Historical Setting: The Great Skellig in an unknown time
Sitting in the midst of these young monks on the stones for steps, I look at their faces — all one single expression dazed by wonder. I told them who I am, assuming their knowledge of the gospel would solve the mystery of the missing dead man now alive among them. They got caught up in the wonder of the sign and even those among them who are grieving the deaths of a brother, or a father, or their old lives are seeing only the sign and not the spiritual life that the metaphor in the sign could mean to the grieving.
If they see a sign on the refectory door telling them “today we fast,” do they examine the sign itself and wonder how the letters are formed? Or do they expect today is a fast day?
I am simply the sign Jesus posted to say that the Christ is the resurrection and the life.
I ask them.
“Don’t you want to talk about the reason Jesus made a sign of me?”
Apparently, I’ve asked the impossible question. In the gapping unanswered space their eyes turn to the abbot, the only slightly older man who knows every word of gospel and even the epistles, by heart. The abbot understands my question, and he answers it — correctly — of course.
“Jesus used the sign of the raising of Lazarus to speak one of his ‘I am’ Christ messages. He said, ‘I am the resurrection and the life.'”
One asks what all seemed to wonder, “Must we be without sin, to enter into this eternal life?”
The abbot answers, “Of course.”
I answer, “It’s not about sin.”
The young monks listen to the abbot. And I wonder, why is everything always about sin? Even the all-loving God’s abundant gift of life seems to have a sin lock on the door. It is helpful for me to remember my own needs as a youth.
Jesus was there with us in the crowd of the followers of John the Baptist. It seemed wonderfully counter-cultural to us teens at the time. Our papa, a faithful Pharisee, didn’t want us just going off after every popular movement, but the actual opposition to these baptisms was from the political power mongers under Ceasar –I’ll save my commentary for another time.
I was in the crowd with my sister, Mary, as the preacher, John, begged repentance. And here was my friend, Jesus. Like these monks, we were all young, and searching.
(Continues tomorrow)
Lazarus Ink 