Battle for the dead (part 2)

In the last post, I explored what might seem like an oddity in the greatest war story ever told: Homer’s Iliad.

In the epic, the most intense conflicts center not on killing enemies or conquering their land, but on securing corpses, for proper burial or vengeful desecration.

Why, though, should that matter still today?

Several insights follow, though I’ll leave them only partially developed, while admitting that I’m no expert in this area.

Despite occasional generalized claims that “Greek thought” cared little for the body (a shift that took place later), Homer reveals a deeply human impulse that what Paul calls “this earthly tent” (2 Cor. 5:1) is both precious and integral to personhood, both before death and after it.

It is right and good to feel this way, however painful it may be as we grieve those we have lost.

CHALLENGING A MISCONCEPTION

This is why it strikes me as obviously false when someone says something like this at a Christian funeral: “Now she is perfect and whole.”

To be sure, Christians believe that those who die in Christ are “with the Lord” (2 Cor. 5:8). Their suffering has ended. And they experience blessedness, rest, and even paradise (Luke 23:43). (It should be obvious from those claims that I do not hold to so-called soul sleep, since it doesn’t fit the experiential connotations of what Jesus calls “paradise,” when speaking to the thief upon the cross. Nor does it fit with Christ’s story of the Rich Man and Lazarus, however parabolic that is.)

To be spiritually with Christ is both beautiful and hope-giving. But it does not mean that we become perfect and whole upon death. The reason is simple: Bodies matter. To say otherwise would be to view God’s material creation as either irrelevant to human flourishing, or worse yet, a hindrance to it.

Such assumptions are often smeared as “Greek” or “pagan” errors (with some justification); yet even the Iliad challenges this point at one important level: In the Iliad, bodies matter, both before death and after it.

“WHAT WOULD JOSEPH DO?” (WWJD)

Second, the concern for corpse care after death, illuminates the bravery and importance of an oft-forgotten disciple in the Gospel narratives: Joseph of Arimathea.

We read this in Mark 15:42-46:

It was Preparation Day (that is, the day before the Sabbath). So as evening approached, Joseph of Arimathea, a prominent member of the Council, who was himself waiting for the kingdom of God, went boldly to Pilate and asked for Jesus’ body. […]

So Joseph bought some linen cloth, took down the body, wrapped it in the linen, and placed it in a tomb cut out of rock. Then he rolled a stone against the entrance of the tomb.

Scholars spill lots of ink debating whether (or how well) a given ancient philosopher or poet was known to biblical authors and their audiences. But one thing is clear: The Iliad was known. We have well-preserved wall paintings from Pompeii and Herculaneum, dating from the first-century AD, depicting its scenes. Just like kids hang movie posters of Marvel Comic characters, we find the ancient fresco of “Achilles and Briseis” (or “Briseis taken away from Achilles”) in the House of the Tragic Poet in Pompeii.

At the risk of pressing things too far, it might be like asking a modern American, “Have you heard of Superman?”

As another illustration, I’m currently in Vienna for a conference, where I visited the (incredible) Museum of Fine Arts. Below is a snap of an ancient Greek vessel, depicting scenes from the Iliad, including the arrival of Priam to plead for Hector’s body.

Of course, there are big differences between Priam’s visit to Achilles, and that of Joseph to Pontius Pilate. Still, it seems reasonable that an early Christian—in a house church in Philippi, Rome, or Corinth—would have heard the echoes. Pilate also would have been shaped at some level by the story.

Here then is the point about the man from Arimathea: While other disciples fled on Good Friday, sinking in confusion and despair, Joseph put his reputation (and his life) on the line to go boldly before a man responsible for Christ’s death, and to plead for his friend’s body.

Because of Joseph, birds do not despoil the corpse, the sign of Jonah is preserved, the Sabbath rest is kept within the tomb, and the stage is set for Easter Sunday.

I don’t think Joseph did this because he was expecting resurrection three days later. That’s not why Priam did it either. They did it out of love and duty, even in the pit of hopelessness, which makes it even more powerful and relevant for us when all seems lost.

To await the Kingdom, for Joseph (and arguably for us), is to take up the shroud and not the sword. Because even when the kingly Son is dead—his body matters.

To cite Peter, on the Day of Pentecost:

Therefore my heart is glad and my tongue rejoices;
my body also will rest in hope,
because you will not abandon me to the realm of the dead,
you will not let your holy one see decay.

~Acts 2:26–27 (Psalm 16:8–11, LXX)

Now… in the next part of this series, I’ll share something I don’t like about the handling of this topic in the Iliad, and how Dostoyevsky helps.

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