Every Sunday is a little Easter–that is, every week we celebrate Christ’s victory over death and experience the joy of the resurrection in word and meal together. Some Sundays are a little more little Easters than others, though. Yesterday, all of our readings had to do with resurrection in one way or another. We heard Job declare that in the last day he would see God in his flesh, Paul warned the Thessalonians to hold fast to what they knew to be true about the end times, and Jesus discussed what resurrection looks like with some Pharisees. What questions do you have about the resurrection?
Alleluia, Christ is risen! (Christ is risen indeed, alleluia!). You all did really well with that, I thought it might take a second or two for you to catch on. It feels out of place for me to use the traditional Easter Sunday greeting on a random Sunday in November. But the word of the day today is “Resurrection.” It is absolutely everywhere in our readings.
The first lesson, from the book of Job, sees Job himself declare: I know that my Redeemer lives…and in the last day…in my flesh, I shall see God.” Job, who at this point has seen his entire life destroyed, and had his friends badger him about what he did to deserve it (he hadn’t done anything to deserve it, by the way), Job says to those friends: I know that God is alive, and that means this is not the end of my story.
In Second Thessalonians, Paul is writing to those who are shaken and alarmed by the things they see happening around them. He tells them not to lose sight of the hope of their calling. These tumultuous times and rulers that they are living through do not get the final word on their lives, but rather God, who has called them in love, and chooses them to be the first fruits of salvation. So, hold fast to that hope in the face of worry and anxiety, says Paul.
And finally, in our gospel reading, Jesus is approached with a question from some Sadducees. If a married man dies childless, his widow is married to his next oldest brother. In the Sadducees’ story, there are seven brothers, and seven childless deaths. How is this going to work in the resurrection, they wonder? To whom will the woman belong? This practice is known as Leverite marriage—it was part of the laws of Moses—and its purpose was to care for the widow. A woman without a son or a husband was incredibly vulnerable in ancient times. This law was a way of protecting her and of providing descendants for the dead brother.
The Sadducees’ story provides an exaggerated case of something that really did happen. And they want to see how Jesus thinks the resurrection works. I had a theology professor in seminary who, whenever you asked a question, invariably asked you, “Why do you ask that question?” Eventually, we started to preempt him by sharing our reasons for asking before ever asking the question. He knew, though, that questions about God, about the Bible, about the resurrection, about church—they often stem from real situations, from our worries and doubts about ourselves and our family and what will happen to us.
Now, Jesus knew why the Sadducees were asking this question. As Luke helpfully explains in his narration, Sadducees, unlike some other Jewish groups at the time, did not believe in the resurrection. They’re not asking this question because they have been widowed and remarried or know someone who has. They’re not actually concerned about the plight of the woman in their story or anyone like her. They want to trap Jesus by mocking his own beliefs. They want to point out how silly believing in the resurrection is.
And when Jesus answers them, he almost says, “Yes, you’re right. The resurrection doesn’t make any sense. At least, not the way you’re thinking about it.” The Sadducees are asking the wrong question. Who will the woman belong to in the resurrection? She will belong to God. The very premise of their question is wrong. Their conception of God is too small. To try to grasp what the resurrection will be like in earthly terms is impossible; it’s a reality of an entirely different order, an order that can only be approached by faith. The ways we define relationships and society won’t apply, because they won’t be needed.
The Sadducees hoped to trip Jesus up with this story of the widow handed from brother to brother. Jesus knows why they’re asking this question, and he knows it isn’t sincere. But we often have very sincere questions about the resurrection: will I see my loved ones again? What will my body be like—will it be like my old age, or like when I was young? Will my grandmother—who didn’t know who I was for the last five years of her life—will she recognize me? Will there be dogs there? Or maybe even a genuine version of the Sadducees’ question: I have been widowed and remarried—what does that mean for me and my spouses? Is the resurrection even something I really believe in anyway?
We don’t ask these questions to one-up Jesus or to score theological points. We ask because we miss our loved ones. Because we wonder about what happens when we die. Because we’re scared that maybe there isn’t life after death after all. What is the resurrection like?
Well, I don’t know for sure, because no one’s ever experienced it and come back—except for Jesus. This is one area where we truly have to go on faith. But I think of Job, sitting in the literal ash heap of his life, resolutely, even stubbornly, defiantly declaring: I know that God lives. And because of that I know that I too will live. Despite all the evidence to the contrary around me, God is good and God intends life for us.
I think of the woman in the Sadducees’ story. What did resurrection look like for her? The idea of not being married or given in marriage in the resurrection was probably pretty appealing. Imagine her finally arriving in a place where her worth and her belovedness don’t depend on her husband, or her fertility. She no longer belongs to anyone but the God who created her and who now surrounds her with eternal, unconditional love.
Jesus doesn’t answer all of our questions about the resurrection in this passage. In fact, he might have created more questions in us than when he started talking. That’s okay. Questions aren’t bad. Questions come from our desire to know God and to understand our place in the world. Questions are good, as long as we’re okay with sitting with them sometimes. Because Jesus doesn’t answer them all, no matter how much we might wish he would.
What he does do, though, is point us to a God whose faithfulness to us is immeasurable and inexhaustible. A God who chose us, and called us, who gives us eternal comfort and hope through grace. And in God’s faithfulness to us, we find the strength to endure all that life and death will ask of us.
What will the resurrection be like? I’m not exactly sure. But I know that my Redeemer lives. Christ is risen! (Christ is risen indeed.) Amen.