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Pope Benedict XVI- Homilies |
"The
Cure for Death Does Exist"
Homily at Easter Vigil
H.H. Benedict XVI
April 3, 2010
Dear Brothers and Sisters,
An ancient Jewish legend from the apocryphal book "The life of Adam
and Eve" recounts that, in his final illness, Adam sent his son Seth
together with Eve into the region of Paradise to fetch the oil of
mercy, so that he could be anointed with it and healed. The two of
them went in search of the tree of life, and after much praying and
weeping on their part, the Archangel Michael appeared to them, and
told them they would not obtain the oil of the tree of mercy and
that Adam would have to die. Subsequently, Christian readers added a
word of consolation to the Archangel’s message, to the effect that
after 5,500 years the loving King, Christ, would come, the Son of
God who would anoint all those who believe in him with the oil of
his mercy. "The oil of mercy from eternity to eternity will be given
to those who are reborn of water and the Holy Spirit. Then the Son
of God, Christ, abounding in love, will descend into the depths of
the earth and will lead your father into Paradise, to the tree of
mercy." This legend lays bare the whole of humanity’s anguish at the
destiny of illness, pain and death that has been imposed upon us.
Man’s resistance to death becomes evident: somewhere – people have
constantly thought – there must be some cure for death. Sooner or
later it should be possible to find the remedy not only for this or
that illness, but for our ultimate destiny – for death itself.
Surely the medicine of immortality must exist. Today too, the search
for a source of healing continues. Modern medical science strives,
if not exactly to exclude death, at least to eliminate as many as
possible of its causes, to postpone it further and further, to
prolong life more and more. But let us reflect for a moment: what
would it really be like if we were to succeed, perhaps not in
excluding death totally, but in postponing it indefinitely, in
reaching an age of several hundred years? Would that be a good
thing? Humanity would become extraordinarily old, there would be no
more room for youth. Capacity for innovation would die, and endless
life would be no paradise, if anything a condemnation. The true cure
for death must be different. It cannot lead simply to an indefinite
prolongation of this current life. It would have to transform our
lives from within. It would need to create a new life within us,
truly fit for eternity: it would need to transform us in such a way
as not to come to an end with death, but only then to begin in
fullness. What is new and exciting in the Christian message, in the
Gospel of Jesus Christ, was and is that we are told: yes indeed,
this cure for death, this true medicine of immortality, does exist.
It has been found. It is within our reach. In baptism, this medicine
is given to us. A new life begins in us, a life that matures in
faith and is not extinguished by the death of the old life, but is
only then fully revealed.
To this some, perhaps many, will respond: I certainly hear the
message, but I lack faith. And even those who want to believe will
ask: but is it really so? How are we to picture it to ourselves? How
does this transformation of the old life come about, so as to give
birth to the new life that knows no death? Once again, an ancient
Jewish text can help us form an idea of the mysterious process that
begins in us at baptism. There it is recounted how the patriarch
Enoch was taken up to the throne of God. But he was filled with fear
in the presence of the glorious angelic powers, and in his human
weakness he could not contemplate the face of God. "Then God said to
Michael," to quote from the book of Enoch, "‘Take Enoch and remove
his earthly clothing. Anoint him with sweet oil and vest him in the
robes of glory!’ And Michael took off my garments, anointed me with
sweet oil, and this oil was more than a radiant light … its
splendour was like the rays of the sun. When I looked at myself, I
saw that I was like one of the glorious beings" (Ph. Rech, Inbild
des Kosmos, II 524).
Precisely this – being reclothed in the new garment of God – is what
happens in baptism, so the Christian faith tells us. To be sure,
this changing of garments is something that continues for the whole
of life. What happens in baptism is the beginning of a process that
embraces the whole of our life – it makes us fit for eternity, in
such a way that, robed in the garment of light of Jesus Christ, we
can appear before the face of God and live with him for ever.
In the rite of baptism there are two elements in which this event is
expressed and made visible in a way that demands commitment for the
rest of our lives. There is first of all the rite of renunciation
and the promises. In the early Church, the one to be baptized turned
towards the west, the symbol of darkness, sunset, death and hence
the dominion of sin. The one to be baptized turned in that direction
and pronounced a threefold "no": to the devil, to his pomp and to
sin. The strange word "pomp", that is to say the devil’s glamour,
referred to the splendour of the ancient cult of the gods and of the
ancient theatre, in which it was considered entertaining to watch
people being torn limb from limb by wild beasts. What was being
renounced was a type of culture that ensnared man in the adoration
of power, in the world of greed, in lies, in cruelty. It was an act
of liberation from the imposition of a form of life that was
presented as pleasure and yet hastened the destruction of all that
was best in man. This renunciation – albeit in less dramatic form –
remains an essential part of baptism today. We remove the "old
garments", which we cannot wear in God’s presence. Or better put: we
begin to remove them. This renunciation is actually a promise in
which we hold out our hand to Christ, so that he may guide us and
reclothe us. What these "garments" are that we take off, what the
promise is that we make, becomes clear when we see in the fifth
chapter of the Letter to the Galatians what Paul calls "works of the
flesh" – a term that refers precisely to the old garments that we
remove. Paul designates them thus: "fornication, impurity,
licentiousness, idolatry, sorcery, enmity, strife, jealousy, anger,
selfishness, dissension, party spirit, envy, drunkenness, carousing
and the like" (Gal 5:19ff.). These are the garments that we remove:
the garments of death.
Then, in the practice of the early Church, the one to be baptized
turned towards the east – the symbol of light, the symbol of the
newly rising sun of history, the symbol of Christ. The candidate for
baptism determines the new direction of his life: faith in the
Trinitarian God to whom he entrusts himself. Thus it is God who
clothes us in the garment of light, the garment of life. Paul calls
these new "garments" "fruits of the spirit", and he describes them
as follows: "love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness,
faithfulness, gentleness, self-control" (Gal 5:22).
In the early Church, the candidate for baptism was then truly
stripped of his garments. He descended into the baptismal font and
was immersed three times – a symbol of death that expresses all the
radicality of this removal and change of garments. His former
death-bound life the candidate consigns to death with Christ, and he
lets himself be drawn up by and with Christ into the new life that
transforms him for eternity. Then, emerging from the waters of
baptism the neophytes were clothed in the white garment, the garment
of God’s light, and they received the lighted candle as a sign of
the new life in the light that God himself had lit within them. They
knew that they had received the medicine of immortality, which was
fully realized at the moment of receiving holy communion. In this
sacrament we receive the body of the risen Lord and we ourselves are
drawn into this body, firmly held by the One who has conquered death
and who carries us through death.
In the course of the centuries, the symbols were simplified, but the
essential content of baptism has remained the same. It is no mere
cleansing, still less is it a somewhat complicated initiation into a
new association. It is death and resurrection, rebirth to new life.
Indeed, the cure for death does exist. Christ is the tree of life,
once more within our reach. If we remain close to him, then we have
life. Hence, during this night of resurrection, with all our hearts
we shall sing the alleluia, the song of joy that has no need of
words. Hence, Paul can say to the Philippians: "Rejoice in the Lord
always, again I will say, rejoice!" (Phil 4:4). Joy cannot be
commanded. It can only be given. The risen Lord gives us joy: true
life. We are already held for ever in the love of the One to whom
all power in heaven and on earth has been given (cf. Mt 28:18). In
this way, confident of being heard, we make our own the Church’s
Prayer over the Gifts from the liturgy of this night: Accept the
prayers and offerings of your people. With your help may this Easter
mystery of our redemption bring to perfection the saving work you
have begun in us. Amen.
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