Easter Day: Rising in him

One of the most powerful images of resurrection in pop culture comes from Bruce Springsteen. Recently, there has been a growing conversation about religious themes in his work. Even in the mid-1980's, however, he received an admiring letter from Walker Percy, the great Roman Catholic novelist, which discussed their mutual love for Flannery O'Connor and asked him about his spiritual journey.

In that letter, Percy, who'd just read an article about Springsteen in the Jesuit magazine America, told a story about a time when O'Connor sat in a seminar with a bunch of ex-Catholics. One of them, "thinking to be generous toward the Church," said that "some of the Church rituals, like the Eucharist, are good symbols." O'Connor replied: "Well, I say, if it's only a symbol, to hell with it."

That's not a bad criterion, I suppose, for the use of any symbol by any artist: is it only a symbol, or does it point beyond itself to reality? That holds for the beautiful symbols that surround us in our worship, including the flowers. It's equally true of our music. It is all so beautiful and joyful, but does it point beyond itself to a larger reality?

Now, the song I have in mind is the title track from Springsteen's 2002 album, "The Rising," which has to do with the attack on the World Trade Center on September 11 the previous year. In that song, we see Springsteen retelling the story from the perspective of a working class, Catholic firefighter, whose spirit of self-sacrifice is more often praised than followed.

This man leaves wife and children behind and climbs into the dark and lethal cloud in order to save others. We are to imagine him climbing the stairs, floor after floor, facing certain death with a real sense of loss but also a holy joy:

Can't see nothin' in front of me, he says,
Can't see nothing behind. I make my way through this darkness
I can't feel nothing but this chain that binds me
Lost track of how far I've gone
How far I've gone, how high I've climbed
On my back's a sixty pound stone
On my shoulder a half mile line

In case there's any doubt this man is carrying the cross of Jesus, he goes on to state it openly. He says he is "wearing the cross of my calling." And so, in the chorus, when he invites us again and again to "come on up for the rising," we begin to suspect that more is at work than climbing a set of stairs. There follow images of communion, sacrifice, and bodies transfigured in the glorious light of the fire:

Spirits above and behind me,
Faces gone, black eyes burnin' bright
May their precious blood forever bind me
Lord as I stand before your fiery light

Then, in the next stanza, he sings of Mary in the Garden. Is she Magdalene? Is she the Blessed Virgin? Or is she a dying vision of his wife? Perhaps she is all three at once.

The song closes with what could be described as a hymn to the sky awash in darkness and glory, death and resurrection, recalling apocalyptic themes long associated with both the crucifixion and the second coming of Christ:

Sky of blackness and sorrow
Sky of love, sky of tears
Sky of glory and sadness
Sky of mercy, sky of fear
Sky of memory and shadow
Your burnin' wind fills my arms tonight
Sky of longing and emptiness
Sky of fullness, sky of blessed life

The memory and trauma of 9-11 still haunts us. As a society, we seem unable to exorcise its ghosts. Guantanamo remains open for business. We see grandmothers and small children strip searched at our airports. The holes in the Manhattan skyline remain. As do pervasive fear and bloody wars. The economic losses still ripple and reverberate from sea to shining sea. And, too often hidden from view, the families continue to grieve. Families that lost father or brother, mother or sister, lover or friend.

We'd better hope that resurrection is more than just a symbol. We'd better hope that sacrifice and shed blood--laying down one's life for one's friends--finds its true meaning in communion with a God of love. We'd better hope that Jesus lives, bringing forgiveness to sinners, freedom to captives, and life to the dead.

Mary Magdalene came to know this in her bones that first Easter morning, when she went to the garden tomb. That day, she became the apostle to the apostles, the first to see the risen Lord and bring the Good News of his resurrection to the others. On the foundation of her testimony, that same Gospel has been preached throughout the world. And countless people have found their lives changed. Societies have been changed by the wonderful Good News of the resurrection.

But that particular morning did not start off well for Mary, did it? They had taken Jesus away. He had been beaten, mocked, and killed. It certainly weighed heavy upon her--Mary who loved Jesus not just as a disciple but as a friend--perhaps even as a woman. She felt the ache of trauma and loss. The one she loved had been killed before her very eyes.

Then, when she arrived at the tomb in the early morning darkness, his body was gone. Someone had stolen it. Even the small comfort of caring for his body was denied her. No wonder she began to weep.

When the stranger came, supposing him to be the gardener, she asked him where he had laid the body. "Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away." But then the stranger called her by name, and she saw him for who he was. "Mary," Jesus said to her, and she turned to embrace him--ALIVE. And immediately her heart burned within her and she was caught up in the overwhelming joy.

For nothing--no, not the soldiers, not the jeering crowds, not the wood, the nails, the spear. Not our sin, our grief, our shame. Not illness. Not violence. Not memory. Neither fear nor loss. Nothing past nor present nor yet to come. Nothing whatsoever can hold down the Lord of life, who suffered and died and rose again.

Jesus is that living Lord. He is the one who comes to us and calls us each by name. He is the one whose love triumphs over death. He is the true Paschal lamb--the victim and host of this life-giving feast. May his sacred body and precious blood bind us together as one--and cause us to rise in him.