Notes on the Front

Easter Sunday. An odd subject to for a blog on political economy to consider? I don’t think so. I have referred to religious-ethical issues before and on the way revealed that the first book I read, and the first book that was read to me, was the Bible. My mother was a fundamentalist protestant Christian. So was Dr. Martin Luther King. So were many of the first trade unionists, gunned down by para-military agents of employers. So is President Barack Obama. In my birth-home, much progressive politics arose, and continues to rise, out of faith and a profound engagement with all of creation.

Some time ago another blogger asked the pertinent question – is socialism an economics, a politics or an ethic? In truth, I cannot so easily compartmentalise. I may have let go of the form of my mother’s faith but I remain wedded to that profound affirmation – that we are all equal. Whether that is expressed ‘in the eyes of God’ or ‘in the eyes of the law’ or ‘in the complex relations of the economy’ – it is all one in the same to me. Economics is the political exploration of how we, as a society, make a living. Politics itself is derived from the Greek πόλις – meaning the city. We can choose. We can build a city of horror – of inequality, poverty, oligarchy and oppression. Or we can build a different city – one of democracy and equality. What foundation stone will we lay? That is the first question. All others – economics, politics – flow from that.

So, Easter Sunday. Christians celebrate Jesus’ physical resurrection and eventual return to the Creator, his Father, charting a path for all of us to follow. It is a profound and liberating story. All great religions contain such narratives: the Jewish migration from slavery to the promised land, Mohamed’s first revelation in the cave outside Mecca, Buddha’s awakening under the Bhodi tree, Krishna’s counsel on the battlefield of life, Lao Tsu’s final advice before he leaves into exile. These stories contain great struggles and sacrifice, great defeats and ultimately, great victory. If we are, first, builders we are also storytellers. It serves us well to listen.

Maybe because I grew up with it, but the Christian story strikes me as particularly thought provoking. For though there are mythological precedents, in the Easter narrative God, the Word, actually dies. It is a brave faith that contemplates that. For three days we are alone, truly mortal, without hope of salvation. Darkness descends, earthquakes rip open the tombs and the dead walk the city; chaos and arbitrariness rules.

The first Christian telling of that Easter morning was not, however about how Jesus appeared to the many. In truth, all references to Jesus’ physical re-appearance were later interpolations. That’s why none of the Gospel writers agree on the main points of what happened after the Resurrection: Jesus ascended to heaven on the day of his resurrection or he spent 40 days on Earth, he appeared in his own form or many forms, he ascended from Galilee or maybe from Jerusalem, and so on. Confusion? Yes. Important? No.

The earliest Christian manuscript, the writer of Mark, actually ends with Jesus’ disappearance, not reappearance – a more ambiguous but, for me, a more provocative ending. For on that first Easter morning, when Jesus’ mother, Mary Magdalene and Salome went to Jesus’ tomb to perform the death rituals they did not find him there or anywhere else. All they found was a ‘young man’ telling them that Jesus wasn’t there, that he had risen. And what was there reaction? The last line of the original Christian story puts it this way:

‘And the women went out and fled from the tomb, for trembling and astonishment had gripped them and they said nothing to anyone, for they were very afraid.' (Mark 16:8)

The Christian message is founded on an empty tomb, a cryptic message from an unknown, unnamed man . . . and fear. And who brought this story to the world? Women – who in Biblical times were (and still are in so many places and households throughout the world) treated as second-class, without rights, chattel. The Christian story of salvation starts with a confused message brought to us by the downtrodden.

Today, people celebrate the evolution of that Easter story – evolved not by hidden or supernatural forces – but by men and women throughout the ages: that death has no domain but, rather, is finally defeated, that the cryptic message is now clear as the darkness recedes; and that our original fear is not only conquered but transformed into celebration. It is a breathtaking story – told by every man and woman for the salvation of every man and woman, without prejudice or precondition.

On this Easter morning, so many in the world will wake up to hunger and war, exile and dispossession, knowing only despair. On this Easter morning, so many in Ireland will wake up to their own despairs – the fear of recession that is darkening our economy and society. On this Easter morning, we have a choice.

We can hide in our rooms as the Apostles initially did, dismissing the confused message brought by fearful people who were, after all, mere social and economic subordinates. Or we can go out – raise up the poor, make clear the message, invite all to the good news; and prove conclusively – that recession’s tomb can become empty, that there now can be a gaping hole in a previously small dark space of decay. It need not be filled with the economic and social casualties we are now creating.

We can build a new city – for we are builders. It can be a better city – for we can learn from our past mistakes. It will be a city for all in equal measure – for we now know that if one person is left behind we are all left behind.

And most of all we can tell a new story – of prosperity and hope, democracy and equality; a story in which everyone is invited to contribute to, a collective rewriting of a, so far, desultory narrative.

It is our choice. It is in our power. That, for me, is the Easter message.

So enjoy the break. For when we are rested, we have a lot of work to do.