratuitousness of the new kingdom inaugurated by Christ is misleading [even the gilded bronze sculpture in the Sala Nervi].

Joy comes from the perception of the Presence ‘beyond’ biological life.

 

Our happiness fades and is lost if we lose the Witness of life – thanks to whom every tiny gesture or state of mind (even fear) becomes revelation, meaning, and the intensity of relationship.

Pouring themselves out into the world, the Envoys embrace the very same mission as Jesus: that all may allow themselves to be saved.

And the gift of the active Spirit is precisely like the beginning of a new creation.

Indeed, John’s Pentecost springs from a fresh and genuine perspective of salvation: lovable, serene, neither ‘complete’ nor forced.

On closer inspection, according to the Book of Acts, Peter’s preaching provokes a tumult of conversions. In John, on the other hand, everything is discreet: no roar, nor fire and storm; nothing appears on the outside, nor remains external.

These are apostles empowered to open locked doors, and to establish the conditions of gratuitousness.

This is achieved through passive rather than active virtues; for example, ‘forgiveness’, where it is lacking. 

In this way, every act of grace aims to lift people out of any predicament, so that good may triumph over evil and life over death.

 

All in concrete terms, therefore through a process that takes time; like walking a path on foot.

An intensity of a ‘quite different’ nature, to which, on our part, only contemplation is fitting – in contrast to the more propagandistic and less reflective literature of Acts 2, where the traces of unbelief and doubt disappear.

As if the identity of the Crucified and Risen Jesus posed no problem whatsoever!

And in the fourth Gospel, the concept of ‘forgiveness of sins’ had been missing up to this point.

But precisely, we must move from ocular ‘vision’ to Faith.

The Son’s new way of life is known in the life of the Church, but it is best and fully accessible only to those who, though somewhat inside and somewhat outside, do not remain closed off.

Thomas is chosen by John as the point of connection between generations of believers.

Like each of us, he is not an indifferent sceptic: he is not afraid of the world; on the contrary, he wants to verify, to examine things thoroughly.

In him, Jesus expresses his appreciation for future believers, who will recognise his divine nature on the basis of their own experience – as profound as it is intensely lived.

 

There is perhaps an elitist section of the authentic Church, yet held together by fear (v.19).

Not only because the warrant of arrest always hangs over true witnesses. But also out of fear of confrontation with the world, or an inability to engage in dialogue.

Even today: fear of culture, of science, of biblical studies, of emancipation, of philosophical, ecumenical and interreligious dialogue; and so on.

Thomas is not afraid to stand outside the barred doors.

He does not withdraw and does not fear the encounter, the relationship with life that pulses and comes forth.

In this sense, he is the ‘twin’ [δίδυμο] of each one of us – and of Jesus.

 

Our context resembles that of the small Johannine communities of Asia Minor, scattered across the vastness of the Roman Empire; at times seduced by its attractions.

Ephesus, in particular, had hundreds of thousands of inhabitants.

A commercial hub, banking centre and prominent cosmopolitan city [whose focal point was naturally the great Temple of Artemis – a wonder of the ancient world] – it was the fourth largest city in the empire.

Distractions were plentiful.

Even among the earliest generations of believers, routine was beginning to set in: the fervour of the early days was fading; attendance became sporadic.

Under Domitian, believers also suffered marginalisation and discrimination.

 

Some believers were then disappointed by the closed-minded and one-sided attitude of community leaders. Others were put off by ambiguous internal grey areas and the mix of compromises (especially on the part of leaders) that discouraged the more sensitive among them.

Even today, one of the key factors in the ability to manifest the Risen One’s Presence remains direct encounter with our brothers and sisters, within a living solidarity.

Coexistence not held hostage by closed circles, which admit members only upon the recommendation of those already in office.

People who welcome surprises and encourage critical thinking and debate.

Women and men who are true to themselves, and allow others to breathe.

Not gullible, indoctrinated and brainwashed individuals – or pretentious, spineless posers.

Sisters and brothers who share their material resources and wisdom, according to their particular histories and sensibilities.

Where each person, just as they are and wherever they are – fully real, not disconnected from themselves – becomes nourishment for others with the crumbs they have.

 

Here, then, is ‘recognition’: it is not a matter of obedience to an abstract world, but of personal likeness.

It is a matter of attuning our countenance and our small ‘actions’ to the Source of Love consumed to the very end [our ‘finger’ and His ‘Hands’; our ‘hand’ and its ‘pierced side’].

Even with our limitations, ‘entering into the wounds’. By attraction, Faith will spring forth spontaneously (v.28).

Thus (vv.29-31 and 21:25) John invites everyone to write their own personal Gospel.

When our works are at least somewhat like those of Christ, everyone will ‘see’ him.

 

Is there, then, evidence that Jesus lives?

Certainly, he manifests himself tangibly in a gathering of non-conformist people; who are true to themselves.

Souls endowed with the capacity for independent thought. His ‘twins’ and those of Thomas.

Free beings to dwell in the world; outside the locked doors – to listen, to come down, to serve.

And to do so with conviction: personally, without coercion or hysteria.

 

We too want to ‘see him’.