Somehow, Jesus Returned: The Resurrections of Superheroes and the Difference in Christ

There used to be a saying amongst comic book readers: “No one stays dead except Bucky, Jason Todd, and Uncle Ben.” I say “used to” because in 2005, both Bucky and Jason Todd were brought back to life as the Winter Soldier and Red Hood, respectively. In both The Infinity Gauntlet and its adaptation in the Avengers movies, half of all life in the universe is destroyed by a snap of Thanos’s fingers but is later restored. And Jean Grey has died and resurrected so many times that Marvel even has an official article cataloging it.

All of this is to say that death and resurrection are integral elements of the superhero genre. Much to many fans' chagrin, nearly every major character has died and later been brought back to life. It is as much a part of the genre as secret identities and superpowers.

And this isn’t limited to superhero comics. “Somehow, Palpatine returned” has become an infamous line from Disney’s Star Wars trilogy. In The Matrix, my favorite film, Neo defeats Agent Smith after being resurrected. And The Legend of Zelda series is built off the fact that Ganondorf, the main villain, continues to be reincarnated. Across all sci-fi-fantasy media, resurrections are an incredibly common trope.

It is interesting to consider, then, that the Bible contains a similar story of resurrection in Jesus. There are notable differences: for example, Jesus doesn’t die in a fight against a powerful villain like Doomsday or Agent Smith, instead suffering pain and humiliation on the cross. But the comparison is still apt: we see a powerful, heroic figure sacrifice his life for the greater good, only to later be resurrected. 

How do we know, then, that Jesus’s resurrection isn’t just a superpower that He is employing? The York Mystery Plays ask this question, wondering if his resurrection “might be done through sorcery” (255, line 103). What makes Jesus different from these comic book and movie heroes?

Setting aside the role faith in the truth of His resurrection inherently plays, there are three distinguishing factors in His story: the meaning of His resurrection, what Jesus does after His resurrection, and His ascension. Because of these, we see Jesus is not just a superhero brought back to life to continue fighting crime, but that His resurrection has a much more important role to play in the Christian story.

First, Jesus’s resurrection means something different than other resurrections. Take Superman, a character who is often compared to Christ, and “The Death of Superman” event as an example: when Clark returns, it is a celebration not because of the resurrection in and of itself, but because he returns. Superman can now continue fighting evil and saving the day like he did before he died. His resurrection only matters insofar as it brings Clark, and only Clark, back.

In contrast, Jesus’s resurrection fundamentally changes the world. What Jesus has done is give us the gift of eternal life by offering Himself as a sacrificial lamb. Because of His death and resurrection, through faith alone we are able to enter the kingdom of Heaven. And this holds true for all, even those who lived before His death, as seen in the Harrowing of Hell. Jesus’s resurrection not only brings Himself back to life, but of everyone who has faith in Him. It means something that Superman’s doesn’t.

Second, consider the difference in what Superman versus Jesus do after their resurrections. Pardoning the strange status quo of “Reign of the Supermen!,” Superman returns to normality. He continues fighting crime and supervillains as Superman and living his civilian life as Clark Kent. The resurrection is essentially just a way for him to return to his status quo. It is also not a secret that Superman is back. It quickly becomes public knowledge as he continues his normal activities, and the world that was recently mourning him now celebrates his return.

This is most certainly not the case with Jesus. He could have easily announced His return to the world, “proving” Himself as the Son of God, and resumed His teachings. And if He was just a warlock trying to show Himself as fulfilling the prophecies, that is likely what He would have done. But that isn’t what happens. Instead, the women (specifically Mary Magdalene) find an empty tomb, in most accounts with an angel present to announce Jesus's resurrection. They are the ones who first announce His return, before He later appears to His disciples. But, according to the accounts in the Gospels, these are the only people He appears to.

This is important because, unlike Superman, Jesus doesn’t publicly announce His return to the world. He appears to His closest followers so that they can testify to His return. That is the goal of the Gospels, to tell of Jesus and show how He fulfilled the prophecies and is the Savior. As is explicitly stated in John 20:31, “But these are written, that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God: and that believing, you may have life in his name.” We must have faith to see Jesus, as “blessed are they that have not seen, and have believed” (John 20:29). It is not about “knowing” He returned, like with Superman, but believing that He did.

Finally, Jesus ascends into Heaven. He has completed His purpose on Earth, and, as is stated in the Nicene Creed, “He ascended into heaven and is seated at the right hand of the Father.” His death was a necessary part of His plan; through it, He fulfilled the prophecies, demonstrating Himself as the Son of God, and gave us the gift of eternal life. Jesus’s ascension is a recognition of the fulfillment of His plan.

Compare that to Superman: he continues to fight crime as he has always done. While part of this is inherent to the nature of superhero stories, there is no “end” to Superman that his resurrection fulfills like with Christ. And his death was not a part of the plan, but rather a setback that had to be overcome. 

It makes sense that so many of these heroic stories would follow this model; Jesus is the ultimate hero and savior, after all. But, Jesus is not simply a superhero using His powers to come back to life. His resurrection is less about Himself and more about the gift He is giving to us. We are saved because of what He did, because of how He changed the world. And He doesn’t show off to prove what He has done; instead reveals it to His closest followers so that they may testify and that we can have faith. Finally, in fulfilling the prophecies and executing His plan, Jesus shows Himself as the Son of God. While the day may be saved thanks to Superman, everyone can be saved thanks to Jesus.

—Chad Berkich

Jesus Christ’s Resurrection Clearly Happened. What Does It Mean?

My parents raised me Catholic, and I received the sacraments of baptism and communion as a child. However, I stopped going to confirmation classes in 2013 on account of my parents’ divorce, and I was generally unserious about Christianity until 2016–17. I was at that point an obnoxious acolyte of Ben Shapiro, constantly in the business of defending whatever position I believed had the most evidentiary support. When I realized that Christianity is rational and can be defended with facts, logic, and evidence (such as Thomas Aquinas’ five proofs for the existence of God), I embraced Christianity and immersed myself in trying to prove historically various elements of the Bible. I was accordingly overjoyed to discover, on Easter Sunday 2018, a since-deleted Western Journal article entitled “Historical Evidence That Jesus Rose from the Dead.” Frankly, reading this article was probably my first time engaging with the narrative of Christ’s resurrection, and I found the evidence for this event compelling enough to never again question that Christ rose from the dead. I was confirmed in the Catholic Church at the University of Chicago; and, somewhere along the line, the basis for my religious belief shifted from ‘facts and logic’ to faith. Compounding the seemingly indefeasible intellectual assent I granted the resurrection years ago, my faith journey and Tuesday’s readings have helped me identify three deeper meanings of the resurrection: comfort, promise-fulfillment, and example.

We can see Christ in the Shroud of Turin and, because of His resurrection, find comfort in His undying presence.

Just as the incarnation demonstrates for mankind that God is not absent, the resurrection proves that He is not dead. This has provided thousands of years of comfort for religious believers, starting with the Blessed Virgin Mary and Christ’s disciples and apostles. John of Caulibus’s Meditations stresses this point, describing how much Christ’s “departure devastated” the Blessed Virgin and how much His return filled her with joy: “They arose, with tears of joy, she embraced him, pressed her face to his, and held on tightly, fairly falling into his arms” (pp. 278–81). Similarly, the Gospel accounts emphasize how Christ’s resurrection mollified the “trembling,” “fear, ” and “weeping” that Mary Magdalene; Mary, the mother of James; and Salome experienced upon discovering that Christ’s body was not in the tomb (Matthew 28:8, Mark 16:8, John 20:11). “[T]hey have taken away my Lord,” said Mary Magdalene in between tears; “and I know not where they have laid him” (John 20:13). “[B]ehold Jesus met [Mary Magdalene; Mary, the mother of James; and Salome], saying: All hail. . . . Then Jesus said to them: Fear not” (Matthew 28:9–10). “[W]hy weepest thou? . . . I ascend to my Father and to your Father, to my God and your God” (John 20:15–17). In much the same spirit, Christ’s resurrection provided comfort to two disciples traveling from Jerusalem to Emmaus. “[H]e said to them: What are all these discourses that you hold one with another as you walk, and are sad?” (Luke 24:16). Seeing the resurrected Christ, “their eyes were opened, and they knew him” (24:31). Christ’s resurrection also comforted His apostles. “Peace be to you; it is I, fear not. Why are you troubled, and why do thoughts arise in your hearts?” (Luke 24:38).

For today’s Christians, Christ’s resurrection provides the comfort of knowing that a God we can visualize and understand is enthroned in Heaven and ready to receive our petitions. Doubly comforting is when He gives an answer.

Second, the resurrection is the classic case of promise-fulfillment: Christ rising from the dead accomplished both the promises of the Old Testament as well as those He uttered while on Earth. The Old Testament is clear on the point that God would appear to mankind as a meek lamb, suffer death for the salvation of all, and be resurrected from the dead. “For the Lord will go before you, and the God of Israel will gather you together,” reads the Prophecy of Isaiah in foretelling the incarnation. “Behold my servant shall understand, he shall be exalted, and extolled, and shall be exceeding high” (52:12–13). The prophecy continues, describing Christ’s coming passion: “All we like sheep have gone astray, every one hath turned aside into his own way: and the Lord hath laid on him the iniquity of us all. . . . [H]e shall be led as a sheep to the slaughter” (53:6–7). Finally, the prophecy foretells Christ’s resurrection: “[T]he Lord was pleased to bruise him in infirmity: if he shall lay down his life for sin, he shall see a long-lived seed, and the will of the Lord shall be prosperous in his hand” (53:10). Isaiah posits, in so many words, that Christ’s resurrection would be the bridge between the Old Testament notions of Him as both “exceeding high” and a “sheep to the slaughter”; it would only be in the resurrection that He would mesh those identities.

While walking on Earth, Christ was even clearer than the Old Testament in forecasting that He would be resurrected from the dead. “[H]e taught his disciples and said to them: The Son of man shall be betrayed into the hands of men, and they shall kill him; and after that he is killed, he shall rise again the third day” (Mark 9:30). Thus, it would have been embarrassing for the Old Testament prophets but doubly so for Christ if He failed to resurrect Himself from the dead. Christ’s mockers at Calvary held out hope that this would be the case, “saying: Vah, thou that destroyest the temple of God, and in three days buildest it up again; Save thyself, coming down from the cross” (Mark 15:29–30). Needless to worry, Christ’s resurrection from the dead fulfilled both the Old Testament prophecies and the promises He tendered to His disciples.

Third, Christ’s resurrection (and ascension into Heaven) is a dramatic and detailed example of the resurrection of the body, which Christ’s saving passion and resurrection made available to all who believe in Him and repent for their sins. As Hugh of St. Victor’s On the Sacraments elucidates, Christ’s soul exited His lifeless flesh on Good Friday. And, as “The Harrowing of Hell” illustrates in dramatic form, Christ’s soul took on something of a life of its own in the period from Good Friday to Easter Sunday, saving Adam, Abraham, Moses, and the like from eternal damnation. Christ’s body and soul reunited into one cohesive whole on Easter Sunday, and this cohesive whole ascended into Heaven after forty days (Luke 24:51). The resurrection narrative gives Christians a concrete example of what awaits the saved at the Last Judgment. Their bodies will reconstitute themselves, becoming incorruptible and “impervious[] to change”—regardless of any rot that has occurred in the interim (Bynum, pp. 172, 185). Then, their bodies will reunite with their souls, which, in my understanding, are detached from the body and sent to Heaven or Hell in the run-up to the Last Judgment.

In short, it is with Christ that the prophecy of Daniel makes tangible sense: “many of those that sleep in the dust of the earth, shall awake: some unto life everlasting. . . [T]hey that are learned shall shine as the brightness of the firmament” (12:2–3).

— DMH

The Un-Tragicized Crucifixion

When I was about ten, I visited my best friend, who was living in Malta at the time. It was a rare reunion, as we lived on sides of the world nearly opposite each other. At the end of the trip, our mothers bought us two necklaces, with pendants made of glass in the shape of a Maltese cross, to remember our time together. I wore that necklace fondly for many years, to the point where I forgot that it was a sort of crucifix until my mother pointed it out when I started going to a Catholic high school. I was stuck between the idea that my peers may incorrectly perceive me as a Christian, and wearing the cross that was, to me, not a religious symbol, but the fond remembrance of times with my friend and her mother, who had since passed away.

This type of abstraction, it seems, is not unique to me. As we discussed in class on Thursday, the Crucifixion was, for a long time, very removed from realism in imagery and in textual description. None of the gospel accounts devote a level of description of the crucifixion itself comparable to the details of the last supper, the trial, or even the preparation for the crucifixion. 

Besides the obvious irony of glossing over the event most represented in modern Christian symbolism, the crucifixion has always stood out to me as the least disputable event within Christian mythology. When my friends and I would discuss religion (most of us atheists), none of our issues ever stemmed from the crucifixion itself, and it seemed the extent of truth we could all agree on was first in the existence of Jesus, and second in the event of the Crucifixion. 

As John of Caulibus points out in his Meditations, the crucifixion is the fulfillment of Psalms and Isaiah, proven in so many details to the point where it feels inevitable. In none of the gospels does Jesus resist after the trial, and only in one does he speak before his crucifixion:

"But Jesus turning to them, said: Daughters of Jerusalem, weep not over me; but weep for yourselves, and for your children. For behold, the days shall come, wherein they will say: Blessed are the barren, and the wombs that have not borne, and the paps that have not given suck. Then shall they begin to say to the mountains: Fall upon us; and to the hills: Cover us. For if in the green wood they do these things, what shall be done in the dry?" (Luke 23:28-31)

Jesus is stoic, having long accepted his fate and speaks only to provide a type of warning, and perhaps to inspire faith. In John, the only other gospel where he speaks other than to say "I thirst," he does not say anything personal either - all is only out of concern for the future state of the world:

"When Jesus therefore had seen his mother and the disciple standing whom he loved, he saith to his mother: Woman, behold thy son. After that, he saith to the disciple: Behold thy mother." (John 19:26-27) 

I had a religion teacher in high school, who liked to make a point of how radical Christianity was in adopting an instrument of torture -- the cross -- as its primary symbol, of how tragedy and sacrifice was at its center. He liked to say that the story of Jesus necessitated the greatest injustice in order to provide salvation. And yet reading the gospels, even looking at artistic depictions of the crucifixion, it has always struck me as a passive event. Jesus does not fight back, not is there any great description of the agony of a crucifixion. 

Perhaps it is too modern of a notion to suppose that a sense of tragedy should accompany great injustice, but somehow the detachment removes the tragedy from the crucifixion. The biblical crucifixion is so set in its purpose that it loses the sadness it may have contained in reality. It begs the question - what does self-sacrifice come to signify if it is no longer tragic?

Another one of my religion teachers told my class the story of her mother's death. She said that although she recalls the difficulty of the moment, the emotion she most associates with it was happiness. She and her siblings gathered around their mother to celebrate her life, and (in her words), to celebrate that she was going to heaven. 

To me, the most salient part of the crucifixion, from a non-Christian perspective, has always been the acceptance of injustice and self-sacrifice for a greater good. And yet, is what gives that sacrifice its meaning not the pain, sorrow, and difficulty that accompany it? Modern depictions of Christ and the crucifixion lean into how "difficult to watch" it would be, and yet in not depicting the crucifixion much in medieval art before the 12th century, doesn't that avoid the pain of grappling with the full complexity of the moment?

After Jesus is condemned to death over Barabbas, "the whole people answering, said: His blood be upon us and our children" (Matthew 27:25). Although this detail only appears in the gospel of Matthew, it is reminiscent of the last supper and the disciples drinking of the blood of Jesus. Much as the sacrament of communion harkens back to the last supper, it also in a real way puts the blood of Jesus upon all his followers, perhaps as a reminder of guilt and complicity. 

In abstracting the crucifixion, in representing it by a symbol now commonly worn as accessories and devoid of the blood that accompanied it, I wonder how many Christians would at first glance associate the cross with love and salvation, or the blood the first Christians assumed responsibility for?

- clmr

The Otherworldly Dollhouse

 Dolls nowadays are typically found in one of two places: the arms of young children and the climaxes of horror films. They are correspondingly either infantile or horrific, and we have trouble interpreting them otherwise, no matter the context. In both of these settings, the operative concept is something inanimate that, in being formed after the model of a human being, somehow gains or is imputed animacy. For the child the animacy is a source of delight. In the horror film, the animacy is the opposite, embodying uncontrollable and sub-human life.

But perhaps this was not always the case. In the Italian Alps in the 16th century, a man named Guadenzio Ferrari created what I take to be hundreds of human-sized dolls, formed from terra cotta and bedecked with real human hair. They can of course be called statues, but I see them as dolls because they are arranged in relation to one another as a child arranges dolls - they are acting out scenes, not merely displaying the form of the human body. Specifically, they act out scenes from the life of Christ as told in scripture. These figures and the chapels that hold them are called the Sacri Monti de Varallo. In the three centuries after Ferrari, there have been many imitations of these original Sacri Monti made across Italy and the rest of Western Europe. 

This sort of immersive experience of another world would have been one-of-a-kind at the time of their creation, 500 years before the advent of the digital technology and ‘virtual reality’. The intention behind the chapels was to allow those who could not travel to the Holy Land to simulate it in their home country of Italy. The more fundamental intention, however, was to facilitate devotion; the dolls were used as devotional objects, not merely inviting but demanding those who entered the chapels to experience something of what it was like to be in proximity to Christ. Devotion is itself the enactment of a desire to be close to see God, as we have discussed so often in class, and images are often used as devotional objects because of the way they simulate this proximity and this visibility. These immersive doll-scapes take that use to the next level, placing the body of the devotee in relation to what appear to be other bodies, acting out the stories of scripture.

Looking through the gallery of the Sacri Monti, I linger over each image, wondering whether I can figure out a way to visit this mountaintop town in Italy and see them myself—crawl into the stable next to Mary and Joseph, crouch beneath the balcony as Pontius pilate shows us the mocked Christ. On one hand these dolls are straightforwardly creepy. But I also feel strangely compelled by them - I want to go and see them, to stand among them. This instinct to be there, to get as close as possible to being there — I think is the instinct of worship, and simultaneously the instinct of doubt. It is the desire to be a part of the story and at the same time a shadow of the sentiment of Thomas: “Except I shall…put my hand into his sides I shall not believe…” (John 20:25). I’ve seen thousands of images of biblical scenes, many of them arresting and moving. But this would be something more. Words give us stories, images place us within them, films usher us through them, but this art form, this immersive sculpture takes us further yet, giving limb, if not life, to the figures about whom we have been told. Giving them three dimensional facial expressions, insisting upon the fact that stories come from bodies, allowing us to walk among the bodies with our own bodies. It is something between a zoo, a theater, and a church. 

    Seeking to see God, what happens to the devotee who enters a Sacri Monti chapel? Did the 16th century pilgrim have an experience inaccessible to a modern one? Would I be able to get past the delight/horror dichotomy and enter into devotion in these chapels? I do not know, as I have traveled neither to Varallo nor to the 16th century. But I will nonetheless hazard that perhaps some combination of horror and delight is precisely what the dolls are meant to evoke—that horror and delight are not at all inimical to devotion but instead necessary ingredients in the search for the face of God. Some of the chapels are truly scenes of horror - perhaps especially that portraying the slaughter of the innocents, in which terra cotta babies are disemboweled and crushed in the hands of soldiers with disfigured faces while their mothers scream in desperation.To be brought to devotion at such a scene is to be brought to the depths of horror. 

    Likewise, the portrayals of the trial and death of Christ leave little gore to the imagination, placing us next to a bloodied body and a haggard face that asks why it is that we flinch at wounds we ourselves inflicted. Asking us why it is that we are loathe to see ourselves in the faces of the guards, reminding us that we more often sit with the recalcitrant Peter warming our hands than walk bloodied alongside Christ. 

    Flipping digitally through images of the chapels, I eventually got to the the crucifixion. The  experience was suddenly different—for a moment it was like finding  a reproduction of one’s own kitchen in an Ikea showroom. The scene was so deeply familiar that I felt sort of numb to its strangeness, even in this brash three-dimensional form. There on the center cross hangs the same Jesus. Below sways a pale Mary and a crowd of soldiers. The spare imagery of the gospels is filled in with the prophesies of the Old Testament. It’s familiar, this scene which is reproduced not just at every altar but on pendants hanging on the necks of millions. Studying the scene, what struck me anew was the bodies of the terra-cotta thieves to the right and left of Jesus. Rather than hanging in an orderly fashion they are contorting themselves, seemingly trying to struggle free of their ropes or lessen the pain of their vertical suffocation. Where the scene had been obscured beneath its own symbolism, the three dimensional form’s demand that the realities of the body be shown brought a new pain home to the place in my mind that had grown numb to contemplation of the pain of Christ. The horror carried by these otherworldly dolls infected me as a verbal description or painting could not. These clay-formed bearers of the imago Dei to the right and left of the dying clay God allowed me without seeing to see God. 

-Alice

Images taken for educational use from 

https://www.sacrimonti.org/en/sacro-monte-di-varallo/punto-di-interesse/-/d/cappella-38-la-crocifissione

Why So Quiet? Selective Silence in the Scriptures and York Plays

 While reading the York Plays, I noticed that five of the eight summaries of the plays we read for Thursday's class reference Jesus' silence. The summary of "Christ Before Pilate (2): The Judgement" says that "as in the preceding trial scenes, Christ is largely silent, and the dramatic life of the play is generated by the cut and thrust of the disputes amongst His adversaries," (York Mystery Plays 192). This emphasis by the plays on Jesus' silence interested me because it is something I did not notice much in the scripture readings.

In class we compared the Passion as presented in the scriptures to our present-day idea of it. From class, I got the idea that the main way in which our present-day view of the Passion differs from that of the scriptures is that we focus much more on the suffering of Christ than the scriptures do. They, on the other hand, are concerned with emphasizing that Jesus was the enthroned Lord as predicted by the Jewish texts. Thinking  about this scriptural focus on the fulfillment of the Old Testament prophecy, I wondered why the York Plays portray Christ's silence so explicitely?

Silence can go unnoticed in narrative. When reading we usually focus on the sound we are told is there. Dialogue implies the sound of voice; sensory imagery tells us explicitely that sound exists within the world of the text. An absence of sound is not as notable. So, although Jesus may have stayed silent in the scriptures, the question is whether the scriptures choose to draw our attention to this silence. 

https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/437230

The synoptic gospels all mention how, at certain points, Jesus "answered nothing" when questioned by Pilate, Herod, and the high priests (Mt 27:12; Mk 14:61; Lk 23:9). This differs from John, where Jesus answers every question asked of Him. In Matthew, the question that triggers Jesus' silence is "art thou the king of the Jews" (Mt 27:11). When asked the same question in John, Jesus answers "sayest thou this thing of thyself, or have others told it thee of me" (Jn 18:34). There is no point, during John, when Jesus refuses to answer a question. While He does not answer certain questions in the synoptic gospels, His refusals are not consistent. Although the phrase "answered nothing" occurs in all three, it comes up in a different context in each one. In Mark "the high priest...asked Jesus, saying: answerest thou nothing to the things that are laid to thy charge by these men? But he held His peace and answered nothing" and in Luke Herod "questioned him in many words. But he answered him nothing" (Mk 14:60-1; Lk 23:9). There is a moment in Matthew similar to that in Mark, in which Jesus is accused by the priests and "answered nothing" but this differs from Mark in that a direct question is not posed to Christ - there are simply accusations thrown while Jesus stands silent (Mt 27:12). In fact, across the depictions of the Passion in the three synoptic gospel readings we did there are only five places where Jesus' silence is explicitely mentioned. Therefore, these mentions are inconsistent across the synoptic gospels and nonexistent in the Passion as portrayed in John. 

But what about places where we might expect Jesus to speak or cry out and He does not? There are specific places in John and the synoptic gospels where one might expect Jesus to speak or make a sound and the text makes no mention of that happening. One recurring moment is when the crown of thorns is placed on Jesus' head and the soldiers abuse Him. "The soldiers platting a crown of thorns, put it upon his head...and they came to him...and they gave him blows" (Jn 19:2-3). A similar episode occurs in Matthew and Mark but not in Luke. In Matthew, there is a moment when Jesus is mocked while simultaneously enduring physical abuse: "they spit in his face and buffeted him: and others struck his face with the palms of their hands, saying: Prophesy unto us, O Christ, who is he that struck thee" (Mt 26:67-8). Jesus does not respond to this abuse, though we might expect Him to given that crying out is a common response to pain and it is also common to verbally rebuke insults. He does not respond, but the text does not explicitely mention His silence. The inconsistency continues when we consider moments like Mark 15:37, in which Jesus cries out while on the cross. Just like His silence in the face of questioning, His silence in the face of suffering and abuse is also inconsistent in the scriptures. 

https://www.theguardian.com/stage/2012/aug/07/york-mystery-plays-god-friend-devil

Why, then, is His silence emphasized in the York Plays? One could cite it as dramatic effect, but I find this unsatisfying considering that The Dream of the Rood, a poem (not a play), also features a silent Christ. Jesus' silence in The Dream of the Rood may serve to amplify the voice of the cross and redirect the reader's focus, but why amplify the voice of the cross rather than that of Chrst? It seems an odd choice to me. Creative, but odd. Yet it fits into the pattern we see in the York Plays. A quiet Jesus is contrasted with the environment around Him - in which everything, even the cross, speaks. The dialogue of the soldiers in "Christ Before Pilate (2): The Judgement" is particularly annoying. Four soldiers trade off insulting Christ, and if this exchange is irritating to read we can only imagine how obnoxious it would be when acted out on stage (York Mystery Plays 205-8). The cross in Dream of the Rood can also be interpreted as irritating - it bemoans its existence: "many years ago - I still remember the day - I was cut down at the edge of the forest...men drove their dark nails into me...I endured much hostile fortune on that hill" (Dream of the Rood lines 31-32, 50, 55). Reading the plays and this poem leads me to wonder why everyone has a say in the story except Christ, who appears more as an easily manipulated rag doll than as the savior. Especially frustrating is the fact that, as we have seen, that is not who He is in the scriptures. As noted, He is silent in some cases but not all. For the most part He speaks, making the moments of silence more impactful. His excessive silence in the York Plays, while perhaps intended to make His accusers look ridiculous or create a comedic effect, is a reduction of the rhetorical effect that His silence has in the scriptures. 

The York Plays do, however, make apparent the fact that our modern emphasis on Christ's suffering during the Passion had already begun to develop. The York Plays enlarge the parts of the narrative in which Christ is abused. The cross in The Dream of the Rood narrates that "I saw the Lord of hosts stretch out his arms in terrible suffering (lines 56-7). John of Caulibus also focused on Christ's suffering. Departing from the intention of the scriptures (proving that Jesus is Christ) is no modern innovation, then. I do not have a complete answer for why we focus on the suffering of Chrst when thinking about the Passion, but I can speculate. We are human beings, prone to empathy, but I think it is more than that. As we have said countless times in class, medieval Christians wanted to see God. Placing an emphasis on Christ's suffering can be another way of getting close to Him. We cannot imagine what it is like to be the Almighty, but we can relate to the trials of Jesus - in our daily lives we endure ridicule and pain at the hands of other people just for speaking what we think is the truth. So, while the gospels are trying to prove to us that Jesus is the Lord, we are inclined, as human beings, to focus on the very human suffering He endured in an attempt to be closer to Him.

-Aethelthryth

Baptism: The Ultimate Entrance

During the last class*, the sacrament of Baptism came up in our discussion.  Professor Fulton Brown brought up the case of the Christianization of the Saxons during the reign of Charlemagne.  Many Saxons had been forcefully baptized; religious figures like Alcuin of York lamented this decision, arguing that the Saxons should have been persuaded to voluntarily join the church instead (From Judgement to Passion 19).  We were then asked how many of us had been baptized; nearly all of us (including myself) raised our hands.  Those of us who hadn’t been baptized were asked how they would feel if they were.  Why would it matter so much?  Why would it be important to do it the "right” way, and why might doing it the “wrong” way inspire so much resistance on the part of non-believers?

    In the physical sense, Baptism can be described as simply being sprinkled with or immersed in water.  It can also be seen as a ritual that reenacts the Baptism of Jesus as described in the Gospels.  Christians tend to view it as a purifying ritual, although there are denominational disputes concerning what exactly is cleansed and to what extent cleansing occurs.  However, as Professor Fulton Brown was explaining, this isn’t the whole story, at least not to most Christians.  The significance of this ritual, as with the Eucharist, goes even deeper.  For one thing, Baptism can represent the convert’s (or the infant’s) formal entrance into a new community for them - the church.  

    I was actually baptized twice, once as an infant and once as a 10-year-old.  The first time, I was brought into an Episcopalian church because my mother intermittently attended services there.  The second time, I was baptized as a convert - I had been attending services at an Eastern Orthodox Church in my hometown and felt that the faith called to me.  I don’t remember my first baptism, but I remember feeling strongly that I was joining a community on my second occasion.    I was already building up relationships with many of the worshipers, including the Priest; likewise, I had been learning about aspects of the faith.  However, there was still a barrier between us in that I could not partake in Communion because I had not been baptized as an Orthodox Christian.  This changed with my second baptism, as I was able to take Communion that very day.  It was a powerful moment for me - being able to participate in this way drove home the fact that I was no longer an outsider, neither formally nor informally.

    Like I did, I imagine that many other converts view this entrance into the congregation of their small-c church as a meaningful thing.  Still, focusing on this aspect of conversion also fails to fully capture why Baptism matters so much.  It leaves open the question of why the unbaptized are not allowed to participate in sacraments like the Eucharist.  In pondering this question, thinking about Baptism as one’s entrance into the big-c Church as well has been helpful for me.  That is to say that Baptism signifies the establishment of a new connection or relationship with Christ himself.

    Guido of Monte Rochen makes this argument in his discussion on the Eucharist, asserting that Baptism represents a spiritual (re)birth just as the Eucharist represents spiritual food (Handbook for Curates 43).  If the Eucharist can be seen as an activity that reinforces and nourishes a Communion between God and his believers, Baptism can be seen as the entrance into said Communion.  Moreover, Guido helps explain why entering Communion in this way is necessary.  In his section on who should receive the Eucharist, Guido excludes nonbelievers, children, and the mentally ill (unless they are lucid and express a desire to receive it).  In his view, they would not benefit from doing so; it would be a futile exercise for nonbelievers, while children and the mentally ill would not be able to appreciate the spiritual and sacramental significance of this meal (Handbook for Curates 78 and 81).   We can extend this to the process of Baptism; those who have not been baptized might not benefit from the Eucharist in the same way that a baptized and confirmed member of the Church would because the sacramental and spiritual groundwork for this Communion with God would not be present for them.

    This isn’t to say that I view Guido’s words on this subject as gospel (he elsewhere claims that those who get baptized twice should legally be executed, and I’m not the biggest fan of that proposition) (Handbook for Curates 42), but I do think his work cuts to the heart of the matter.  For one to pursue the relationship with God that the Eucharist is meant to maintain, they must make the necessary preparations and understand what this relationship entails.  Afterwards, they must decide that they want to pursue it in their heart.  The same is true with Baptism, and this is why consent (infant baptism notwithstanding) matters so much in the process of converting to Christianity.  

    Charlemagne’s armies were able to overwhelm the Saxons and forcefully baptize many of them.  In the absence of persuasion, however, this “conversion” was inauthentic, and therefore useless (from the theologians’ perspectives at least) for these people.  For these “converts” themselves, forced Baptism would have only been an exit - a forced abandonment of their old faith and a potential cause for ostracism on the parts of their fellow Saxons.  On the other hand, if the Saxons were persuaded to see Christ as a savior and willingly joined the church on that basis, it would have made Baptism a much more positive experience for them.  For those like Alcuin or Guido, then, the missionary’s goal is to encourage the people to view Baptism not as an exit, but instead as the ultimate entrance. 

-WJC

*Apologies for the tardiness.  This post was meant for our class on the Last Supper.

Eating is Believing: The Beauty of the Eucharist and the Difficulties of its Acceptance

Even on the satanic hellscape known as amazon.com, one can find God—and a great deal. Communion wafers go for $0.02 cents a count. Is the Lord and Savior Jesus Christ included in prime shipping? This cynical attitude is one that is pervasive in our day and age, and one that I myself held for a very long time. How could this piece of bread and the accompanying wine be the body and blood of both a man and a God? It doesn’t look like a body or taste like one (I assume). It is strange to believe that a cracker and wine is God, it is even stranger to believe that He wants us to eat him.

Yet (despite what Calvin and Zwingli may have said), its exceedingly evident that Christ himself establishes the Eucharist in both Matthew 26-28 and Mark 22-24. If we take all of Christ’s other words so seriously, why can we not accept these? Why must the Eucharist be purely a symbol when the crucifixion is more than the cross, when holy water is more than hydrogen oxide? Furthermore, if we can accept God’s extraordinary and mysterious creations in our universe, what makes the Eucharist any different than other acts of God that are difficult to explain through modern reasoning?

In class, we made the important distinction of considering why it is hard for us in modernity to accept the Eucharist, compared to why it would have been difficult for people in the past.

In Jesus’ time, indeed in almost every time and place up the present day, magic was to be expected. Pagan gods were capable of it, mysterious acts of magic that transformed the world  were accepted by early peoples. Yet as we discussed, the Eucharist is more than an ordinary magic trick, for both the ancients and the moderns. For example, the Saxons were hesitant to accept the Eucharist—it had no magical carvings or evident material power, only the word of the Priest that it was indeed holy. It had no appearance of flesh and blood, like the human sacrifices they made (and perhaps ate). The Eucharist, therefore, relied on a deep faith in the power of Jesus’ words: that because He said them, they are true, even if we cannot see how they work.

This necessity of faith is true in the modern world as well. It is easy enough to believe that Jesus turned water into wine. We were not there, there is no way we could ever witness it, we do not have to take part in it. On the other hand, the Eucharist requires us to accept a mystery: to concede that the cracker and wine are indeed the flesh and blood of Christ, even though they do not appear that way to us. Furthermore, the Eucharist is more than a story we can hear and read: we are actors in the continuing story, following Christ’s words as we continue the tradition of the disciples. The unwillingness to have faith in that which we cannot see or rationalize is evidently reflective of our larger milieu today. If we cannot even appreciate the divine beauty of God’s creation in each other and in the nature that surrounds us, if we are blind to signs and symbols because they do not fit our narrative, then of course we are unwilling to have faith in a practice like the Eucharist, which requires us to engage with a holiness and spirituality outside that of our day-to-day lives.

Yet whichever vein of misunderstanding we are in (a belief in different magic, or a belief in no mystery at all) we still must come to find the truth. Hugh of St. Victor can help us here. Personally, reading and re-reading his writings on the sacraments clarified in my mind that there is no doubt the Eucharist can exist in a world where God sends his only son to die for our sins. Hugh of St. Victor writes that “we eat the flesh of the lamb when by taking His true body in the sacrament we are incorporated with Christ through faith and love. Elsewhere what is eaten is incorporated. Now when the body of Christ is eaten, not what is eaten but he who eats is incorporated with Him whom he eats. On this account Christ wished to be eaten by us, that He might incorporate us with Him.” (307)

For me, this is the power of Christ’s love. We are already blessed to be a part of God’s creation, but we are all the more so when Christ allows us to incorporate Him with ourselves, to figuratively and literally bring Him into our bodies so that we might be better and holier.

Just as we discussed when reading the Song of Songs, the most spiritually difficult and mysterious parts of the Christian faith are those with the greatest reward. It requires us to go above and beyond our normal world to see or to taste God, but the result is all the greater because of that faith. Yet the Eucharist is particularly extraordinary because it is not just for those who can devote copious time to prayer. We can all take part in the love of Christ, so long as we are willing to listen to His word.

SHM

What is in a Prayer Anyway?

What does it mean to pray? How are believers even supposed to commune with the divine?

The Christian faithful are luckily not resigned to speculation about these topics. For prayer to be effective, four thing are required according to Fr. Guido de Monte Rochen. First, prayer must be made with "firmness of faith." Christ remarks "Whatever you ask for in prayer with faith, you will receive” (Matthew 21:22) and "So I tell you, whatever you ask for in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours" (Mark 11:24).We must genuinely believe in God, in our prayer, and His ability to hear it. The second criteria is "goodness of content". If the prayer is a petitionary prayer for example, it cannot be asking for something stupid (e.g. "I pray that a million dollars fall into my backyard", "I pray that my rival drops dead."); it has to be something useful. The third criteria is that the prayer is done with "devotion of soul."  It requires the fire of charity, which Aquinas defines as friendship with God (ST, II-II, q.23, a.1). Finally, prayer must be done in the name of God. You can't pray to Zeus or Muhammad to do something for you. You can only ask God. As Christ says, "If you ask anything of the Father in my name, he will give it to you" (John 16:23).

Thus, we have now acquired a framework for how to make prayer effective. Now, what about the words we should say? In the sixth chapter of Gospel of Matthew, Jesus shares both this and how to pray: 

“And whenever you pray, do not be like the hypocrites; for they love to stand and pray in the synagogues and at the street corners, so that they may be seen by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But whenever you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you. 

"When you are praying, do not heap up empty phrases as the Gentiles do; for they think that they will be heard because of their many words. Do not be like them, for your Father knows what you need before you ask him.

“Pray then in this way:  

 

Our Father in heaven, 

hallowed be your name.
Your kingdom come.
Your will be done,
on earth as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread.
And forgive us our debts,
as we also have forgiven our debtors.
And do not bring us to the time of trial,
but rescue us from the evil one.

For if you forgive others their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you; but if you do not forgive others, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses.

Jesus remarks that prayer should be done intentionally with love for God. Prayer, furthermore, should not be vain repetitions of empty words. However, does this mean Catholic and Eastern Orthodox Christians are erring whenever they recite the rosary or some other formulaic prayers?

New Independent Fundamentalist Baptist Pastor Steven Anderson on the Jesus Prayer and Sign of the Cross

Pastor Steven Anderson (video above) clearly does not see the benefit of formulaic prayers like the Jesus Prayer, seen as early as St. John Chrysostom in 407 AD. These prayers are too monotonous and simply empty phrases. However, Christ gave us a formulaic prayer in the Gospel of Matthew! How do we reconcile this? Christ remarks that prayer should not not be empty phrases, while simultaneously giving us exact phrases to say. The significance of the Lord's Prayer cannot be understated. While short, it covers everything necessary for both temporal life and eternal life (Handbook for Curates, 280). Fr. Guido goes phrase-by-phrase of the entire Lord's Prayer, breaking down just how significant it is. Each phrase carries a multitude of profound meanings. To be charitable to Pastor Anderson, I wonder how many of my Eastern Orthodox and Catholic brothers and sisters truly reflect over the profoundness of the words that they are saying when they pray the Our Father at Mass or with a rosary. "Our Father"—just the first two words—carry so much depth as Fr. Guido points out. Fr. Guido notes five meanings behind calling God Father: 1) by reason of care, 2) by reason of birth, 3) by reason of age, 4) by reason of honor, and 5) by reason of creation (Handbook for Curates, 280). First, God is our Father because he cares for us and everyone, as the Apostle Paul notes (1 Peter 5:7). Second, God brought about our birth into this world, which is echoed by the Apostle when he writes, "In fulfillment of his own purpose he gave us birth by the word of truth, so that we would become a kind of first fruits of his creatures" (James 1:18). Third, God has been around since the dawn of time itself. Fourth, God should be called Father because God deserves a unique type of reverence above the level of humans. Fifth, God is the creator of the world and each one of us. When we say "Our Father" in prayer, how often do we reflect over how significant that is? God is our Father! Do we even reflect over one of these meanings every time we pray? The analysis in this post only highlights the profoundness of the word "Father"; it does not even begin to tackle the meaning of the other phrases in this prayer. For example, this post does not even recount how significant it is to call God our Father. Not my Father, the Father, a Father, Christ's Father, he is our Father.

To be fair to my Catholic and Orthodox brothers and sisters, I think Pastor Anderson is entirely wrong in his mockery of formulaic prayers. Christ quite literally gave us the Lord's Prayer. However, it would be extremely beneficial for Christians that pray the Our Father to go a little bit slower next time. Say each line, each phrase, each word, intentionally. Don't just speed through the prayer with empty phrases. Fill the phrases with the fire of charity. Reflect over just how amazing this Prayer is. 

- Alejandro Ignacio

* For a deep line-by-line analysis on the profound meaning of the Lord's Prayer, read Guido of Monte Rochen's Handbook for Curates pages 280-293.

How to Read the Song of Songs

    If the Song of Songs can be a riddle to read, it is all the more so for preaching. On the one hand, it can be easy to teach, for its great beauty makes all students attracted to it. But, on the other hand, it can be most difficult to teach, for its great beauty can also lead to worldly distraction. It seems to me that Medieval Christians undertook to face this riddle -- and I wonder if we have something to learn from this. 

    The towering St. Bernard of Clairvaux certainly faced it. As one can see from his first sermon on the Song of Songs, Bernard was able to protect the Song of Songs’ beauty and refinement by clearly placing it in the whole of Solomonic literature. If one understands this part of Scripture in its unity, Bernard implies, the Song of Songs is no longer troubling. If one is prepared by Ecclesiastes, which turns one away from concupiscence, and the Proverbs, which turns one toward good conduct, there is no danger that a premature reading of the Song of Songs leads one astray. Most strikingly, Bernard also shows that the Song of Songs is not without the solid support of the other two “loaves” of Solomon is not an accident, but a design of the “artistry of the Spirit” that matches the order of personal experience with the order of wisdom. Every novice has the experience of bad and good conduct ready at hand, and knows the thanksgiving and joy that attends the conversion from bad to good, so that the two introductory “loaves” of Solomon are readily understandable. But the Song of Songs, on the other hand, is perplexing so that no one without the necessary preparation could understand it. This means that only the most hard-headed prejudice and presumption would claim to have understood the Song of Songs without a spiritual elevation. In other words, the Song of Songs will reveal itself only to those who have first seen Scripture as a whole and have meditated at length on it, and because of this, it cannot lead astray. 

    Of course, this way of Bernard’s of facing the riddle of the Song of Songs was done in the rarefied setting of monastic life. One might think, therefore, that his solution could not be widely available. But, against this thought, it seems to me that Guido of Monte Rochon’s Handbook for Curates bespeaks a similar, if modified, solution meant for the general believer. 

    In Guido of Monte Rochon’s Handbook for Curates the Song of Songs is alluded to only once. Only at the very end of the Handbook for Curates, in fact in its very last section before the author takes his leave, and only after laying out the sacraments, the author finally discusses the “gifts of the blessed,” or what is promised to those who maintain the commandments discussed before. It is in this context that Guido finally deems it worthy to bring in the Song of Songs. Like Bernard, Guido stresses the union with God described in the Song of Songs, as in the line “I held him and would not let him go,” and that this union is the last and most perfect gift of the blessed. What this seems to me to imply is that Guido, in the context of regular parishes, again like Bernard, recognizes that progress in faith is not only necessary, but led to by faith itself in order to appreciate the height and sublimity of the Song of Songs, which cannot but originally be an object of the greatest perplexity until and spiritual conversion and practice is maintained. 

    What these and many other readings in this course have led me to believe is that Medieval Christianity, expansive in every sense, presented believers with an integrity and comprehensiveness of vision in comparison with which our splintered civilization pales. We tend to specialize and get hung up where they saw whole vistas. That the Medieval Christians had a solution for the difficulties of the Song of Songs that worked by seeing it as a culmination of a whole preparation seems to me one of several important confirmations of this phenomenon. 

    If we read the Song of Songs without prejudice today, perhaps we can take in this lesson. I would suggest that our perplexity before the Song of Songs is not really different from the perplexity that Bernard of Clairvaux and Guido of Monte Rochon already had an answer for: one fails to see that the beauty of the Song of Songs lies in its being both a seeking an end of what is sought. It does not just rest at the end, but puts love, which is the active love of God, at the end. It imitates this, as Bernard notes, by using novel, striking, and intimate language that spurs us to appreciate the veil of its figurations.  In this way it prefigures Jesus as both “the way” and “the truth and the life.” One cannot, therefore, separate the Song of Songs from its place in the comprehensive whole of faith, for this would be to treat it as an end before the way, as if it did not itself, even from the darkness of night, call for an ever-renewed seeking and seeing! 

By night on my bed I sought him whom my soul loveth 

- LB

Improbability and Belief in the Nativity

    The events of the Nativity - indeed, many of the events described in the Bible - seem distinctly improbable, if not impossible.  An angel announcing the future birth of Jesus, a virgin conception, a holy man foretelling the baby’s fate; to many secular observers, these stories seem far-fetched.  It seems apparent to me, based on some past experiences and scriptural readings, that the improbability of these stories has long been acknowledged by Christians and believers in God as well.  However, this improbability or doubtfulness is not presented as a reason to reject belief in God, but rather as a reason to embrace it; indeed, the improbable is often transformed into the miraculous.  This tension fascinates me, and it is visible in many Christian texts pertaining to the subject.  

    One might consider the story of the birth of John the Baptist, which was roughly concurrent with the Nativity of Jesus.  Luke describes how Gabriel appeared to Zachary with the news that God was blessing him and his wife Elizabeth with a son.  Zachary had long prayed for a child, but he responded with disbelief; he believed that he and his wife were too old to conceive at this point.  However understandable Zachary’s doubt might have seemed, Gabriel chastised him for it, revoking his ability to speak during Elizabeth’s pregnancy (Luke 1:11 - 20). 

     Though Zachary was punished for his disbelief, his last words in the narrative would not be words of doubt.  After Elizabeth gave birth, she named the baby John, as God had decreed; however, their neighbors and kinsfolk believed that the couple should name him Zachary instead.  However, Zachary himself wrote that the boy would be named John.  At this point, God restored Zachary’s ability to speak; Zachary in turn praised God and gave a prophecy about John’s future role as the forerunner of Jesus (Luke 1:57 - 80).  Zachary regained his voice because he had regained his faith.  Though the circumstances of John's birth were unusual, Zachary had witnessed everything that Gabriel had described come to pass; as such, he had repented of his earlier doubts.  The implausible conception and birth of John the Baptist had become a sign of God’s power.

    Another example is visible within Advent Lyric II of the Exeter Book, which perfectly encapsulates the perception of the Nativity as both highly improbable and highly praiseworthy.   The author of the text deliberately describes the virgin conception and birth of Jesus as “an unknown happening in our history” (“The Exeter Book” 306), underscoring how unlikely and unusual it must have seemed to Medieval Christians.  However, this improbability does not cause the author to doubt the Nativity; on the contrary, the Nativity’s unlikeliness makes the event that much more glorious.  Mary was able to take on this exceedingly unique role because she herself possessed a worth “unmatched in the world”.  Likewise, the Nativity revealed the true “might and mystery of the Lord”, as only he was capable of making it come to pass (“The Exeter Book” 306).  The birth of Christ may have been unlikely, but this unlikeliness made it truly special.

    In addition to the stories of the Nativity, improbability is transformed into a reason to believe in other places in the Bible as well.  The story of Elijah’s duel with the prophets of Baal in front of a crowd of spectators comes to mind.  Both sides agreed to pray to their respective gods to light the bulls on their sacrificial altars on fire.  After the prophets of Baal failed, Elijah upped the ante.  He constructed his altar out of wood and stones and then poured enough water onto the altar to thoroughly drench it.  Elijah then prayed to God to give the people a sign, and God delivered: he sent down fire and completely disintegrated the meat, the altar (stones and all), and the water on the ground.  The spectators immediately fell and worshipped God, having been reminded of his abilities and powers (1 Kings 18:20-39).  If one had told them what they were going to see beforehand, they might not have believed it; nonetheless, they had just witnessed it.  Indeed, the highly unusual nature of the display would have driven home to the people exactly why they worshipped the God of Israel.  

    Within all of these texts, the doubtfulness of the events described is either explicitly (Luke and Advent Lyric II) or implicitly (1 Kings) acknowledged.  However, the fact that they come to pass makes them glorious; the unlikeliness of these happenings stops being a reason to doubt and becomes a reason to believe more fervently instead.  I have also personally experienced this phenomenon in which doubtfulness leads to belief.  

    Though I am not anymore, I used to be a pretty fervent Christian back in the day.  The phenomenon of incorruptibility, in which the bodies or body parts of certain saints do not completely decompose after their deaths, was one of the most alluring aspects of the faith for me.  I first learned about incorruptible saints over a decade ago when I visited the Holy Virgin Cathedral in San Francisco.  I saw the body of St. John Maximovitch, a Russian Orthodox bishop who was canonized after his death in 1966.  Surprisingly, his corpse seemed to be mostly intact. Though his hands were blackened and shriveled, they were not skeletal.  Much of the rest of his body, including his face, was covered by priestly vestments; still, it did not seem to be heavily damaged.  I knew that John had not been embalmed at all, and yet he had been found in this relatively well-preserved state a few decades after his death.  The whole spectacle was awe-inspiring to me, and I wondered how this was possible.

    I know now that there are many reasons why a body might appear to be incorrupt that do not seem to indicate divine intervention.  Corpses can take longer than usual to decompose when left in the correct microclimatic conditions, which are found in certain sealed tombs; conversely, if those conditions are disturbed, the bodies might decay as normal.  Moreover, bodies that have been found in an incorrupt state are often subsequently given treatments by the church to further preserve them; for example, St. Paula Frassinetti’s body was treated with carbolic acid.  For these reasons, the Catholic Church no longer recognizes incorruptibility as a miracle for the purposes of canonization (“Photographing the Incorrupt Bodies of Real Saints”).  

    Still, even with this knowledge, incorruptibility inspires awe (at least for me).  The lack of complete decay seems to contravene much of what we know happens to the body after death.  These bodies were not mummified (at least before their discovery), and yet they remained preserved for decades or even centuries before they were found.  Incorruptibility is a seemingly unlikely state of being, and yet we have documentation of many bodies being found in this state.  Moreover, there is the fact that these bodies in particular belonged to people who were deemed to have lived holy lives.  Though there are natural explanations for incorruptibility, it can still seem miraculous because of this confluence of coincidences.  I can see how a believer would interpret this phenomenon as God intervening to preserve the bodies of his saints, in part because I once saw it this way.  As with the Nativity, then, the seeming improbability of incorruptibility need not weaken faith; on the contrary, it could very well amplify it. 

-WJC

Outside sources:

1. Harper, Elizabeth. “Photographing the Real Bodies of Incorrupt Saints.” Slate, 14 August 2015, https://slate.com/human-interest/2015/08/photographing-the-real-bodies-of-incorrupt-saints.html.