Jesus, Go to Hell, Please

Several years ago, I created a program entitled, “Resurrection, So What?” I invited guest speakers to make a case for the various theories about Jesus’ resurrection. Was it bodily resurrection? Was it a spiritual resurrection? A resurrection of the soul? A metaphoric resurrection? And more importantly, I asked each speaker to address The Book of Common Prayer’s question, “What is the significance of Jesus’ resurrection?”

Of course, the Prayer Book has an answer to its own question. “By his resurrection, Jesus overcame death and opened for us the way of eternal life.” That sounds traditional and comforting, while somewhat vague, which was probably the intention of the writers. But, honestly, what does that statement really mean?

We could look to the Bible for answers to questions about Jesus’ resurrection. The Gospel of Mark leaves the tomb empty with no sighting of Jesus. Matthew reports that Jesus’ appearance was “like lightening, and his clothes white as snow.” Luke tells us Jesus appeared like a ghost. John tells us that Mary Magdalene did not recognize him. St Paul and St Peter both write that Christ “died in the flesh and was raised in the spirit.”

Personally, I’m pretty comfortable with former Anglican Archbishop Rowan William’s answer from his book, “Resurrection.” He says simply that “Something happened.” (Resurrection: Interpreting the Easter Gospel) I don’t know what happened, but something pretty spectacular and even unbelievable must have happened at Jesus’ resurrection.

But I’m still left with the more important question, “So what does Jesus’ resurrection really mean for us, today?”

That is the question I’m often confronted with when someone faces the end of their life and then as the family grieves their death. And the two most popular scriptural texts chosen for funeral services are the 23rd Psalm and John 10:11-18 (which are the readings for the fourth week of Easter).

The 23rd Psalm is the poetic version of John’s mystical text about the good shepherd; the one who protects and guides his flock. “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death (better translated “the dark shadows”), I shall fear no evil; for you are with me; your rod (symbol of the shepherd’s protection) and your staff (symbol of the shepherd’s guidance), they comfort me. Surely your goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever (better translated, “as long as I live.)”

Both the psalmist and the writer of John were using symbolic, metaphoric, mystical language to talk about the earthly experience of living in the emotional dark shadows—depression, fear, anxiety, paranoia. Most mystics, like Jesus, have suffered their share of the dark shadows of life. And like most mystics, some of Jesus’ followers thought he was out of his mind. (John 10:19)

But because Jesus had experienced the shadows of life he promised his followers he would be there with them in their times of darkness. He said he loved them and that he would search all of creation to find them, even into the darkest hell of their lives. And Jesus made those same promises to us.
The apostle Peter wrote that, “(Christ) was put to death in the flesh, but was resurrected in the spirit, (where) he went and made a proclamation to the spirits in prison (the dead in hell.) (I Peter 3:18-20, 4:6) In other words, Christ in the spirit will be present with us in the very hell of our life.

But what about life after death? Is there is a spiritual life after our physical death. Is there a resurrection into an afterlife?

One idea that some early Christians, like the theologian Origen, wrote about was the idea of the transmigration of souls (metempsychosis or reincarnation). Transmigration of souls is the eternal spiritual formation, or maturation, of the soul. You’ve probably heard of the term, “old soul.” That comes from the idea that the soul spiritually migrates through timelessness, constantly in a state of being molded, formed, into its true divine nature. Metaphorically, we could think of the soul as a drop of water in the ocean. The drop of salty water evaporates, rises into the sky to become part of a cloud. It travels over dry land and rains as fresh water on the earth. The drop evaporates again, rises into the clouds, and continues the cycle. We know that our bodies are made of star dust from eons past. That’s a nice idea to consider. And we know we are breathing the air dinosaur’s exhaled millennia ago. We are the sum of the spirits of ancient past. We are the dead. While the philosophy of the migration of souls was not popularized in later Christianity, it has continued through the ages. Seventeenth century Anglican priest, John Donne wrote poems about the transmigration of souls. And today, these ideas are still maintained in some corners of Christianity.

Still, we’re still left with the haunting question, “So what does this all mean? Here’s something to consider. Are your beliefs about life, death, and the afterlife congruent with the way you live your life? For example, if you believe that your beloved dog will be in heaven, why did you have a hamburger for dinner last night? Do you believe that there’s an afterlife? Then, where are the dead? And can you talk to them? Charting our religious beliefs against how we live can be a challenging but worthwhile exercise. And it could lead to some answers to the question, “Resurrection, So What?”

Try this experiment: make four columns on a piece of paper. In column one, make a list of the top ten things you believe are most important to your faith. In column two write why think each of these items are so important. In column three, write about how you came to believe these things. In the fourth column, answer these two questions: Is this one belief I hold congruent with the other nine on this list? Is this belief I hold so dear, congruent with how I live my life?

I tried this exercise and it was challenging. I won’t share my entire list, but here’s one of my top ten tenets.

There is a God.
Why? For me, this tenet is existentially more satisfying than true atheism.
Where? I have experienced God in the dark hell of my life.
Congruent? Indeed, the experience transmuted my life.

"Living Revision" on the Page and the Soul

"Living Revision: A Writer’s Craft as Spiritual Practice" by Elizabeth Jarrett Andrew is on par with Anne Lamott’s "Bird by Bird" and Stephen King’s, "On Writing." This book was provided gratis by a third party to write an objective review. Yet, I’ve gained such a great deal from "Living Revision" I feel compelled to send Andrew a check. Reading this book was the equivalent of attending a week-long writing conference.

As the title makes clear, this is not just another book on the skills needed to be a writer. Andrew takes her readers into the demanding work of becoming an artisan of the craft. “Revision is an inner work and thus a spiritual practice…Revision is the work of learning to love. Love takes time. Love is what brings us and our writing to fruition.” Andrew loved Living Revision tenderly for six years. My copy is now dog eared and marked thoroughly and a few weeks.

Andrew has taught the art of writing to all ages for over almost three decades. Her ability to speak to the beginner as well as the published author shines. Every detail of Living Revision has been carefully crafted. Even the shape of the piece mirrors a writer’s notebook. Each chapter is filled with wisdom from the library of literary queens and kings. She offers practical tips that have been matured on her own desk. Throughout the pages she gently suggests writing prompts that become progressively more challenging. I began to anticipate them with great joy. To become a better writer, one must write and it can be helpful to do so at the behest of a master.

As valuable as the practical application must be, it’s the inner work where Andrew drove me, sometimes in my reluctance. Her insistence that the art and craft of revision has both a contemplative and violent nature, reminded me of rejected drafts that are begging my return. To revise is to sacrifice the ego and the beautiful words no one else could scribe, yet for the sake of finding one’s true voice. “Voice, is relational.” At times, Andrew tells us, we must trust that our unconscious voice will speak to the unconscious of the reader. Such is the power of words that are birthed from love onto the page.

Andrew is forthright in her vulnerability. She reveals her truth in full display in order to model the writer’s demand to become authentically present to the page. The writer must do more than simply show up. The one who dares to write must expose to the reader what is at stake for the author. The writer must know and experience the “heartbeat” of both the inner and outer purpose of the project. “Why you write shapes how you write,” which is “usually born of some discomfort.” The more the writer is willing and capable of settling into this discomfort, “the better we can harness its energy.” Here, Andrew is revealing the psychic dark work of the writer in solitude. To write is to be alone with one’s life and recognize that “Perfection punishes the soul; it is an elusive and damaging goal.”

Typically, when I review a book, the critic in me rises easily to the page. For Living Revision, I have none. And now my critique of any future work, my own included, will be based on how much love is evidenced in the revision of the work. I need to find Andrew’s address so I can mail her my check.

Pink Jesus in a Wyrd World

Sometimes things are so weird, they can’t be ignored. This year, Ash Wednesday fell on Valentine’s Day and now Easter falls on April Fools’ Day. What an odd circumstance of synchronicity for two holy days in the same year. While it’s not the only time this has happened, it does me make me wonder about the confluence of the sacred and secular in our culture. There is a very murky space between the holy and the profane, but it’s often in this peculiar spiritual dream space where we can find illumination.

Illumination is not about receiving rational answers to unanswerable mysteries. Illumination is becoming comfortable living in a world of dream logic. (When dreaming the scene makes total sense, and then we wake up, the experience is difficult to explain.)

I’ve found in most forms of Christianity, people want Jesus and God to be something like the Magic 8 Ball, or an oracle who answers our questions. Let me introduce you to Pink Jesus. He was given to me by a young adult from St Brigid’s Community. He’s a very beautiful figurine of the Resurrected Jesus, a 12-inch, molded plastic that has a ceramic feel and a nice weight. The figurine has long flowing hair and robes. His right hand has two fingers extended in the sign of blessing. His left-hand rests upon the sash draped across his shoulders, representing the loving Sacred Heart of Jesus. And pink represents God’s love and forgiveness.

The most fascinating part of Pink Jesus is you can ask him questions. Inside the figure, floats a multisided dice. Anyone have a question for Pink Jesus?


Some of the answers are: Wait for a sign. The holy water will sting. Watch out for the lightening. Pray harder. I still love you. Let me ask dad.

Need an answer? Consult the Pink Jesus. Sounds funny, odd, maybe a little sacrilegious, I guess that’s why I like it. You kind of have to be willing to accept the idea of dream logic in order to imagine such oddities. The idea of resurrection lives in the world of dream logic.

Mary Magdalene was living in the world of dream logic on that dark morning when she went to visit Jesus’ tomb. She had gone there looking for the dead body of Jesus. The tomb was empty. Her grief of losing Jesus was compounded by believing that his body had been stolen.

In her despair, two angels appeared, asking her “Why are you crying?” She was not comforted. But then, she encountered a man she believed to be the keeper of the cemetery. He asked her why she was sobbing.

Then the man called her by name. Jesus the Christ, the resurrected one, whispered her name. Mary Magdalene herself was resurrected into the experience of Jesus’ resurrection. She had an unexplainable mystical experience. Hearing Jesus the Christ call her name was so powerful it transformed her life. So much so that Mary was eventually able to mystically translate her dream logic into a way of living her life. She lived in a perpetual state of being resurrected.

Her mystical experience gave her the power to become the disciple to the disciples. A woman, a mystic, would be the first evangelist, not Peter, not John, not Paul, but Mary Magdalene. She would use her mystical experience to hold the frightened community of Jesus’ followers together. Her mystical relationship with Jesus and her understanding of his teachings fueled the fire needed to inspire the followers of Jesus to move out of the prison of their fear into a life of discipleship.

Times I wish I could have an experience like Mary Magdalene.
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A wise Irishman once asked me, “You wouldn’t be insulting God by looking for him, now would you?” My natural instinct is to search for God, to ache for a mystical experience. Yet, the more I look, the less likely it will be discovered. I search for answers and only find more questions. The more I cling to a dream, the more likely I am to choke it to death.

The story of Easter teaches us that Jesus the Christ will find us in the space between the sacred and the secular, between the holy and the profane. He will find us in our grief and in our despair. He will find us in our dark journey through the shadowlands of dusk and dawn. And in those in between places, he will teach us how to live with endless questions. He will teach us how to live in the world of dream logic. He will give us wisdom. And he will call us by our name. Amen.