After the Resurrection, Then What?

Saint John’s Gospel has an extra chapter. By the end of chapter 20, in which Jesus reveals himself to Mary Magdalene and then to the disciples without Thomas and finally to Thomas, one might sense the thing is at its conclusion. Indeed, the writer says that many more words could be said, but these have been written for the sake of the reader coming to faith. End of story. Why then chapter 21?
    It begins with Simon Peter saying he’s going fishing. Altogether, seven disciples are there in the boat. They spend a fruitless night fishing, then a word from (the unrecognized) Jesus results in a miraculously great haul of fish. On shore, they have a meal with Jesus, whom they now recognize. Along with the fish, the meal includes bread.
    What’s going on here? I think we are being shown that, after the resurrection, life continues. To put it more precisely: we are shown that the life after resurrection is in continuity with the life before. Earlier, the disciples were fishermen. Earlier, they saw miraculous signs that Jesus did. Earlier, they had meals with Jesus, including a meal in which bread and fish were multiplied. This now, in John 21, is their old life continuing with their Lord who is, now, with them from the far side of death.
    I used to think otherwise. I used to think that the resurrected body was a completely new thing, discontinuous from the body I now have. But along the way one of my teachers told me that Aquinas insists on material continuity. Aquinas says the resurrected body must be continuous with the mortal body I now have. Obviously my body will be changed, but it will also be the same.
    Why is this important? Imagine a forged copy of a Rembrandt painting. In this forgery, the canvas is made to be the same as a canvas that Rembrandt might have used (for instance, if you performed carbon-14 dating on it, it would go back to the correct century). The paint would be the same as his, the brushstrokes would be perfect imitations, everything about it would say: this was made by Rembrandt. But in fact, it is a contemporary forgery done with such skill that it is indistinguishable from an original.
    Why then would we call it a forgery? Because it lacks material continuity with Rembrandt. In fact, it is not a painting he did.
    Similarly: if you or I are given new bodies that have no connection with the bodies we now have, there is a serious question about whether our identity has survived. If we believe that the body is an essential part of being human, then it matters that the resurrection body be in material continuity with our mortal body.
    How do you know that the cat that comes out from behind the sofa is the same cat as the one who you saw go behind the sofa a minute ago? You know it because it’s the same body.
    The 21st chapter of John, it seems to me, wants to show us what material continuity means: that each of us will have a personal story with connections and continuities from our life now to our life in the resurrection. If we are fisherfolk now, for instance, that will be part of our identity then.
    In the resurrection, nothing that is real will be lost.
    Out & About. I am to preach at St. Matthew’s cathedral on Sunday, April 15, at the 8 a.m. and 10:30 a.m. services: 5100 Ross Ave., Dallas.
    On Sunday, April 22, I am to give the spring theology lecture, “Friendship: The Final Frontier,” at Church of the Incarnation, 3966 McKinney Ave., Dallas. I have been researching and thinking and writing on friendship for some time; in this lecture I intend to draw out how achieving friendship is the culmination of a fully human life, as well as being the frontier of the life to come. The lecture beings at 6 p.m. in the church itself; there will be a reception following. (The lecture follows choral evensong at 5 p.m.)


 I had been told it was awkward and heavy, far too heavy, and there was no stand for it so it would have to be laid down on the steps of the chancel. It was heavy and plain: a 6x6 (or 8x8?) piece of lumber, more than seven or eight feet tall, with a cross beam insert.
    While unadorned and raw-looking, it wasn’t splintery. Three of us carried it from the back to the chancel steps. Then the other two stood behind it and held it vertically. I went to the front and bowed and kissed it.
    Slowly the people came forward, shy and hesitant, some of them, reverent, all of them. Some touched it gently, then turned aside. Others genuflected and embraced it at the foot. There were many bows, many kisses. And there were tears.
    The choir had sung a motet. And then, after some silence, a few people still to come forward, they started a hymn. “To mock your reign, O dearest Lord, they made a crown of thorns.”
    The people had finished, we three lifted it up again, and carried it over to the side, laying it on its side, leaning upon a wall. I went back to those chancel steps and forward to the bare altar. I spread a cloth and placed two chalices. The other priest now was at the step, vessels in his hands, vessels containing life set aside the night before. I placed one vessel on the cloth, and poured from the other into the chalices.
    The choir by now had finished. “They did not know, as we do now, though empires rise and fall, your Kingdom shall not cease to grow, till love embraces all.”
    Out & About. I am teaching a two-week class on the Resurrection gospels. These stories are quite different and they have fascinating details. The classes are at 9:30 a.m. at St. Matthew’s Cathedral, 5100 Ross Ave., Dallas. The first class is Sunday, April 8.
    On Sunday, April 22, at 6 p.m., I am to give the spring theology lecture as Theologian-in-residence. It is called “Friendship: The Final Frontier.” It will be at Church of the Incarnation, 3966 McKinney Ave., Dallas, and a reception will follow.

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The Rev. Canon Dr. Victor Lee Austin is the Theologian-in-Residence for the diocese and is the author of several books including, "Losing Susan: Brain Disease, the Priest's Wife, and the God who Gives and Takes Away."