Fr. Noel Bava, SJ
Third Sunday of Easter
April 15, 2018
There is something ridiculously satisfying in watching a horror movie. The experience is much more fun if done with friends or with people we love. The collective rush of the adrenaline and the subsequent sigh of relief as soon as the movie ends can give an emotional high. We then go home thinking, what the heck, it’s just a movie. Let’s do this again, okay?
Two movies in the past week have thrilled the movie buff in me: Get Out and A Quiet Place. Both movies, unlike their more commercial and conventional counterparts, do not disappoint. Both are helmed by comedic actors-turned directors. And both films are terrifying to the core. What makes horror movies effective in scaring the living daylights out of us?
Film theorists say it’s partly our willingness to witness—yet do absolutely nothing—the predicament and helplessness of the characters set against a seemingly invincible and menacing foe. We sit back thinking, this is not real, none of these are actually happening. Yet our brains are wired to empathize with our fellow human beings (and their various iterations in films). We cannot not help be drawn into the conflict and chaos of other peoples’ lives. And so, we think what they are thinking. We feel what they are feeling. In a very real sense we are inside the cinema, and we too feel weak and powerless against something we cannot often see, we cannot predict, let alone control.
In our Gospel today, Luke describes the two disciples as “startled and terrified” as if “they had seen a ghost.” What was so scary in Jesus’ revelation that he was alive as he had repeatedly prophesied? Shouldn’t their immediate reaction be one of joy and gratitude? Why this horrified reaction to him? We have to remember that these disciples and their companions were still shocked at the awfully fast turn of events that culminated in Jesus’ humiliating death on a cross.
Earlier the disciples were basking in the glow of their newly-acquired honor of being in the company of Jesus: like Him they could also perform some miracles, they partook in the distribution of food, they were catching fishes by boatloads, one of them was able to walk on water, and the rest could heal those suffering from illnesses and they had some authority over unclean spirits. Enamored of their power and the prestige that went along with it, two of them (James and John) even suggested to Jesus that they “call fire from heaven” to smite those who did not welcome their preaching.
From mere fishermen and laborers, they were awed at how powerful they became with Jesus in their midst. It’s as if nothing could stop them and no one could harm them. And with Jesus’ “triumphant” entry to Jerusalem, they were on their way to fulfill the greatness they never dreamed they were capable of achieving. Until the folly of the crucifixion happened. What they initially thought as road to greatness became a very long and winding path of sacrifice, humiliation and defeat. Nothing in their experience with Jesus quite prepared them for this shocking plot twist. Suddenly, they felt small, weak, powerless and their enemies, incapable of being subdued much less killed.
Shaken to their very bones, they shivered in fear and the only rational way out of this was to flee and retreat. The instinct to save one’s skin and live another day kicked in and they abandoned everything that they have learned from Jesus: the kingdom of God, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the dead and the ultimate triumph of the Savior over Satan and his horde.
Then again Jesus showed himself to individuals and groups. Yet unable to cope with his sudden demise they heard of rumors that he was alive. Just the thought of it made their stomachs turn: an insult rubbed raw on the injury of losing their beloved friend and erstwhile Redeemer. They were beyond grief. They were puzzled and they wanted answers badly but no dared give them any.
And on their long journey of silence, in between murmurs and sighs, Jesus once again appeared and confounded them by telling them how foolish and of little faith they all were. Their hearts enkindled with his stories and revelation, they longed to hear more. But Jesus disappeared at the very moment they were beginning to understand, when he broke the bread. From fear to desolation, from regret to rejoicing, they were back to grasping at the truth. Where is Jesus? Why hasn’t he shown himself to all of us? Why this taunting and teasing? Maybe we have lost our minds? Is our despair so great that the impossible hope of Him still alive played tricks on us?
So finally, Jesus revealed Himself. And they were startled and terrified, as if they had seen a ghost. It was then when Jesus said, “Why are you troubled? And why do questions arise in your hearts? Look at my hands and my feet, that it is I myself. Touch me and see, because a ghost does not have flesh and bones as you can see I have.”
Jesus reassures them: It is I. Do not be afraid. At his words, the disciples’ fear was dispelled, the storm raging in their hearts quelled. And because what they had witness was too great for them to comprehend, the most appropriate way for them to tell it was to be silent. A silence pregnant with meaning.
Just as in horror movies as in real life we encounter faith-shattering events that leave us vulnerable and defenseless, we behave like the disciples did. This should not be a cause for shame. They had Jesus by their side, ate with him, walked and talked, bathed and breathed with him. They witnessed His miracles and they had power in their hands too. Yet at the sight of the specter of death, they slinked away like frightened chickens.
And we are every little bit like the disciples. Proud and pompous in good times, quivering when Christ is absent or asleep. What do we do to harmonize this conflicting nature residing in us? How do we quiet the terror-stricken child within? How do we reclaim with pride and honor being Jesus’ friends? We look at His hands and feet. We caress the wounds on His palm and His side. These are the wounds that He sustained while He valiantly fought for us, when He put Himself in harm’s way so we may never endure the pain. These wounds were the site of battle against pride, against selfishness, against sin where He fought to keep us alive and safe.
By letting us feel his bones and touch flesh, he also quietens our fears. He invites to rise from being weak and powerless to stand with Him in power and might. To be no longer slaves of sin and death. So that, finally, convinced by His enduring love we may say, this isn’t like the movies. He truly is risen. And the proof is, I am no longer afraid.