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“Seven Stanzas at Easter” by John Updike

I’m not a huge poetry guy, but I’ve always been struck by this one: “Seven Stanzas at Easter”, by John Updike. I made use of it last night as I was giving a talk about the liturgical seasons of Lent and Easter. Updike’s poem emphasizes the bodily, corporeal reality of the Resurrection of Jesus Christ. This was a real, historical event, not a metaphor. Christ really rose physically from death, leaving an empty tomb behind. As Saint Paul stresses, “If Christ has not been raised, then our preaching is vain, and and your faith is in vain” (1 Corinthians 15:14). Or, as Updike puts it:

Make no mistake: if He rose at all
it was as His body;
if the cells’ dissolution did not reverse, the molecules
reknit, the amino acids rekindle,
the Church will fall.

It was not as the flowers,
each soft Spring recurrent;
it was not as His Spirit in the mouths and fuddled
eyes of the eleven apostles;
it was as His flesh: ours.

The same hinged thumbs and toes,
the same valved heart
that–pierced–died, withered, paused, and then
regathered out of enduring Might
new strength to enclose.

Let us not mock God with metaphor,
analogy, sidestepping, transcendence;
making of the event a parable, a sign painted in the
faded credulity of earlier ages:
let us walk through the door.

The stone is rolled back, not papier-mâché,
not a stone in a story,
but the vast rock of materiality that in the slow
grinding of time will eclipse for each of us
the wide light of day.

And if we will have an angel at the tomb,
make it a real angel,
weighty with Max Planck’s quanta, vivid with hair,
opaque in the dawn light, robed in real linen
spun on a definite loom.

Let us not seek to make it less monstrous,
for our own convenience, our own sense of beauty,
lest, awakened in one unthinkable hour, we are
embarrassed by the miracle,
and crushed by remonstrance.

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Sacramental Healing

Jesus healing a blind manToday’s Gospel reading at Mass cites a unique incident from Jesus’ career: a two-stage healing.

When Jesus and his disciples arrived at Bethsaida,
people brought to him a blind man and begged Jesus to touch him.
He took the blind man by the hand and led him outside the village.
Putting spittle on his eyes he laid his hands on the man and asked,
“Do you see anything?”
Looking up the man replied, “I see people looking like trees and walking.”
Then he laid hands on the man’s eyes a second time and he saw clearly;
his sight was restored and he could see everything distinctly.
Then he sent him home and said, “Do not even go into the village” (Mark 8:22-26).

There are two things we can learn from this:

1. This is more historical proof of Jesus as a wonderworker. No Christian is going to make up an account about Jesus’ healing not quite “working” the first time, especially when so many of Jesus’ miraculous deeds (healings, exorcisms, nature miracles) happen instantaneously, at his word, even from a distance. This smacks of authenticity and eyewitness detail. Furthermore, this is more evidence that the evangelists didn’t feel free to “invent” incidents from the life of Christ, or feel free to “edit” accounts of Jesus’ life that were passed on by tradents and collected into the Gospels. If that were the case, this account would have almost certainly been “cleaned up” by the evangelist, with the healing working at once.

2. This is a “sacramental” healing. Jesus didn’t need to take spittle and use that to heal the man’s vision. But the fact that he did shows that God can use matter to communicate his grace – that is, his very life. This should be obvious when considering the Incarnation itself. The body of Christ communicated, and was the very vehicle, of the life of God on earth. And Christ continues to communicate his healing powers through the sacraments of the Catholic Church. The sacraments each take ordinary, physical materials – water, bread, wine, oil – and, in the case of marriage, the very bodies of the spouses themselves – to communicate the life-giving power of God. The Eucharist, of course, is the greatest of all sacraments, because, as Saint Thomas aquinas once said, in all the other sacraments, the power of Christ is present; in the Eucharist, Christ himself is present – Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity.

The sacraments of the Church bring the power to see life and eternity – all of reality – in ever clearer and sharper focus. Like the blind man, we don’t always see this clearly at first, even after receiving the sacraments. We have to go “outside the village” and never go back in, like Christ led out the blind man – we must leave our old ways behind. And, as Saint Jerome taught, the “spittle” of Christ, which represents his word, his teaching, must be applied to our lives – that is, obeyed – for the healing of our lives to be complete.

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“The Rite” and Jesus the Exorcist

The new movie, The Rite, #1 at the North American box office this past weekend, once again reveals Hollywood’s fascination with exorcism. 1973’s The Exorcist began this trend in earnest, with 2005’s The Exorcism of Emily Rose a more recent example. All three movies are at least in part based on actual cases.

Whenever a movie like this appears on the scene, interest in real-life exorcisms begins to spike. It is therefore necessary to ask, “Did Jesus himself perform exorcisms?”

It may surprise some readers of the Gospels to learn that there were many exorcists who abounded in Jesus’ day. The Lord himself acknowledged this when he asked the Pharisees, “by whom do your sons cast them (demons) out?” (Matthew 12:27). According to the Jewish historian Josephus, exorcists needed: 1) A formula from Solomon to be incanted, along with 2) A piece of wood (called “bunk” or “the bunk stick”), which had a scent from the Barras root (see Josephus, JW 7.6.3; Ant. 8.2.5, 46-49).

The exorcist would use the bunk stick to draw the demon out of the nose (the ancients believed spirits would enter/exit a person via the nostrils). Heck, the person would probably sneeze (due to the scent of the Barras root), and the exorcist would say, “Look, there goes the demon!” Hmm…I wonder if that’s why people say, “God bless you” when someone sneezes!

On a more serious note, the reason why Jewish exorcists used incantations from Solomon was because, as Dr. Craig A. Evans points out in his magisterial commentary on Mark, “The tradition of Solomon as exorcist par excellence was widespread in late antiquity. The tradition began in 1 Kings 4:29-34 and was enhanced in later traditions such as Wisdom 7:17-21 and the Testament of Solomon. As ‘son of David’ (Mark 10:47, 48), Jesus would have been expected in some circles to effect cures paralleling those effected by David’s famous son Solomon” (Evans, Mark 8:27-16:20, Word Biblical Commentary, vol. 34b, p. 49).

Jesus was, in fact, well known as an exorcist. The Gospels are littered with references to this, and no serious scholar of the matter doubts it. But what made Jesus’ exorcisms much more impressive than that of others in his time was the manner by which Jesus performed them. He had no need of rigmarole, incantations, the Barras root, or any other “bunk’, if you’ll pardon the pun. He simply says to the demons, in effect, “Shut up, and get out!”

And they went into Capernaum; and immediately on the Sabbath he entered the synagogue and taught. And they were astonished at his teaching, for he taught them as one who had authority, and not as the scribes. And immediately there was in their synagogue a man with an unclean spirit; and he cried out, “What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us? I know who you are, the Holy One of God.” But Jesus rebuked him, saying, “Be silent, and come out of him!” And the unclean spirit, convulsing him and crying with a loud voice, came out of him. And they were all amazed, so that they questioned among themselves, saying, “What is this? A new teaching! With authority he commands even the unclean spirits, and they obey him.” And at once his fame spread everywhere throughout all the surrounding region of Galilee (Mark 1:21-28).

Many wonder why Jesus would command silence from the demon, considering it correctly identified Jesus as “the Holy One of God”. Part of the answer lies in the fact that as the Messiah, Jesus did not want acclamation from demons – that is, he doesn’t want to use them as his P.R. team! Also, given the tense political situation of the time and the possible danger to Jesus’ life that a premature public announcement of his messiahship could bring (other, false messianic claimants of the day were executed as political threats to Rome), silence was prudent for the moment. As seen in the exorcism films, exorcisms also involve a power struggle around the issue of names. Knowing someone’s name implies having some sort of power over them. Hence, the exorcist attempts to get the demon to give up its name. This is also why the demon in the aforementioned incident was attempting to make known Jesus’ true identity. Of course, Jesus silences the evil spirit, but it is always fascinating to note that, while demons do recognize Jesus’ true identity and must obey him, human beings often do not.

Should we be worried about the presence of the demonic in our own day? As C.S. Lewis once put it, in The Screwtape Letters, there are two errors we can fall into, like ditches on either side of the road: “One is to disbelieve in their existence. The other is to believe, and to feel an excessive and unhealthy interest in them. They themselves are equally pleased with both errors”.

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