The Resurrection of the Body Read Free Page A

in a deep voice, ‘I think I know who done it.’
    ‘What?’ I hadn’t expected this, and was startled out of the feeling of apathy which had overcome me. ‘Who?’
    ‘That nutter, Jim. You know he did something like this before, don’t you?’
    I sighed. Like many inner city churches, mine has in its congregation a fair number of disturbed and inadequate people. Jim came to church on and off, and apparently had done so over many years, when he was not in prison. He once confessed to me that he had stabbed a man in some fight over a woman. I think it was the only woman he had ever loved. Jim had not been in church recently, but I had seen him hovering outside the church once or twice inrecent weeks as if trying to make up his mind whether to come in. Once I had crossed the road to go and speak to him, but he had instantly scurried away.
    ‘Do you have any reason for saying this, Sid? You haven’t talked to him recently?’
    ‘Haven’t seen him for months.’ Sidney stared at the floor uncomfortably.
    ‘Then why do you think …?’
    ‘It’s just a feeling. He might have done something like this.’
    I had a prickling feeling of alarm, a realisation that this event might cause much trouble among the members of our congregation. I said, in a quiet but firm voice, ‘Sidney, it’s for the police to find out who the attacker was and why he did it. At this stage, it could have been anyone. We don’t even know who the poor man is who was stabbed. You must be very, very careful, if you talk to the police, not to indulge in wild accusations.’
    ‘You mean you don’t think I should tell them?’
    ‘Not unless you have any proper evidence, no.’
    I was suddenly afraid for Jim. If Sidney mentioned him, the police might be after him, and find him guilty of other, minor crimes. They might even arrest him, and who knew what Jim might do then?
    Sidney suddenly said, ‘Thank you, Richard. I’ll think about what you’ve said.’ I opened the door for him and he walked out, stumbling over one of the children’s toys in the hall. I went back into my study, tried to clear my mind. I had Jim’s phone number in my book, and for a moment it crossed my mind to give him a call. I dismissedthis instantly. Experience had taught me that it was often better not to interfere, but let things take their natural course, and it was obvious that my motives for calling Jim might be suspected.
    I turned back to my desk. Everything was laid out ready for me to complete my sermon for Easter Sunday. Of all things I have to write in the church year, this is the most difficult. As my father had once said to me, by Easter Sunday, it’s all over. Those who come to church only on the Sunday have missed the whole thing. There’s nothing to say but ‘Christ is risen, amen.’

T ime in my Study
    I sat down at the desk and looked at the first page. I had been writing about the nature of the resurrection. I was discussing how, from the beginnings of time, man had needed this image of rebirth. The West Kennet long barrow in Wiltshire was aligned so that when the sun rose on the midwinter solstice a ray of light came in and lit up the inner chamber. We do not know what kind of rites were enacted there, but it is almost certain that they were rites of rebirth. Then there are the resurrection myths in other societies, of Osiris in ancient Egypt, Attis, and Mithras in the Greek and Roman empires. Throughout ancient history we have the same potent myths. We can’t know exactly what these ancient people believed, but the mythsare so similar that it’s hard not to argue that they point to some underlying truth, either about human nature, or about the nature of the world we live in. But these myths all point to the same thing: the intervention of the spiritual in our earthly, bodily life.
    I have to confess at this point that I, like many other Anglican clergy, do not believe in the physical resurrection . Thank God for the Bishop of Durham having the