NOTES for Luk 24:36-53

For many people today, the question of resurrection recedes into the background, giving way to thoughts about postmortem existence, the immortality of the soul, rewards and punishments after death, heaven and hell. Meanwhile, the Bible says very little about all this, if it says anything at all. Evidently the biblical authors were concerned not with what often concerns us today, but with something completely different: what they called resurrection from the dead.

At first glance it can appear that the difference is not essential: in the end, the subject is still life after death, and the details are not so important. In reality, the difference between the immortality of the soul and resurrection is very great. What is the immortality of the soul in general? What kind of life, what kind of postmortem existence, could be meant in that case?

From the biblical point of view, the postmortem existence awaiting a person is rather bleak: it is not full life, but its pitiful likeness, which can hardly satisfy anyone. There is no question of a person's complete disappearance after death, but what awaits him after death can be called life only with great reservation. All that remains of a person is a shadow; he loses feelings and thoughts, almost loses the memory of his own life and of the world of the living: a shadow in which only a remnant of consciousness barely flickers. It is no accident that when the apostles saw the risen Jesus, they thought they had before them the shadow of their Teacher coming out of the tomb: none of them expected any other postmortem existence, and a meeting with a shadow, even the shadow of a loved one, could bring the living nothing good. The Bible tells us nothing about a blessed postmortem existence or about postmortem recompense like that mentioned in Egyptian or Greek myths.

But it does speak about resurrection, and the image of the risen Jesus shows us quite clearly the difference between postmortem existence and resurrection. Resurrection is not the preservation of pitiful remnants of life after the death of the body, but a return to life in all its fullness, requiring the transformation of human nature itself. Such is the transfigured humanity of the risen Jesus: on the one hand, He can pass through a locked door, which is no longer an obstacle for Him; on the other, He is able to eat the same ordinary earthly food that any of us eats. He is not a shadow; He deliberately lets the disciples touch Him so that they can be convinced of this. He is a man of flesh and blood, although this flesh and this blood live according to different laws from those by which we live.

And He gives the apostles the chance to understand that He has not simply returned to life, but has conquered, has overcome death, which no longer has power over Him. In the same way, it has no power over the life of the Kingdom that He brought into the world and offers to each of us.

The Gospel of Luke ends with a brief description, or rather a brief mention, of the Ascension. The evangelist's logic is understandable: he wanted to describe in full the entire forty-day period of the risen Jesus' stay with His disciples, right up to the completion of that period.

But this is, so to speak, a purely factual, event-based logic. There is another logic in the Gospel as well, one connected with the spiritual meaning of the events taking place. It is no accident that, speaking about meetings with the Risen One, the evangelist describes in such detail what happened on the road to Emmaus, when the apostles, walking along the road and talking with the Teacher, did not recognize Him, and later, during the breaking of bread, having recognized Jesus, immediately lost sight of Him. On the day of the Ascension He also disappears from the sight of His disciples. Clearly, with the Ascension a new stage begins in the establishment on earth of the Kingdom that the Savior brought into the world.

That this Kingdom includes the whole world, together with its physical nature, had become clear even earlier, when Jesus allowed His disciples to make sure that He was not a ghost, not a shadow that had come out of the tomb, but a real living Man. Of course, His human nature changed after the Resurrection; otherwise appearances like the ones the apostles had to observe on the road to Emmaus would scarcely have been possible. But in a certain sense it still remained nature, though transformed: if it were otherwise, He could hardly have tasted earthly food after the Resurrection. After the Resurrection Jesus does not turn into an angel, into a bodiless spirit that has lost every connection with the natural world. He remains a Man, but His human nature changes in quality.

The same thing must finally happen to the world and to each of us, if we follow the path into the Kingdom to the end. Being transformed, the world loses nothing except the evil whose captive it has become. And we, being transformed, lose nothing except the sin that keeps us from living the fullness of the life of the Kingdom.

But in order for the Kingdom to enter the world, its King must be in His own place. Not at the boundary that separates the Kingdom from the fallen world, where even a person who has not yet come into contact with the Kingdom can see Him, but in the very depth of the Kingdom, at its center, on the throne where Christians with good spiritual sight saw Him. To those who are unable to look into the depth of the Kingdom, it may appear that the King has gone away, disappeared, dissolved into that radiant cloud of God's presence that usually accompanies a theophany. In fact, He has simply gone to the place where the King must be when events decisive for His Kingdom are beginning. And that means the events will begin. Very soon.

Luke's third and final account of the disciples' encounter with the risen Jesus opens before us a reality that is scarcely attainable in our earthly life. Like the women who came with spices to His tomb, we can touch the mystery of the Resurrection through faith; we can meet Him when our heart “burns” as we read Scripture and recognize His living presence in the breaking of bread. But to see Him face to face, feel His touch, and see the marks of His teeth in a honeycomb—all this lies beyond human experience after the Ascension. And yet this is the foundational experience of all Jesus' disciples, of His Church: to know that He has truly risen. This knowledge, this experience, is preserved in Scripture and in the Church's memory, and it fulfills its mission in the world: to bear witness to the Resurrection, not logically or rationally, but on some other level. He is alive, and therefore all subsequent history—described in the Book of Acts and continuing to our own day—has meaning.

The apostles' reaction to the risen Jesus appearing among them is entirely understandable if one allows that at that time they still knew about the Kingdom and its life more by hearsay than from their own experience. It could not have been otherwise: the experience of the life of the Kingdom began to open to them on the day of Pentecost, which still lay ahead of them. For now, they remained completely inhabitants of this world, knowing about death and the afterlife no more than any of their contemporaries knew about them.

People in those days connected the afterlife with the world of shadows, with the realm of the dead, where everyone goes and where there is no question of any recompense. There were, of course, other versions, among the Egyptians, for example, or among the Greeks, who taught both about different states of postmortem existence and about postmortem recompense, but they were not very widespread and usually did not go beyond the cultural and religious tradition within which they had been formed.

Among the Jews there was no developed teaching about the afterlife, and Yahwist ideas about it did not differ from the ideas of most other peoples. So what could the disciples have thought when they saw their living Teacher before them? Their first thought was: this is a ghost, a shadow that has come out of the tomb. The corresponding Greek word here can mean both "breath" and "spirit" in the sense of the Spirit of God, but also "spirit" in the sense of a shadow, ghost, or apparition.

In Sheol, as the realm of the dead is called in Hebrew, there could be nothing but shadows, ghosts, and spirits. Sheol is not simply a place of death; it is a place of unceasing dying that can never come to an end. The biblical understanding of the soul sees in it a stream of life that can be more or less full depending on how much of God, His presence, and His breath there is in a person's life. This stream can be utterly full, as is the life of the Kingdom, or it can barely trickle, almost dried up, as is the existence of shadows in Sheol.

In the Kingdom, life overflows like wine from a cup during Shabbat; in Sheol, a person feverishly tries to hold on to the pitiful remnants of it that he managed to carry with him from the world of the living. In the fallen world before the coming of Christ, Sheol was the only real afterlife. People spoke of the resurrection, waited for it, and believed in it, but no one truly knew what it would be like. And so they take the risen Savior for a shadow that has come out of the tomb, only to be convinced very soon that in reality He is far more alive than anyone who considers himself alive.

Describing the appearances of the risen Jesus to His disciples, Luke wants to show his listeners that the Lord who stood before the apostles on Easter morning is real. He immediately cuts off their thought that what is happening is merely "spiritual." If He is real, if He truly returned from the realm of death alive, with flesh and bones, then everything He had told them through all those years is true; then the Kingdom of God has truly come; then death no longer has power, and hell no longer has victory. That is why the disciples part from Him with joy, knowing that a new life is beginning, life in the reality of the Kingdom, full of His invisible presence. We too become participants in this life, believing in His bodily Resurrection in spirit, knowing that death has been conquered by Jesus and that soon we will see Him as He is.

The image of the risen Jesus, who eats fish and honey before His disciples' eyes, is one of the most remarkable Gospel images. One of the most encouraging. Jesus remains Man even after the resurrection. Precisely Man with a capital letter: not less, but more Man than He was during His earthly ministry. Because after the resurrection it is precisely His human nature that is revealed in all its fullness.

God's fullness is present in Him from the very conception, and it always remains equal to itself: God is God, He does not change. But human nature can change, and in Jesus it changes as in every human being. Yet in a fallen person the boundaries of such changes are limited by the damaged state of his nature, while in Jesus there are no limitations. And He shows us our own human nature in all its fullness.

Such as it will become in us as well when our Christian path is completed and we come into that fullness of life to which God calls us. And Jesus' human nature remains itself. It remains nature, and precisely human nature. After the resurrection Jesus does not turn into a bodiless angel, into a ray of God's light. He remains a human being who can communicate with His disciples fully in human fashion, not imitating something human, but precisely being Man.

His nature remains nature, and therefore nothing natural is alien to it, including fish and honey. Of course, passing through closed doors, for example, is not characteristic of the nature of fallen humanity. But, as is evident, the matter here is not human nature as such, but the fact that in each of us fallen people it is spoiled. When human nature is in good order, closed doors are no obstacle to it.

Not because it ceases to be nature, but because it functions somewhat differently, according to other laws. Yet since nature is one, Jesus' body is not cut off by some difference of nature even from such things as fish and honey: they too are part of the same nature to which the body of the risen Jesus continues to belong. This means that at the end of time, after resurrection and transformation, we too will not cease to be ourselves. Not only in soul, but also in body. And the world will not disappear for us, but will change, becoming the Kingdom where life is full in every respect: both spiritual and natural.

What does a person need in order to read the Bible? Interest? Yes, of course, first of all interest, otherwise there is nothing to talk about: there is no interest, and the person will not pick up the book. But the ability to read is also needed. What, in essence, is a text, any text: literary, artistic, musical?

Meanings embodied in signs. In words, if we are speaking of a literary work. In words that are never unambiguous, unless, of course, the issue is terms, but the Bible is not a theological or philosophical book, and it has no terms. Every literary work is a system of meanings embodied in words. And the reader must reproduce these meanings. Re-create them. Build anew the system created by the author.

Because meanings cannot be read off the way information is read from some medium on which it is recorded. They can only be restored, re-created after the author, by walking his path. Of course, not exactly as they were created or revealed to the author, for copying is impossible here. Any reading of a text becomes its interpretation, whether the reader wants this or not, whether he realizes it or remains unaware, imagining that he "reads what is written."

And so it is always, in every case, with any literary work. But what if there is not one author? What if there are two: a human being who created the text and God who inspired it? One cannot read the text, cannot re-create the meanings, without interest in the author, in the one through whom the meanings were revealed. And if the meanings were revealed not by a human being, if they were revealed to him by another Author and the human being only expressed and embodied them?

Then without interest in the Author with a capital letter, the main thing cannot be understood. To understand the Bible means to understand God. And of course the people through whom He spoke as well. Jesus taught His disciples this understanding. For God is easiest to understand in His own house, in His Kingdom. And the people through whom He spoke are easiest to understand through the Man in whom He was incarnate. Then revelation and life are joined, and the word of God becomes understandable to the end through the "Word made flesh."

In these strikingly concise words of Christ, which are in fact a brief summary of the whole Bible, several points stand out. "Thus it is written, and thus it was necessary": this is what distinguishes Sacred Scripture for us from any other book. It is not a collection of encrypted predictions like Nostradamus. Scripture lets us know the will of God, which must be fulfilled, and we are called to take part in that fulfillment.

"That the Christ should suffer and rise from the dead on the third day." The center of Christianity is not a teaching, not an idea, but real events: the Cross and the Resurrection of the God-man. "That repentance and forgiveness of sins should be preached in His name": from this central event of Christianity flow definite consequences that must be announced to people: sin has been redeemed by Christ, and God irrevocably forgives those who sincerely want to be forgiven by Him.

"To all nations, beginning from Jerusalem": Christianity is truly universal; any person from any nation can find peace with God through Christ. But the historical aspect of the unfolding of revelation cannot be ignored; the Old Testament cannot be discarded as addressed only to the people of Israel. "You are witnesses of these things": this is our part in the fulfillment of God's will. We do not "convert" people, and we do not give them faith. God Himself does that, but He acts through our witness, through our example of life in love, which can draw others in.

Jesus Christ finalizes His terrestrial way. The event signifying the alteration of the entire universe – the union of God with His creation – is ending so "quietly", as it commenced. Very few people witnessed the Incarnation, quite as it isn't also a crowd that attended the Ascension. God chose for His advent a remote suburb of the Roman Empire, oppressed nation, poor and simple people - He made everything so that His love could touch everyone, and not only some "elites". He did not accompany His way with world cataclysms, natural disasters and other "impressive" things – in order that nobody should be forced to come to Him. And at the last moment before the Ascension, Christ rebukes nobody, nor threatens - on the contrary He promises the descent of the Holy Spirit upon the followers and blesses them. God doesn't drag, nor compel anyone - he calls and "attracts". And at the same time, He carries out all that is necessary so that the creation can find eternal life - because in Christ, even our human nature rises to heaven.

Christ is completing His earthly path. The event that means the transformation of the whole universe - the union of God with His creation - ends as quietly as it began. Very few people witnessed the Incarnation, and crowds were not present at the Ascension either.

God chose for His coming a remote edge of the Roman Empire, an oppressed people, poor and unimportant people. He did everything so that His love could touch everyone, not only some "elite." He did not accompany His path with world-shaking cataclysms, natural disasters, or other "impressive" deeds, so that no one would be forced to come to Him.

And in the final moment before the Ascension, Christ does not accuse or threaten. He promises the descent of the Holy Spirit upon the disciples and blesses them. God does not drag or coerce; He calls and draws. At the same time, He does everything necessary for creation to receive eternal life, because in Christ our own human, created nature is also taken up into heaven.

One wants to look at the appearance of Jesus described by Luke through the eyes of a person present nearby. We see a company of people gathered in the evening for fellowship, united by the name of their Teacher. Two of them, who had just come from Emmaus, are eagerly and fervently telling their friends about the Lord whom they met on the road. What a miracle it is to see Him and receive confirmation of the importance and necessity of celebrating the Eucharist, in which the Lord Himself is recognized as present.

And then, absorbed in the story and in attention to it, the people see Christ appear. Everything falls silent, and the words sound: "Peace to you." Their hearts are filled with confusion and fear, with disbelief at what is happening: after all, He did not come in through the door! But Jesus, setting aside everything external, immediately invites them to look deeper, into the depth of their own heart. And to find there a place for His peace.

At first, when the Risen One appeared to the apostles, they did not recognize Him, and not only because He had changed. To recognize Him, one must attune the heart, just as a trained eye can immediately find the needed object amid a chaos of things. Christ taught the apostles to recognize His voice, and so after several days of confusion they were able to return to fellowship with Him. But even for the disciples, a temporary falling away from Christ led to their failing to recognize Him.

Now, after His visible departure from the world, we too do not always manage to discern His presence. But even today, through faith, we are able to attune ourselves to fellowship with Christ. For He who promised to be with us until the end of the age is still near. It is He who accompanies us along earthly roads and reveals the meaning of Scripture that eludes us because of our spiritual lack of attentiveness.

And of course, like the apostles, we too can recognize Him today in the breaking of the bread, when He not only reveals Himself but also unites Himself with us.