Although first century Sadducees are often conjoined with the Pharisees in New Testament discussions, there was but one issue upon which they agreed: their opposition to Jesus. As you know, the Sadducees, sometimes referred to as “scribes,” were the primary authority within and over the Jerusalem Temple. They recognized as authoritative only the five Books of Moses—the Pentateuch. The Pharisees agreed that the Pentateuch was authoritative, but they also revered the writings of the Psalmist and the Prophets (e.g., Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel, etc.). Because the Pentateuch contained no reference to an afterlife—there are numerous such references in the writings of the Prophets–the Sadducees did not believe in a resurrection.
And so, in the verses contained in Luke 20:27-38—the Gospel reading for this upcoming Sunday [the Twenty-Fifth Sunday after Pentecost, Revised Common Lectionary, Year C]— “some Sadducees” come to our Lord with a hypothetical “trick question.” The question, they presume, will display the absurdity of the so-called resurrection.1
Referencing what would later be called “levirate marriage” (from the Latin levir, which means “brother-in-law”; see Deuteronomy 25:5-10), they pose a hypothetical in which there are seven brothers. The first marries a woman, but then dies. A surviving brother takes the woman as his wife, but he dies. And so on, until the woman has been married to each of the seven brothers yet is still a widow. Their coup de grâce, or so they think, on the issue of the afterlife:
In the resurrection, therefore, whose wife will the woman be? For the seven had married her [Luke 20:33].
It was a legitimate question. After all, the standards of that day dictated that a woman was to be defined primarily in terms of to whom she was married, not on a more personal basis. That the woman would have to be married to one of the men in the so-called resurrection—if there was one—seemed obvious to the Sadducees.
That life in the resurrection could be fundamentally different than life in the present seemed utterly impossible to the Sadducees. But, as we know from other stories in Holy Scripture, our God is not a god of the possible; rather He is The God of the Impossible. And so, the agile Messiah responds that the standards and limitations placed upon human beings by other human beings in this world held no sway in God’s Kingdom. Resurrection life is fundamentally and qualitatively different from that which we experience prior to death. Here, the authorities might consider the woman property. In the resurrection, however, the woman is married to no one. Indeed, she is a like an angel and is a child of God [Luke 20:36].
The Sadducees could only see what was in front of them; they could not fathom the depth and breadth of the resurrection life that lay ahead for those who cast their eyes and hearts upon Christ. Concentrating on what appears to be obvious, failing to see what is possible through Christ—it’s a limitation that all too many today share with the Sadducees of old.
I have told some of you about my wonderful cousin Jan. She was born in 1950, about a year before Todd and me, and because she was our first cousin, we saw a lot of her in our early years. Jan was born with cerebral palsy. Because of the severity of her disease, she never developed very much. Never more than 40 pounds, she was never able to talk, never able to walk, never able to control her arms or legs, never able even to hold her head erect on her own. And yet, she lived almost 26 years—26 years in which my Uncle Harold and Aunt Betty fed her baby food—26 years during which they changed her diapers.
Physicians, of course, could see what was before them. Some advised Harold and Betty early on to put Jan in some sort of long-term care facility, some institution—my Aunt and Uncle understood that to mean some place “out of the way”—so that they could get on with their lives, could get on with the responsibilities of raising Jan's younger brother Rob, who was born a few years later. Several well-meaning friends offered the same counsel. But you see, while the ones making the recommendations could see what appeared to be the certainty of Jan’s hopeless condition, they didn't have the benefit of the special vision of my Aunt and Uncle; that is, the ability to see beyond the surface of things, to the reality that lay within.
To them Jan was a special daughter, a child with tremendous and long-term needs, yes, but a daughter who could respond to their love with a smile, someone whose face brightened when she saw her brother, Robbie, or even her cousins. That's the reality that Uncle Harold and Aunt Betty saw. And so, Jan was always a special part of our growing up, a special part of our Thanksgiving or Christmas celebrations, a special cousin for my three brothers and me. And since Jan went to church every Sunday that I can remember, spending 26 years in the church nursery, she was a special part of the little Presbyterian church within which I grew.
Aunt Betty and Uncle Harold held up well over those many years. The circumstances didn't make them bitter or sad. They did the best they could, and Harold and Betty's best was wonderful.
There were, of course, those days when it was particularly tough. There was the day that all the other children Jan's age went to first grade. There was the day the children Jan's age said the catechism at Olney Church. There was her sixteenth birthday, the day Aunt Betty realized that under different circumstances, Jan would have excitedly gone to get her driver's license. And there was prom night, that special evening when all the others Jan's age were either putting on fancy prom dresses or rented tuxedos.
On those special, difficult days sometimes Aunt Betty, and at other times Uncle Harold, would ask themselves the natural question, “Why can't Jan be like the others? Why can't she run and play? Why can't she drive a car? Why can't she go to the prom?” As I say, those special days were difficult, but to their credit, Harold and Betty never lashed out at anyone because of their pain. They enjoyed the news of our successes. They commented sweetly about our prom photos. They took interest in our college plans. They beamed with joy when Jane stood with me for our wedding vows.
Despite the passage of now more than forty-five years, I remember Jan’s funeral as if it was yesterday. The rural church was wonderfully filled to celebrate the passing of one of God's children. We sang hymns and shared the words of our wonderful Lord who said, "Let the children come to me; do not try to stop them; for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these" (Luke 18:16).
The procession drove from the church to the burial in a pouring summer rain. As we turned through the gates of the cemetery, Buck Dixon, long-time friend of the family, fellow Olney church member, and police officer, stood by his squad car, rain and tears pouring down his face, his hat not covering his head, but held instead over his heart in strong and deep respect for the passing of tender Jan.
At the graveside, we heard again the restorative words of the prophet Isaiah:
Have you not known? Have you not heard? The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. He does not faint or grow weary; his understanding is unsearchable.
He gives power to the faint, and strengthens the powerless. Even youths will faint and be weary, and the young will fall exhausted; but those who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength, they shall mount up with wings like eagles, they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint [Isaiah 40:28-31].
After the burial, as is the custom, the family went over to Betty and Harold's. We made ourselves busy with the sorts of things that people do after funerals. We gathered some food, shared some idle chatter, and reminisced a bit, all acutely aware of the one who was no longer in our midst. At one point, Aunt Betty put her arm around my Uncle's waist, and he in turn put his around her shoulder. She looked up at him and with a tender smile she asked, "What now?"
He turned to her and said, "Now? … Now she's like the others."
The ability to see beyond the surface of things, to reach beyond the limitations established by this world; it’s a gift called Faith. And so, dear friends, in the time of the resurrection, to whom does Jan belong? Well, take heart, for like you and me, and countless others who have gone on before us, Jan is a child of God. She is like the angels [Luke 20:36]. Thanks be to God for the promise of the resurrection.
- An abbreviated version of this meditation appeared in my monograph entitled QUESTIONS OF FAITH: Encountering Christ at the Point of Doubt and Confusion (Mazarin Press, 2018, pp 169-172. ↩︎
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