Death into Light

“Here's another way to put it: You're here to be light, bringing out the God-colors in the world. God is not a secret to be kept. We're going public with this, as public as a city on a hill. If I make you light-bearers, you don't think I'm going to hide you under a bucket, do you?” – Matthew 5:14-16, The Message

On Saturday, or some would say Holy Saturday, I came upon a History Channel presentation on the supposed “real” face of Jesus. To be fair, they never claimed full accuracy, but the hour-long show featured the physicists, chemists, and other scientists using cutting-edge technology to 3-dimensionalize the image on the shroud of Turin and other alleged cloths used to wrap his body. What struck me most was not the “final” image, though it was indeed profound and poignantly beautiful. Rather, on this quest and throughout the program, they repeatedly displayed holographic images of Christ’s body in the tomb, complete with all the markings of torture and crucifixion. Holy Saturday has always troubled me with this strange emptiness. The idea that for a day in history, God (or I should technically say, a third of the trinity) was dead. Dead. Knowing that he would rise the next day always got me off the hook from actually accepting his death. Like, he was just “playing dead.”

But the images of a body in a tomb, whether it’s authentic to how it truly looked or not, finally hit home in my soul. There he was, wrapped in bloody cloths, lifeless and cold. I felt it: the pain, the emptiness, and the tragedy like I never had before. And all this from a History Channel show! What’s more, to see these scientists feel similar gravity along their journey was really incredible. After accounting for the fabric’s stretch and distortion from 2D to 3D, pointing out that the shroud is stained in a way that suggests light burned it from within (how cool is that?!, kind of literalizing Matthew 5:15), and matching blood stains to corresponding wounds, one scientist took the image in and held back tears, “it looks like a body after an horrific car accident.” He had to cut the taping of his segment short, overwhelmed with emotion.

Here’s what I trust: when you look for the face of God, you find it. Maybe not the literal image of God, but you find God’s countenance looking at you with love, grace, encouragement, and conviction. You find that God is indeed, facing you.

5846 Gregory is a wonderful and challenging place. It was built by various professionals and volunteers throughout the years, so there is not a sense of unifying design by most construction standards. What it lacks for in overall structural integrity (there are some light switches in the oddest of places, light fixtures that are really finicky, floorboards that are beginning to bend and bow), it makes up for in spiritual strength. On Thursday night, Alex, Will, Kenna, and I played games with neighborhood kids whose families hail from Mexico, El Salvador, Honduras, Dominican Republic, Guatemala. Shila, a PATH intern from Denmark, joined us, so it was literally an international gathering. For too long that evening, I got lost in fretting details like, “oh, we really need to repaint some of the windows; and, we need to get some help fixing the toilets, sinks, and lights….” But the laughter from the kids reminded me that the house is still alive, even in it’s less-than-glorious state. It’s a light in the neighborhood. It’s not a pot of gold, it’s not the answer to everything that plagues Hollywood, it’s not the Savior. But it’s an un-shrouded light, a place of loud fun, a place of basketball and soccer and card-games and gardening, a place of sweaty and dirty hope.

If scientists are discovering that Jesus’ cold and lifeless body miraculously leapt out of death in a blaze of light, then surely this little house with it’s many issues can still be transformed into a loving and nurturing place, even for the brief collection of moments our Dwellers are here every year. And surely we can see God’s face alive and well in that scene, this collective and growing body of servants, and that the searing light of new life is still shining and glowing.

Curtis comes back today. The community has been hurting without him, and is somewhat anxious about what it will mean when he comes back after such a long absence. I am hopeful that God can use it to teach us, stretch us, and help us eke out even more light upon each other and our neighbors. That’s what this Easter brought to me. Death is not the end of the story.

Matthew