Eucatastrophe

As for the riffraff, the needed act, the one they clearly wanted, was some sign that shrieked.

from The Raising of Lazarus
Rainer Maria Rilke

Leonard Bernstein relates in The Joy of Music what it takes to make a traditional melody. You have to start with one note, then you have to play some other notes, and when you eventually find your way back to the first note, or tonic, the melody is through. Simple, right? The first note sets your expectations, tension follows as the pitch shifts, and the tune resolves when you finally hear the first note again, now packed with meaning because of all that has happened. This concept always stuck with me because I think it may be the overarching outline for all art, not just music. Many stories, for example, follow this pattern. Usually we are given a premise, something then happens to disturb the status quo, the characters struggle to save what they once loved, and eventually they succeed, returning to where they began, but now with wisdom gained during their journey. Joseph Campbell uses this outline for his The Hero with a Thousand Faces: Departure, Initiation, and Return. Oscar Wilde's Selfish Giant begins and ends with children stealing into the giant's garden, but the meaning of these two identical events differs greatly because of all that has happened in between. It may be that J.R.R. Tolkien found the greatest title ever in his subtitle for The Hobbit: There and Back Again. Couldn't nearly all stories bear this title, if not literally then figuratively?

This pattern works best when you have a really good beginning, a place you want to get back to, and a really tumultuous middle, a place you really want to escape. To stay with Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings illustrates this pattern perfectly. The hobbits live a happy life in the Shire, and to read the opening chapters of The Fellowship of the Ring is to fall in love with this idyllic country of parties, beer, fireworks and pipes. It is precisely because of this love that the reader is scared by the arrival of the ringwraiths and worries as the hobbits are made to travel far and suffer much to save their home. As Sam and Frodo wander through Mordor, all is dry and dark and the Shire could not seem more distant. But from the moment the ring is destroyed beyond hope, everything seems to be swept of as on eagle's wings into a sweet dream. Or it might be better to say bittersweet, for the resolution is not saccharine. Although the Shire has been saved, the reader can't help but lament with Frodo that the Shire "has been saved, but not for me. It must often be so, when things are in danger: some one has to give them up, lose them, so that others may keep them."

Tolkien calls this bittersweet resolution an eucatastrophe, the sudden good turn after much turmoil. The bitter comes from the hurt and wisdom acquired during the journey and is present in all the great fairy tales. With the verses we sing in Church tonight during the Canon of St. Lazarus, we will begin to relive what Tolkien called "the greatest and most complete conceivable eucatastrophe." This greatest of stories begins in the greatest of places; it begins with "a sign that shrieks." Tonight Jesus comes late to the burial place of his friend, Lazarus, and is reproached for not coming sooner. They believe Jesus is a healer, but tonight Jesus proves he is greater than all the prophets and healers who preceded him. Tonight Jesus performs the greatest miracle ever witnessed - the raising of a man from the dead. And this miracle is not just the reviving a recently deceased child. Other prophets had done that. Jesus had already done that. We see that kind of miracle every day. Those are certainly miracles, but they are just skirmishes on the borders of Death. Tonight Jesus summons a man four-days dead, a man wrapped and entombed and stinking of decay, to return from the land of Death. Tonight the border skirmishes end, and Jesus declares open war on Death. And tonight, having fed every corpse from Adam to John the Baptist to his liege, Satan arrogantly accepts the challenge.

As the week progresses, we'll join the riffraff cheering this miracle as Jesus enters Jerusalem riding on an ass, as the legendary king David had done so many years before. We'll wave palms, sing and dance at the coming of the long awaited king. The man riding before us is able heal the sick, calm the seas, feed the hungry and summon the dead from their tombs. This is the highest opening statement imaginable, and it is here the story takes a turn for the worse. As should have been expected, Death does not simply bend his knee to this up-and-comer. His servant Satan will bend the wills of the political and religious elite and even win allies from among Jesus' own followers. The riffraff will be swayed to turn on the prophet-king they've lauded; together will feed Jesus into the insatiable maw of Death while his followers lose their faith and flee. Days will pass. Like the men on the road to Emmaus, whatever hope has been placed in this miracle-worker will seem wasted. Tell me, how could this story fall any farther?

It may seem impossible to surpass such a triumphant opening, or to come back from such a tragic fall, but trust me this story will resolve beautifully. It turns out there's something about Jesus which Satan and Death did not fully comprehend. It turns out Jesus is more than just the greatest of prophets; he's more than just the long awaited king. I don't want to spoil the ending by talking about it too much too soon, but I will say Death may have bitten off more than he could chew.

By raising Lazarus from the dead before Your passion,
You did confirm the universal Resurrection, O Christ God!
Like the children with the palms of victory,
We cry out to You, O Vanquisher of death;
Hosanna in the Highest!
Blessed is He that comes in the Name of the Lord!

Troparion for Lazarus Saturday