The great 20th century theologian Paul Tillich once said that in its infancy, Christianity had only one real rival, and that was the spirit of stoicism. There were many other competing religions, but only one real rival—a rival and threat that has stayed with the church for two thousand years. Perhaps you’ve never heard of stoicism or the Greek philosopher Zeno who explained the concept, but whether we know it by name or not, we are all acquainted with its spirit. The essence of stoicism is a spirit of resignation. Stoics believe things are not going to change—that reality is fixed and static, and we humans have very little potential to change anything. The wisest course of action is to accept things as they are and to adjust our emotions, plans, and dreams to fit the world as it is.
And there is much in the human experience that lends support to this way of thinking. So many in our world are overwhelmed, suffer deep frustrations, run into brick walls, and see seeming victories melt quickly into sad defeats. Years ago I read about a social worker who gave a speech about her vocation. She told the audience how she found a little boy in an urban ghetto whose body was so deformed and twisted that she had to inquire as to what had happened. She discovered the boy had been hit by a car some six months before. His parents did not have the financial means to get him the proper medical attention he needed. Though the boy was not a part of her caseload, the social worker took him to an orthopedic specialist. Hope was given the boy if he could have a series of long and involved operations. Of course, there was a lot of bureaucratic red tape and a lot of money had to be raised. But this was a determined social worker, and so in time the boy had his surgeries and went through all his rehab.
Some two years later, the social worker heard a knock on her door and to her amazement, the boy walked in on his own two feet and even did a cartwheel. They embraced and she said to herself, “If I never accomplish anything else in my life, at least here is one person for whom I’ve made a real difference.”
The social worker paused at this point in her speech and said, “That was some years ago. Do you know where that boy (who now is a grown man) is today?” Caught up in the idealism of the moment, the audience guessed “a teacher,” “an orthopedic surgeon,” “a social worker.” The social worker replied, “No. He’s in the state penitentiary for one of the worst crimes a human being can commit.” And then she went on with her speech, saying that her profession was not for those who could not take that kind of disappointment and still keep on keeping on in trying to make a difference in the world.
So many people have tried to make a redemptive difference, only to have their efforts dashed against the rocks of harsh reality. So there is massive burnout in the “helping professions”—an attitude of what’s the use—a perspective that says that’s the real world and you might as well accept it. And these attitudes are not confined to social workers and others in helping professions. There is a cynicism—a do-nothing, believe-nothing, hope-nothing spirit creeping across our world—a silent assumption that “that’s the way it is, so we might as well accept it and go with the flow.” And that’s the stoic coming out in our world and perhaps in our hearts.
Imagine if you will how a stoic would have interpreted the fate of Jesus of Nazareth—a man who came preaching one fundamental truth, the Kingdom of God. And in that preaching, he claimed God was turning the world upside down—that God was coming into the human community in surprising and unexpected ways. He talked about greed being transformed into sharing, violence into peace, hate into love, revenge into forgiveness, and death into life. And many believed him—so many types of people bet their lives on him—simple folk like fishermen and farmers, outcasts like quisling tax collectors and prostitutes, marginal people like women and lepers. They believed a carpenter from the insignificant village of Nazareth who said that reality was not static or fixed. No! Reality is what God wills and what we choose. And many were inspired and gripped by that dynamic vision of hope.
But then Jesus came face to face with those who did not want the world to change—those who benefited from the oppressive and unjust status quo—those who were very happy with things as they were. And they turned on him with a vengeance so swift that within twenty-four hours he was arrested, tried, and cruelly executed. As the ancient creed of the church says, “crucified, dead and buried!”
Now how would a gathering of stoics interpret these events? Let’s imagine we are listening in on such a gathering on the night after Jesus’ crucifixion as they ruminate at their local club. “Jesus should have learned more about the world as it really is.” “Yes, he really was naïve, you know. He should have been content with being a humble carpenter or at most a rabbi with sense enough not to make waves.” “Well, it’s like I’ve always said, the more things change, the more they stay the same.” “Yes, it’s sad. He was a good man, but this world grinds up good people. It’s best just to leave things alone and survive through finding your place in the scheme of things.” “Jesus? Sure he made a splash, but there will be no lasting evidence of the success of that splash. No ripples will remain after the day of his execution. The crowds turned on him. His closest followers betrayed, denied, and abandoned him. He’s gone. So let’s learn from his mistake.” Stoics would have a field day with the death of Jesus, wouldn’t they?
But there is more to be said than the stoics can see. Early that first Easter morning some women came and were met with good news. “Guess what? He’s not here. He is risen!” You see, the God-factor has now entered the equation—the One “who can make the things that are out of the things that are not”—the One who can make the dead come to life again. This God has entered the picture. In fact, God has been here all along, transforming vision into flesh and blood reality. And this One who makes all things new invites us on Easter to celebrate the birthday of a faith characterized by hope, not despair; dynamism, not status quo; growth, not putrefaction. The Coming One invites us to choose life over death, faith over resignation, and hope over despair.
The stoics of our world would say, “You can’t change anything—accept it the way it is—adjust to reality and be satisfied.” But the Christian faith answers, “Eye has not seen, ear has not heard, and neither has it entered the heart of humankind what God has prepared for this world.”
Do we really know what it means to have a faith which has as its foundation the truth that “God has raised Jesus from the dead?” Part of what it means is the recognition that despair on our part is most presumptuous. It’s deciding ahead of time what God and we together can and cannot do. And after Easter, who is prepared to decide that?
At the end of World War II General Dwight Eisenhower was traveling through a portion of France by jeep. He saw on the wall of a building some graffiti scribbled in French. He asked his aide who was fluent in the language what the inscription said. The aide responded, “Formally translated it means ‘All history is prologue,’ but colloquially it means ‘Man, you ain’t seen nothing yet.’”
We can choose the inertia of stoicism or the dynamism of trust in a God who can raise the dead to life. One thing’s for sure—those women who on that first Easter found an empty tomb and a Risen Lord knew which choice was real. By God’s grace, may we know too.
