As the sun was going down, a deep sleep fell on Abram. And behold, dreadful and great darkness fell upon him. -Genesis 15:12
It's Good Friday night. One week ago, in preparation for this Easter weekend, I reflected on Zombies. And I threw in vampires for the fun of it. Both represent a way we cope with and engage death, I think. We entertain it (or with it), fantasize it, film produce it, mask ourselves with it, immortalize it - in the undead. Perhaps many wonder deep down, if death is the only thing that lives forever.
There is a poignant scene in the AMC series which inspired these ramblings (The Walking Dead), where the beleaguered, zombie-haunted survivors come upon a little, white country church in the woods. They had heard its bells ring, and dashed toward the sound, hoping their lost little girl might be offering a beacon of hope - that she still lived by some miracle. Yet as they burst through the doors of the old chapel all they found were a few ghastly "walkers." Well, and there at the center of the front of the sanctuary, was an almost life-size crucifix. "J.C., you takin' requests?"
The confessional was open. A spark of hope, a glimmer of faith in the dark night of the soul-less. One by one, a few of the survivors bare their desperate hearts gazing at the dying Christ. Rick, the lead man, has the final prayer:
"I guess you already know I am not much of a believer. I guess I just chose to put my faith elsewhere. In family mostly. My friends. (Sigh) My job. "I could use a little something to help.. keep us going. ... Some kind of indication I am doing the right thing. You don't know how hard that is to know! (Pauses, looking up at Jesus.) Well, maybe you DO."
Amazing what kind of prayer a zombie apocalypse can elicit. Real. Doubt-ridden. A gasping for help. A desperate dependency. There comes a point when family, friends.. job... self.. are not enough. Life, and death, can leave us hanging. Like Christ on the tree. "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me??"
Not all among the survivors want to continue to survive. There is an interesting sub-theme revolving around despair, opting out, and the freedom to do so. In The Courage To Be, Paul Tillich talks about the "courage of despair" being a hallmark of a our modern age, where God has been lost and the "anxiety of doubt and meaningless is... the anxiety of our period." His description of modern art's way of expressing this angst of meaninglessness is eerily familiar: "spatial dimensions are reduced or dissolved into a horrifying infinity. The organic structures of life are cut into pieces which are arbitrarily.. recomposed. Limbs are dispersed, colors are separated from their natural carriers." Sounds like zombie art.
On Good Friday we are brought to the brink.. the abyss.. the face of death. The inconceivable Cross. It's Abraham raising his blade in terrible obedience, Jacob wrestling with the angel in the depths of night, Joseph in the pit and the dungeon, Israel enslaved in Egypt then dying of thirst in the wilderness, Job losing all... Jesus the Christ sweating, then shedding, holy blood. And breathing his last. All is meaningless.
Thus it would seem. Hence Tillich speaks of "absolute faith" and the only courage that overcomes is courage "rooted in the God who appears when God has disappeared in the anxiety of doubt." Rick asks for a sign, any sign. It's Friday, "and there was darkness over the whole land... the sun's light failed." (Luke 23:44-45) God is dead. Could God possibly appear? The disciples scatter and hide. The "infected" survivors run for their lives. We, in our age, are arrested by doubt and death. All the things we've put our faith in are stripped and exposed - on a Cross, on a hill, on a Friday.
Will God appear.... on Sunday?
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