The Humility of the Risen Lord
In his recent Easter newsletter, David French made a point about the uniqueness of Jesus’ resurrection which bears repeating. He notes that “Christ figures are common in fiction, but even for those ultimately vulnerable enough to die and return, their return is typically a magnificent exercise of raw strength.” In contrast, French points out that Easter “reminds us that death is a prelude to resurrection—to a very particular form of new life, a life designed to imitate the sacrifice that led to death.” In other words, resurrection life is neither a return to life as it formerly was nor a dramatically incongruous life which spurns any hints of lowliness. The risen Lord Jesus was neither weakly resuscitated nor suddenly transformed into some kind of fierce superhuman. The exercise of his divine power continued its earlier form, that is to say, the forma servi, even as it manifested in more extraordinary ways.
To illustrate this point, notice two moments in the resurrection narrative of John’s Gospel. The first is in chapter 20, where the disciple whom Jesus loved comes to the tomb with Peter, who looks inside and sees the place where Jesus’s body was supposed to be laid. Instead of a body, Peter sees the linen cloths that would have been around the body lying in the tomb. What John narrates next in verse 7 is one of the strangest details I’ve read in the New Testament. He notes that Peter also saw “the face cloth, which had been on Jesus’s head, not lying with the linen cloths but folded up in a place by itself.”
Imagine that moment. The obvious element of the scene is the absence of Jesus’s body, with the linen cloths draped in some manner — maybe on the floor or on a ledge. But the face cloth is lying folded in a place by itself. John doesn’t give us what this implies, but it's not hard to imagine: the risen Jesus, as his lungs filled with air and his heart began to pump blood through his body again, sat up, removed the face cloth from his head, and took the time to fold it and set it aside before exiting the tomb. Jesus was raised from the dead, having been “declared the Son of God in power according to the Spirit of holiness” (Rom 1.4), and this selfsame Lord did his own laundry. There’s something oddly fitting with the character of Jesus as we read of him in the Gospels, that even in his resurrection he does not think himself above a small act of sheer humility and goodness. It’s as though, in defeating death by his own death, Jesus also put to death even the simplest acts of haughtiness or unkindness. He’s already stooped so low, and yet even in his resurrection he does not think himself too important to fold a piece of cloth.
Later in John’s account, Peter, Thomas, and Nathanael are all out fishing, and the resurrected Jesus tells them where to cast their nets to catch fish. They listen, catch 153 fish (John gives us the exact figure, which is fascinating in itself), and marvel that the net doesn’t break. When they come to the shore, they notice “a charcoal fire in place, with fish laid out on it, and bread” (21.9). Jesus already has fish of his own, and he says, “Come and have breakfast.” Once again, when we look at the risen Jesus, we do not find a superman eager to demonstrate raw power. We find the incarnate Lord of the universe on a beach, having already started a fire and caught some fish, making breakfast for his disciples. The washing of his disciples’ feet may get more press, but this moment demonstrates that Jesus’s humility takes the form of both washing away filth and generously providing nourishment. (As an aside, the parallels to baptism and Eucharist are surely not accidental.)
These moments present a challenge to our knee-jerk conceptions of resurrection power. We might think that, having put death to death, Jesus might also put away his former meekness or humility and bring out the big guns. But what we find when we notice small moments like these is that Jesus just is the humble Lord God in the flesh. He folds his clothes and makes breakfast for tired fishermen. He washes dirty feet and takes an afternoon to teach confused disciples what the Scriptures really teach about him (cf. Luke 24). Perhaps it should come as no surprise that Jesus’s humanity is characterized by integrity and humility, but the fact that these moments are preserved by the New Testament authors should remind us of their importance, not least the value of their imitation. The goodness of the Triune God is inseparable from all of his acts, as seen most clearly in the person and work of Jesus Christ, who
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