‘Whose hands?’

Andrew Collis
Easter Day, Year B
Psalm 118:1-2, 14-24; John 20:1-18

There are two types of resurrection icon. The Latin or Western tradition favours depiction of Christ’s exit from the tomb – images of Christ the Victor, soaring into the air, often carrying a banner or flag symbolising victory over the grave; soldiers and others cowering in fear and defeat below. Think El Greco or Rubens. Resurrection as rising away from others …

It’s a little crass, literal minded. Though, literally, we have no resurrection accounts of soldiers flailing about on the ground while Christ rises overhead. What we do have are (non-identical) accounts of faith rekindled or transfigured in the presence of a Christ already risen.

(I recall the scene in Mirrung Garden: many candles lit from the one Easter Candle.)

The Eastern churches, in the name of orthodoxy, in the name of a deep mystery, avoid crass literalism in favour of what their theologians call dogmatics – icons that teach a theological truth of resurrection.

Our icon by Peter Murphy is a contemporary example. It shows Christ, the broken gates of Hades or hell at his feet. His hand clasps Adam (and Eve) by the hand. The risen Christ is bringing all humanity with him into communion with God. Variations of the icon show prophets, rulers, cherubim and seraphim.

The resurrection is a social and cosmic event: “Christ is risen from the dead, trampling down death by death, and upon those in the tombs bestowing life.”

The good news is that, in Christ Jesus, all that is good – humane, kind, courageous, peaceable, dependable, generous, just – is of eternal worth.

The resurrection of Christ the faithful one draws us away from death-dealing and toward life. Every humane, kind, courageous, peaceable, dependable, generous and just word or deed is of eternal worth. So, there is everything to live for and every reason to love.

Today, we realise – in ritual and song at first – what has been released in and through the events of Christ’s life and death. If we no longer live in fear of death, or in fear of deathly intimidations – oppression, guilt, shame – then it is we ourselves who are released.

Like Mary Magdalene, we are called by name, we are released for all kinds of faithfulness.

Whose hands might we clasp? That’s one question we can ask.

A better question is: Who, now, might offer us the hand of faith/trust, friendship, forgiveness, grace, new life?

Regarding Spirit/Gumada, Gadigal artist Konstantina offers the following:

“Cultural change is not only necessary but inevitable for all Australians. We must own up to the shame of assimilation, the White Australia Policy and the Stolen Generations. We must face the truth, shake its hand, lower our heads and rebuild. The incoming feminine strength and power can, and will, shift all things …”

Today, we realise – in ritual and song at first – what has been released in and through the events of Christ’s life and death. If we no longer live in fear of death, or in fear of deathly intimidations – oppression, guilt, shame – then it is we ourselves who are released.

May it be so. Amen.