ONCE our life was so rich. It was in those years of yore, when, at the dawn of another Easter, with a note of exultation the words: “Christ is risen!” was still heard from every one’s lips, and the “We shall live with Him still resounded from every side as the sure prophecy of an eternal future.
Then every one still felt the contrast between life and Death, and shrank back as seriously from death, as Life attracted him. Therefore the idea of “Resurrection” was then so tempting. A coming again to life, even though we could not escape dying. And because the triumph of Life over Death had not merely been pictured nor imagined in Immanuel, Who arose, but was realized, therefore Easter addressed our human heart so sweetly, and even quickened joy and gladness in those broader circles, to which “the root of the matter” remained altogether hidden.
The deep, spiritual significance of Christ’s Resurrection was then, even as now, understood and enjoyed by only a few. What the holy apostle gloried in, that the Christ “was delivered for our offences, and was raised again for our justification (Rom. 4:25), was for the most part not understood even by those who yet were assured of their personal “justification by faith”. How, according to Peter’s word, holy Baptism was connected with Jesus’ resurrection, was seen even by less. And in the narrower circle of believers, which in all ages was never very large, one clung mostly to the confession, that God could not permit His Holy One to see corruption; that because of His holy work, Immanuel could “not be held of death”, and that the fruit of His Resurrection came to the good not of Himself alone, but also of His redeemed; now, in their spiritual resurrection, and once in the Resurrection of the flesh.
Without inaccuracy, it can be said, that in those better times a very small circle understood “the root of the matter”; that in a larger circle of believers the spiritual significance and fruit of Jesus’ Resurrection was enjoyed; and that in the very broad circle of nominal confessors, which in the world sounded the upper note, the joy was shared, that the final triumph would not be the spoils of Death, but that once Life would triumph over Death, and in Jesus’ death had so already triumphed.
Christ’s church stood then actually as a city on a hill, from whose top the joy-fires shed forth their glow over the entire surroundings, and the world, which spiritually still stood outside of Jesus, participated in the joy.
Now however this is no more so.
Not because in the heart of Christ’s church “the root of the matter” is no more understood, nor yet because the broader circle of believers has no more eye for the spiritual significance of Jesus’ resurrection, but because Christ’s church has lost her influence upon the world.
From of old the church of Christ gave the note, and as she gave the same, so the anthem of praise was begun, and in it even those outside took part.
Since then the world has withdrawn itself from the guardianship of the church of Christ. It has put its own wisdom again in the place of the wisdom from God’s Word. That Word it has rejected, to impart to the philosophers of our age in its stead a word of its own invention. Its life no longer drifts upon the sacred stream of the past, but upon the stream of its own unholy inspiration.
For this reason such altogether different ideas about Life and Death dominate the great masses.
Sense for, thirst after Life gradually decreased, and the fear and dread of Death lost its sting.
Our age, and that is the seal, that it has put upon itself, has reconciled itself with Death, and is become indifferent to Life.
He too who believes nothing, and dies without the faintest suggestion of hope, dies nevertheless calmly and submissively. The bier becomes invisible beneath the wreaths of flowers, by its beautiful drives and magnificent monuments the grave-yard becomes a park. Already before one has reached the half of his days, he is satiated with life. And the already long list lengthens itself, of those who found death sweet in the stream, or irresistible by the bullet.
Now go forth into that world with your witness and blessed proclamation, that “the Lord is risen indeed”, that Immanuel “conquered Death”, that Christ your King “has brought life and immortality to light”,—and that life’s weary, life’s satiated world looks at you mockingly, looks at you indifferently, as though it would say: What concern is your preaching of blessing regarding Death to us; rather offer us a soft, sweet, tempting poison, painlessly and without agony to sink away in Death.
So has Easter ceased to address and to inspire the world around us. It no longer asks after your Easter. Not after triumph over Death, does it stretch out its clammy, weary hand. Rather it finds your enthusiasm about Life foolish, and your deep enmity against Death unreasonable. Not Death, rather Life is the source of suffering and sorrow. Death delivers, Death reconciles, Death brings forgetfulness. And therefore to Death, not to Life, must remain the last word. Not the optimism of your imagined Easter but the pessimism of its love for the grave, presently for the crematory, that consumes even the mortal remains to ashes, is become the Gospel, the good tidings of our age.