[ p. 201 ]
SINCE the Evangelists followed the method of selection and compression, attempts to weave their accounts into a harmony which will represent the exact occurrences must be very tentative; each Gospel account has already harmonized earlier traditions. But for literary [1] purposes, such harmonies are valuable, since they revive for us the Easter feeling with genuine power. It is primarily for this purpose, then—not as professing to be a close record of the facts—that the following ordered account is given.
After Jesus had died upon the cross, a rich man, Joseph of Arimathea, who was among the friends of Jesus, though not (apparently) of the intimate circle of his followers, came forward to offer a resting-place for his deceased friend in a new-made tomb in his garden outside Jerusalem. The body was wrapped in graveclothes and placed in this tomb on Friday, after the crucifixion. The Sabbath passed, and early in the morning of the first day of the week (Sunday, as we now call it), a little group of women went out to the grave.
The tomb was a hillside sepulcher. Inside there [ p. 202 ] were slabs on which the bodies of the dead would be laid. The entrance was closed by a great stone, round, like a millstone, resting in a groove in which it could be rolled aside by those who wished to enter the tomb. While the women were approaching the sepulcher, they debated who could roll aside for them the heavy stone. To their amazement, when they reached the tomb, they found the stone already removed, or shattered by an earthquake, and they concluded that the body had been taken away. One of them, Mary Magdalene, hurried off to tell the apostles of the discovery, while the others lingered for a time near the grave. There they had a vision of angels, who told them that Jesus was risen and charged them to go and tell his disciples.
Meanwhile, Mary had found Peter and John. [2] They ran at full speed to see for themselves. Years afterward John told the story. A young man then, he outran Peter and, coming first to the sepulcher, stooped down and peered in, but did not enter. Then Peter arrived. Impulsively he pushed forward and went in, and then excitedly called his companion. Where the corpse had been laid they saw something which made their hearts stand still. The body had been wrapped in graveclothes before the burial, the neck and face bare, and a napkin, or turban, wrapped about the head. So the dead are prepared for burial now, in the unchanging East, and so the body of Jesus was prepared. When the two disciples looked, they saw everything in perfect order; no sign of confusion, no “bloodstained” garments thrown aside, as if the body had been removed; [ p. 203 ] [3] nor, on the other hand, any evidence that the body, clothing and all, had been taken away by marauders; the clothes were still there, but lying flat on the slab, even the turban, still with the fold or roll in it, lying where the head had rested.
John says that “he saw and believed.” What did he see? Evidently that the clothes had fallen undisturbed, lying as if the body had exhaled out of them, vanished, without deranging the wrappings. That was what brought belief to John in a flash. To find the body gone might have meant nothing, though others sought desperately for a natural explanation of its disappearance; to find signs of confusion would have indicated theft; but to see the winding-cloths dropped down of their own weight and of the weight of the spices within their folds—that indicated only one thing: that the body had risen out of them. The hand of man had no part in this work. A quick glance told them that a miracle had happened. They saw— and what they saw made belief sure. It was the beginning of reasoned conviction; a first flash of faith.
Leaving the tomb, the two disciples moved slowly back to the city, marveling at what they had seen. Meanwhile, Mary had returned to the tomb. She stood near the entrance, weeping, and a little while later gained courage to look in. Lo! the tomb was no longer untenanted. At the head and feet, where the body had been laid, were angels, who asked why [ p. 204 ] she wept. “Because they have taken away my Lord,” she said, “and I know not where they have laid him.” Then, turning about, she saw in the dim light another figure. Dazed and unable to collect her thoughts, her first impulse was a natural one. The gardener—of course. Perhaps he had taken away the body, not caring to have the curious folk trampling through the place when they came to look and talk. He asked the same question, “Why are you weeping? Whom are you seeking?” “Tell me,” she cried, “where have you laid him?” And then she heard a familiar voice, “Mary,” and looking closely recognized Jesus and fell down to clasp his feet and cry out, “Oh, my Master.” “Touch me not,” he commanded; “do not cling to me, for I am not yet ascended to my Father; but go to my brethren and tell them, T ascend unto my Father and your Father, and to my God and your God.’ ”
This was the first of the resurrection appearances. Now let us return to the other women. They were on their way back to the city, to find the disciples. In their agitation and alarm, they probably became separated, and entered the city by different roads. One group, in their fear and astonishment, said nothing to anyone; the others, so one account says, were greeted by the vision of Christ, before whom they fell down in reverence. They came quickly to the disciples, with their excited story; but these had not yet heard of the visit of Peter and John, and the words of the women seemed to them but an idle tale. Later, Mary came with her story of the vision of the risen [ p. 205 ] Christ, but this, too, fell on dull ears. That is hardly surprising, even were Peter and John already with the others. It is just one more evidence of the truth of the story. The disciples were not in an expectant mood. They were not ready to receive news of a miracle. Their very slowness to believe adds strength to the account. They believed only under the compulsion of absolute proof.
That same afternoon two disciples were walking to the village of Emmaus, about seven or eight miles from Jerusalem. They were not of the Twelve, but were of the larger group, the rank and file of the followers of Christ. They had heard something, however, of the strange news which was circulating; but, like the others, they could not understand and they were still stunned and bewildered. St. Luke’s Gospel tells their story in detail.
In the bewilderment of their bereavement, they talked drearily of the past, of all their hopes, of their belief in Jesus as the Messiah, of their disappointment in his mission, of the failure of his plan, and the tragic end of his life. As they were walking, a stranger joined them, whom they supposed to be one of the thousands of pilgrims who had come up to Jerusalem for the feast. He asked them why they were so sad as they walked and talked, and apparently they were a little annoyed at his ignorance. Could it be that there was anyone in Jerusalem who did not know the things that had come to pass there in the last few days’? Was he some foreigner of the Dispersion, so [ p. 206 ] journing in the holy city and unaware of the thing that had made this Passover season different from every other? They began to explain about it all. It was impossible to think or talk about anything else.
Soon, however, the stranger took the lead in the conversation. Their eyes opened in wide astonishment at the things he said. Beginning with the earliest prophecies, he explained how the Messiah was a predestined sufferer and through suffering was to enter into his glory. What a conversation it must have been! We may think of him, for example, reminding them of the words in the prophecy of Isaiah: “He is despised and rejected of men; a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief. He was wounded for our transgressions; he was bruised for our iniquities; the chastisement of our peace was upon him, and with his stripes we are healed.” Very quickly they threw off their lethargy and listened breathlessly. The whole tangled story suddenly became plain. Their dull despondency gave way to wild hopes. New courage came into their hearts. The talk was so interesting that before they knew it they were at their own door and the stranger was saying his farewells and starting down the road. Then they aroused themselves, clung to him, begged him to come in and share their hospitality and tell them more. When, at their urging, he had entered the room, it seemed quite the natural thing that he should recline at the place of honor at table and say the simple blessing. He took the bread and blessed it and broke it—and they knew him! It was the Lord Jesus! Hardly had they recognized him, [ p. 207 ] when he vanished. For a moment they looked at each other; in one breathless sentence they told each other how their hearts had strangely burned within them as he talked with them in the way. Then they hurried out of the house and down the road and back to Jerusalem, and in a little while they were in the upper room, to tell of the Christ who had died and was alive again. There they found the apostles with their own excited story of other appearances; and while they were yet speaking, the Master came again.
He came suddenly and in a strange way. They seem all to have been talking—as doubtless they would, in their excitement—when a hush fell on them. Jesus was present! The doors were closed, and there had been no knock, nor had anyone seen him enter; yet there he stood. As he moved toward them, he said, “Peace be unto you.” They were frightened beyond words, thinking they saw a specter; but he showed them his hands and his wounded side and then renewed their apostolic commission: “As the Father has sent me, even so send I you”; and he breathed on them, and said: “Receive the Holy Spirit. Whosesoever sins you remit, they are remitted unto them, and whosesoever sins you retain, they are retained.”
Thomas was not with the others at this appearance of the Lord; and when informed of it, refused to believe. “Unless I see in his hands the print of the nails, and put my finger into the print of the nails, and put my hand into his side,” he said, “I will in no wise believe it.” A week later his test was met. They [ p. 208 ] were again in the room, with closed doors, and this time Thomas had joined the company. Again a hush and again the realization that Jesus was present. “Reach here your finger,” he said to Thomas, “and see my hands; and reach here your hand and put it into my side, and be not faithless, but believing.” And Thomas fell on his knees at the Master’s feet, with his cry of faith, “My Lord and my God.”
This record originally closed St. John’s Gospel, but there is added one other incident, very personal, of an appearance of the Master on the seashore. Seven of the apostles were in the boat, fishing, when he appeared and, learning that they had caught nothing, ordered them to cast the net on the right side. They obeyed, and the net was hauled up so filled that they could not draw it. Again there is John’s flashing faith. “It is the Lord,” he cried, and Peter plunged into the water to swim to shore, the others following in the boat. There they saw preparation made for their morning meal.
Afterward the three—Jesus, Peter, and John— walked along the shore. “Simon, son of Jonas,” the Master asked, “have you fuller regard and affection for me than for these?” “Yes, Lord,” said Simon, “you know how passionately I love you.” “Then feed my lambs.” Again: “Simon, are you sure of your regard for me?” “Oh, Master, you know I love you passionately.” “Tend my sheep.” Again: “Simon, are you sure even of your passionate devotion?” And Peter, grieved, said: “Lord, you know all things, you [ p. 209 ] surely see how devotedly I love you.” “Feed my sheep.”
And then, almost immediately, seeing John who had fallen behind them, Peter asked what this man was to do. “If I will that he should tarry until I come again, what business is that of yours?” said Jesus. “Do you but see to it that you follow me.” [4]
One final question. We have not yet asked why, when the appearances of Christ came to an end, there was no aftermath of subjective visions for many months or years. Or, what amounts to the same thing, we have not yet asked how the first Christians knew that Christ would not appear on earth to them again. The only possible explanation is that there was something about the final appearance told elsewhere, which marked it as final: or, to use their own phrase, the disciples knew that Jesus had “ascended into heaven.” The account of the ascension as related in the first chapter of Acts is, perhaps, naively framed; but it expresses a genuine historic fact. And it gives us a last attestation of the objective character of the appearances. No subjective visions ever put an end to themselves.