In this week’s troparion, we say to Christ our God, “You
opened paradise to the thief, You turned the myrhhbearers’ lamentation into
joy.” We go on to proclaim that this is because He is risen, and He replies – through
the apostles and the Church’s songs – “Yes, I am risen, for I am merciful –
that is the reason why.” In the kontakion, we go on to imagine the Saviour
saying to us, “Now come forth to Me – Come to the Resurrection.” So it is not
just that the Merciful Lord came to us at Bethlehem, went up on the Cross to
bring mercy to us, or came up out of the Tomb to bring the Kingdom to us. His
outward movement towards and into us is also about our coming to Him, being
brought in our movement towards and into Him: “Come into the Resurrection!”
In a talk at the fascinating conference on paths to
Christian Unity that has preceded this Liturgy, we heard how our shared
Christian faith is not just a matter of body and soul, but of heart and
imagination too. In the beautiful and striking hymns that we have sung in turn
since the first millennium, we in our eastern Church for our part are taken, then,
into this realm of imagination by which we enter the Kingdom of the heart of
Christ Who adores us more than we can possibly adore Him. Here, we can meet, and
love and worship together, with and in the Church of heaven which is invisible
to us but where there is no division from Christ. As the Orthodox Metropolitan Platon
(Gorodetsky) of Kiev, said, in words of pioneering mystical ecumenism that
inspired Father Paul Couturier to reimagine the Week of Prayer for Christian
Unity, “The walls of separation do not rise as far as heaven.” So, perhaps the
eastern imagination of the life of resurrection and being brought into it week
by week – “Come into the Resurrection” – with our very visual worship and its
movement of colour and image, and fragrance and sound – is something we can
humbly offer to our fellow Christians, adding to the dimensions of body and
soul, heart and imagination in the Life of Christ that we lead in His Body.
For the power of the liturgical and spiritual imagination –
which is of course something that belongs to all our traditions in different
ways – takes us back to reflect on the meaning and nature of God’s love with St
John the Beloved. In the Catholic and Orthodox Churches of the East we often
call him St John the Theologian, not just because of the words and mysteries he
wrote out, but because it was the disciple whom Jesus loved that spoke to God, who
has as a result spoken of God, and whom God has spoken to, close to Him, right
to the heart. St John thus says, “No one has ever seen God” (Epistle – I John
4.12-19); and then he meditates profoundly on the perfect life of love in
Christ as nonetheless the very vision of Christ in God. We have not seen God, but
God has seen us. We have not loved God before He first loved us. We are to be
seen, then, as those who are loved by God. More than that, what is seen us is
none other than the love and eternal life of God, none other. “No one has ever
seen God”; but they can see us.
And so, this angle that we have on Christ that I spoke about
before turns out really to be His angle on us. We imagine we behold Him in His
risen glory – and we are excited by love and life to the full. But while this
is so deeply true of the nature of things even in this world, what we are
really seeing is Him beholding us out of mercy. It is the Merciful who is risen
from the dead, and our own resurrection from Him will be because we too have been
changed into Mercy, that is the living vision of God’s life of eternal love.
For when we say, “Save us,” it is from being merciless, being unloving, and thus
unliving in Christ that we cry to be
kept.
May this Christ, who is that Mercy Itself, save us; for He
is good and He loves mankind.
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