May 4, 2025
Easter 3
“Jesus stood on the beach; but the disciples did not know that it was Jesus.” and, later, “None of the disciples dared to ask him who he was because they knew it was the Lord.”
Friends, please be seated.
We find ourself caught in a moment in time between a federal election that holds the possibility of a reset from the toxicity which has characterized federal politics of late – last week’s big thing – and the election of a new pope who is successor to Francis who never allowed prevailing theological winds to get in the way of loving his neighbour – this coming week’s big thing.
In the middle we confront a Gospel wherein Jesus’ closest companions are at first clueless as to who he is and then, when they finally get it, are afraid to rejoice with him and we’re left with a “what does this even mean” sort of statement that “none of Jesus’ disciples dared to ask Jesus who Jesus was because they knew it was Jesus. Dared? Hmm.
Some years ago, James and Paula opened their home to us where they were staying in Gourock, a village of 10,000 in the west of Scotland. One day, they took us on a day trip to Glasgow where we visited the Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum. I knew nothing of their collection or anything else.
We were making our way through the collection, turned a corner, and there 7 feet by 4 feet in a niche was Salvador Dali’s Christ of Saint John of the Cross – one of the great works of western European art of the 20th century. It depicts the Christ on the cross – no thorns, no nails, no gore – in a jet-black sky floating over the earth. Dali’s design came to him in a dream.
It is based on a sketch by St. John of the Cross – theologian and artist – who lived exactly 400 year earlier. Dali would write that this cosmic Christ was a transformation of the nucleus of the atom – the binding force of the universe as he understood it. That’s his language. Christ as the binding force of the universe.
The perspective and physicality of the painting are unusual. To create the effect Dali hired a movie stuntman to be suspended from the rafters so that he could achieve both perspective and the muscular definition of Christ’s body.
The world over which Christ hangs reveals a body of water which is the bay of Port Lligat, Dalí’s home, a tiny village on the Mediterranean Sea. That’s a fishing boat we see at the bottom of the painting. And a fisher. As in today’s Gospel, Christ is encountered in the context of the life of “ordinary” fisher-folk, but now he appears, suspended over their world, strangely out of reach.
Dali was an artist who depicted and interpreted the reality he knew which included the central themes of his time (the atomic age of the 1940’s and 50’s), his dreams and his day-to-day world. His faith is prominent. His Christ is assertive, exceptional in his un-marred-in-death perfection. The work of earlier artists and theologues informed his own – that of Doctor of the Church and capable sketcher, John of the Cross, in particular. Dali took account of the world around him. He lived in a fishing village and it shows. Could almost be the Sea of Galilee.
John, of the Gospel of John, is a literary artist. He depicts and interprets the reality he knew, a hundred years after the birth of Jesus, the sense of resurrection of his time, his dreams, his day-to-day world. His faith is prominent. His Christ is differently assertive, differently exceptional. His Jesus speaks, literarily, in a way unlike Jesus in any other Gospel. I am … the way, the light, the resurrection. I am … The work of earlier artists informed his own. He transforms the work of other Gospel writers and reimagines the world of Jesus. He takes account of the world around him and of such realities as informed and were informed by his journey of faith. John’s depiction of the Christ is very Dali-esque. It breaks with the conventions of his time. It’s almost over the top, yet thoughtful and arresting, and important.
In John’s account of the resurrected Jesus, where he encounters people he’d journeyed with for years, they sort of recognize him … but they don’t. He’s familiar but he’s distant.
None of the disciples dared ask Jesus who Jesus was because they knew it was Jesus. That’s a very strange sentence to write. Dared? Jesus’ closest followers – the ones who get named in the Gospel – they recognize him, eventually, sort-of, but are paralyzed, un-affected. There’s no rejoicing. And I’ve often wondered under what circumstances we might not ask someone who they are because we already know.
I think John is hinting at a kind of failure on the part of his own community to recognize the Christ in its own midst and a sort of shame or embarrassment that goes along with that moral failure. To put it more bluntly, sometimes we don’t quite want to admit the identity of Christ in our midst when we know full well that Christ is present but can’t quite get around how he is, who she is, where he is, what they say or maybe the company he keeps.
Between the red victory of the Liberals and the red conclave of the cardinals, red dresses will hang from trees, tomorrow, a reminder of people –the missing and murdered—once … and sometimes still … un-remembered, unrecognized, un-loved people in whom we have always affirmed the presence of Christ but sometimes acted as if it were not so. We sometimes find it hard to recognize or honour the Christ in our midst.
For Dali, Christ was the binding force of the universe and hovered above human reality. An image of Jesus almost too muscular, too un-abused and un-depleted by his encounter with Rome and the underbelly of his own world. In the Gospel of John, the Christ shows up for breakfast or in locked rooms where people cowered for fear. The Resurrected Christ just shows up. Dali represents a theological perspectival remoteness while John is into “here, have some breakfast” and “feed by sheep” closeness.
I admired Pope Francis. More John; less Dali. He could see the Christ in people he’d been taught not to. The Muslim? Washed his feet. The Transgender? Invited them to his table. First Peoples? Apologized. And he visited the prisoner. Even in death. He never let a prevailing compass lead him from the way of loving his neighbour.
I hope for more of the same when the smoke rises this week. I am hopeful. I long for more of the same with the First Peoples of this land. I am hopeful. I look for more of the same in the parliament of Canada. For love to trump other and unworthy instincts. And I am hopeful.
Silence for reflection.
And may the church say “Amen”. Amen.
André Lavergne CWA (Pastor)
Honourary Assistant,
Church of St. John the Evangelist, Kitchener.