The Gospel according to Godspell

This fall, the audiences of Godspell watched a man die. Convicted on trumped-up charges by a biased jury, the man's government sentenced him to death by torture. The musical cast began a funeral dirge as the man was taken down from the cross. "Long Live God," they sang. Jesus was limp in their arms. Three on either side held his body like a long board. His head, unsupported, flopped behind his shoulders. The cast continued to sing. The final crescendo approached _ "Prepare Ye the Way of the Lord." They lifted the corpse high. A pair of dirty tennis shoes covered lifeless feet.

So ended the show, and an interesting place for the story to end. Those historically called Christians have held there to be a third act. They call it the Resurrection _ Jesus doesn't stay dead. Nor does he die again. Only fairly recently in history has that report been in dispute among Christians (people who don't call themselves Christian, of course, have dismissed the third act for ages). For more than a few years, Christians have been asking themselves, "Does the Resurrection matter?" I imagine a few of other faiths have been curious as well. Thanks go to director Amanda Raymond and Torn Ticket II, for they have brought to light a great practical question: what difference does an empty tomb make? If, as you read this, the hollowed out bones of Jesus of Nazareth are sitting in a Palestinian cave, is Christian faith the same?

A friend of mine suggests_ and he wouldn't be the first _ that it should be. Jesus' sayings, after all, are still with us. We have his moral soundbytes, his short stories. Can't his example simply stand? He would not be in small company. History is full of wise men and women teaching their people how to be good. Confucius taught the golden rule. So did Buddha. Socrates taught it was better to suffer wrong than to commit it, and he was poisoned. As a human race, we have been very good at silencing and killing the best among us. We've been historically poor learners. Isn't it reasonable to simply try to learn again from this great Teacher? It's perfectly reasonable.

It is curious, then, that for those first called "Christians," moral education was not their first concern. Those fishermen, embezzlers, and prostitutes who were walking around Jerusalem in 33 AD felt they had news to tell: something that had never before happened in the universe had happened. Even if they got no other message across, they wanted people to know that they had walked, talked, and eaten with Jesus days after his death. Nothing else seemed as important to the faith. One of the followers, a high-profile Jewish lawyer, later wrote, "If Christ has not been raised, then your faith is useless." Useless? Useless for what, exactly? Well, Godspell gave us a glimpse of what the followers of Jesus did with their faith: they sang. But this was no ordinary singing. This was worship.

"Worship" is an ancient word, thrown around today to refer to "the greatest thing ever." The difference is that the ancients didn't think they were exaggerating. To worship was to be amazed. It took your breath away. It's not hard to see how that happened with Jesus. He was, in his joy, patience, and love, what we all know we ought to be. He was a human, of course _ there's a reason why the musical clothed him in tennis shoes and jeans like everybody else. Yet he wore Superman's shirt. He was not only human, but truly human; the person we all long to be.

We're familiar with this other sense of "worship," too. Whenever we want to be like somebody else, we catch a glimpse of it. But, when we're honest, it's not for any empty quality like wealth or beauty that we worship another. It's who they are that we love, and their goodness we wish we shared. We, as a race, have sung to the Source of Goodness ever since we could. In Godspell, Jesus' friends sing to him while he's alive: "No gift have we to offer, for all Thy love imparts-save that which Thou desirest, our humble, thankful hearts." What gift can repay what Jesus offered: forgiveness, and a cure for our selfish souls? Worship is, in the end, also simply a thank-you. We give thanks for gifts, when we receive something we did not have, and could never have had, save that it was given.

The careful reader may see where this leads us. At the close of Godspell, the cast was worshipping, just as Christians today continue to worship. Yet if the end of Godspell is the end of the story, then Christians, then and now, have been (we can put it no other way) worshipping a corpse.

We are forced to say that these men and women were overcome by awe at a dead man nailed to rotten wood. We must say that they wanted to be just like this man, who had lied to them and given them false hopes of life free from the stench of death. And, if the stage direction is taken literally, we must say that they lifted high the broken body of a man whipped to the very bone, bleeding profusely.

And, they must be thankful. Thankful for what? Nothing has changed in their life. They are still the same depressed, selfish, or self-righteous jerks they've always been. Their broken relationships, and broken hearts, go unmended. Their failures to love go unforgiven. For this they sing? I'm afraid I cannot think of a state more deluded. How sad, how futile to believe in a savior unable to save. From where could hope come, if in the end the last word is had by the grave? As that old Jewish lawyer said, "If for this life only we have hoped in Christ, we are of all people most to be pitied."

The first Christians sang none of those things. They sang that Jesus had defeated death, and forgiveness had risen from the grave. Would they think the Resurrection made a difference to their faith? It is without doubt. Before he left the earth, Jesus said anyone that knew him would know God also. If Jesus is still risen, he can still be known. If he can still be known, then he can change us, and affect us more deeply and powerfully than any normal friend.

Some, having read this, may want to dismiss the whole faith as unrealistic. They're well within their rights to scoff. A new, resurrected body is difficult to imagine, but difficulty does not entail falsity. We've been telling ourselves from some time now, with stiff upper lip, that stories need not have happy endings. Now what would we do if this one did?

Jack Grimes is a junior majoring in philosophy and peace and justice studies.