Jesus and the Resurrection: Reflections of Christians from Islamic Contexts

By David Emmanuel Singh

The idea of a trilogy containing reflections by Christians living in Islamic contexts was born in 2004. The first volume on Jesus and the Cross appeared in 2009. The second volume, Jesus and the Incarnation, was published in 2011. The third volume here is concerned with the theme of resurrection. Our aim here is to build a bridge between Muslims and Christians with Jesus in the centre of the discourse. As an idea, 'resurrection' is shared by and is central to the eschatologies of Christianity, Islam and Judaism.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Regnum Books International
• Release date: Jan 1, 2015
• ISBN: 9781908355775

Book preview

INTRODUCTION

Introduction

David Emmanuel Singh

Dr. David Emmanuel Singh is Research Tutor in Islam and South Asian Studies at the Oxford Centre for Mission Studies, UK.

The idea of a trilogy was born in 2004 and the first volume on Jesus and the Cross appeared in 2009. The rationale for starting the project with the theme of the cross and not with the incarnation was not just to express our solidarity with those who suffered or lost their lives in the violence of the physical jihad but also to make sense of the meaning of suffering and death in light of the Christian theology of the cross in this context. The aim was not just to reflect on what seemed like increasing conflicts and violence around the world but also to contribute positively to peace and peace-building – and doing this by means of reaffirming the the very heart of the Christian confession about Jesus and his death on the cross. In reflecting on suffering and sacrifice we began by noting that the premise of the volume was by no means new – that the cross was/is the symbol of sacrifice and reconciliation; shocking as it was like all deaths, Jesus’ story remembered and celebrated by millions can inspire an end to hostilities. Although, it was a multi-volume publication and represented quite a variety of perspectives from different regions and different contexts of Muslim-Christian relations, the central idea here was to invite the readers to experience and spread the message of reconciliation in its fullness. It is this message that can undermine the roots of violence and conflict in society and between peoples of different faiths.

The second volume in the series, Jesus and the Incarnation, was published in 2011. Having been encouraged by students and teachers living with Muslim neighbours, this volume aimed too to achieve the same level of interest among its audience. Like before, the expectation was for it to be read by a mixed readership of theological students and ordinary Christians living in Islamic contexts. The volume included papers written by a variety of Christians representing a range of exegetical/hermeneutical, empirical socio-anthropological, philosophical, historical, biographical and missional approaches which in turn reflected the contexts from where the papers originated. The structure of the volume was derived from David Grafton’s interesting contribution on ‘The 1865 Van Dyck Arabic Translation of the Bible’. The key phrase here was ‘the Word made Book’ which contrasted meaningfully with the historical Christian witness to the testimony on ‘the Word made Flesh’. The entire volume was thus organised around the notion of the Word which, it argued, is the basis for a Christian community, Christian witness and dialogue with Muslims brothers and sisters.

The third volume here is concerned with the theme of resurrection. As an idea it is shared by and is central to the eschatologies of Christianity, Islam and Judaism. In Islam, the belief in life after death, resurrection and the day of judgement are so central that they are considered to be one of its ‘Five Pillars’. Life has meaning because in resurrection, humanity will meet its maker on the Day of Judgement. The presence of such an idea in Islam is arguably evidence of the cross-fertilisation across the three great monotheistic faiths. Although, traditionally, Muslims have denied the death of Jesus, ‘the ignoble and accursed’ death on the cross, both major branches of Islam maintain that Jesus is alive. Jesus is alive because as he was taken up to heaven by God and will return to usher in, along with the Mahdi (the guided one), the era of peace and justice. Messianic aspirations in Islam have not just been present as ideas but also as actual Revivalist and Mahdist movements right up to our time and these have ranged from peaceful to armed jihadi rebellions. These have also been rooted in the direct or indirect references in the Qur’an and the Hadith.

In the Christian faith, clearly, the resurrection gains an enhanced degree of significance because it is not simply something one hopes for or expects to happen at the end but has already occurred. The followers of Jesus in their respective communities of faith have maintained for over 2000 years that Jesus died and rose again. The lives they live as individuals and in communities are lived with this awareness of the living reality of Jesus. It is this Jesus who is honoured in Christian worship and is remembered through the celebration of the Eucharist. Most disciples of Jesus still come together on the first day of the week for this. In celebrating, they not just remember that their Lord was dead and now lives but that their celebration of remembrance is a sign of the eschatological fellowship with Jesus himself.

In the Christian faith however, the significance of resurrection goes even beyond worship, remembrance, and the hope of the eschatological fellowship with Jesus. It actually involves ‘the moral transformation’ of the believers whose sense of right and wrong is expressed in relationship with other believers in the entire community under ‘the divine authority’ of Jesus. The evidence for this sort of a community concerned with the faithful socialisation of the believers in faith goes right back to the first 100 years of the Common Era, anno domini. As argued in a contribution in this volume, the Didache may be short and largely forgotten, but it was meant to be memorised and used to guide and train believers to live both with reference to ‘The Way of the Lord’ and ‘the hope for the future’.

Did Jesus ascend to heaven without experiencing death? Would he return to preach Islam, experience death and then be raised to new life on the day of the resurrection? These are questions that Muslims have traditionally raised. Clearly therefore, though, the idea of resurrection is present both in Christianity and Islam and may even have been the result of cross-fertilization, there still exists a seemingly unbridgeable chasm between them over this issue. Several attempts have been made by Christians to approach their differences with Muslims on this matter. A contribution here shows that early Christian defences bring to light the fact that there existed more than one Muslim narrative about Jesus. There is value in examining these writings to learn not just about the past interactions between Muslims and Christians but also to be educated by these for better interactions even on the issue of the resurrection of Jesus. There is no single or simple answer or approach.

An approach discussed in this volume concerns a 19th-20th century Protestant thinker whose starting point really is where it should be, the crucifixion of Jesus. This is the heart of the Christian faith and witness – Jesus’ resurrection and ascension follow from this. Any attempt to alter this sequence – death, resurrection, ascension and return (Christian eschatology) to ascension, return, death and resurrection (Islamic eschatology) clearly is a huge challenge. Nevertheless, there is room for discussion because Jesus is still a central figure in Islamic eschatology which shares a similar ‘theocentric worldview’ as Christianity and this is in contrast to the secular worldview which has no such parallels or common ground with Christianity.

Another approach relates the idea of the living Jesus to a widespread subtradition within Sunni Islam, Sufism. Sufism and some supposed marginal traditions in Islam have for centuries shown a muted preference for the possibility of prophecy leading to sainthood and from prophets to saints. Here is possibly evidence of aspiration among Muslims for progressive revelation. A classic example of this in the Qur’an is the account of Moses and his mysterious companion, later identified with the Khidr, ‘the Green Man’. Arguably, we have here key evidence for a lost tradition which shows that neither is the divine transcendence a defining characteristic of Islam nor is prophecy its end – sainthood is understood by the Sufis to enable the deepening of Islam through its access to ‘the hidden meanings’ of prophecy. The main question concerns the identity of the companion of Moses. Who was he? Could he have been ‘the living Jesus’, the famous Spanish mystic, Ibn ‘Arabi, called ‘the seal of universal sainthood’? This, as has been argued, in the context of the theologies of religions, does not seem like a far-fetched speculation.

There is also a personal and narrative approach which an author here encourages readers to consider. This approach is based on serious empirical research among Middle Eastern women. Instead of relying on theological doctrinal positions to convey the Christian witness to Jesus’ resurrection, it encourages Christians to consider ‘stories and metaphors’. The stories allow the listeners to think and make up their own mind; stories start discussions without the need for terse doctrinal rebuttals and thus can be a means for fruitful dialogue. Another approach is textual-hermeneutical as it rereads the Markan text and considers the possibility of the text ending with the encounter of the women disciples with the Angel at the tomb and notes their astonishment and their resolve to keep this to themselves. That is without the verses 9-20 which record the ‘resurrection appearances’. Did Mark originally intend to end the narrative with the experience and resolve of the women disciples? In what sense could this serve as a ‘common-ground’ for dialogue with Muslims?

Originating from an author’s long experience of engagement with Muslims in Bangladesh, a paper here argues that theologically formulated faith requires translation into praxis. The main argument is that the positions of Christians and Muslims on the resurrection cannot be reconciled at the theological and doctrinal level of discourse. However, if the faith in the living Jesus is allowed to touch real lives this can be a tremendous witness and a means to tangible effects on the ground. One last approach privileging praxis originates from Pakistan. Here the argument is that Christians have not fully utilised eschatology as an approach for relating with Muslims. There is much that is common between Muslims and Christians on the question of the return of the Messiah. Despite the Qur’an’s apparent silence on the issue of Jesus’ death and resurrection, most Muslims believe in Jesus’ role towards the end of history. This assumes that Jesus is alive. The diversity of views among Muslims on the finer details of this notwithstanding, there seems to be some promise here for dialogue.

PART I

THE LIVING JESUS

Jesus, ‘the Living Wali’? A Revisionist Reading of Surah 18:60-82

David Emmanuel Singh

Dr. David Emmanuel Singh is Research Tutor in Islam and South Asian Studies at the Oxford Centre for Mission Studies, UK.

Introduction

Sufism and some supposed marginal traditions in Islam have for centuries showed a muted preference for the possibility of nabuwat (prophecy) leading to wilayat (sainthood) and the exoteric prophetic agency to the inwardness of the saints. The prophetic revelation here remains normative but the saints or the Sufis are seen as mediums for its fuller realisation. Arguably, despite diversity, the main message Sufism conveys is that ‘God speaks’ directly to the seekers of truth. ‘Courtesy’ appears to play an important role here. The direct connection between the seeker and God is not seen to be an independent route to God but as a ‘revelatory phase’ merely uncovering the ‘deeper’, ‘hidden’ or ‘spiritual’ meanings of prophecy. Could this possibly be evidence of aspiration among Muslims for progressive revelation?

In this paper, I review the Qur’anic account of Moses (a prophetic exemplar) and his mysterious companion, later identified with the Khidr, ‘the Green Man’ (a saintly exemplar). The intention is first to review sources on the identity of this mysterious companion in Muslim traditions and on the problem of the relationship between the prophets/prophecy and sainthood/saints. Do we have here, key evidence for a seemingly lost Muslim tradition the recovery of which may make it possible not just to appreciate that neither is the divine transcendence a defining characteristic of Islam nor is prophecy its end – sainthood enables the deepening of Islam through its access to ‘the hidden meanings’ of the prophecy?

The Qur’anic account involving Moses is common to both the Muslim and Christian traditions. What sets the two narratives apart is the baffling narrative of the Prophet Moses’ journey with the mysterious ‘saintly teacher’ of Moses who enables him to appreciate the deeper and hidden realities of life unavailable to him as a prophet.

How are Christians reading the Qur’an to understand the identity of this saintly teacher of Moses? In the context of some attempts to see the Prophet Muhammad in the Bible and similar thinking among some Christian theologians of religion, the possibility of the Khidr as a translated Muslim vision of ‘the living Jesus’ really does not seem far-fetched.

Moses and his Companion in the Qur’an

The prophets and prophecy are at the heart of the Qur’an. Many of these prophets are common to Islam and Christianity. God uses the prophets to forth-tell, foretell and, through these means, bring the erring back to the straight path. Neither Christians nor Muslims, in any significant numbers, attempt to use these shared traditions in reading their respective scriptures. The belief that the Qur’an borrows biblical characters and stories leaves no room for a serious engagement with it. The position that an Arab tradition of these characters existed independently of the Judeo-Christian traditions and informed the Qur’an may create space for that to happen. In this light, two objectives emerge: Muslim-Christian conversations may become a means of affirmation where traditions dovetail and, where the traditions diverge there is a possibility of gaining fresh or related perspectives as a basis for further dialogue.

Two central characters in the biblical tradition are Moses and Jesus: the former mediated the law of the transcendent God and the latter fulfilled this law by potentially connecting humanity with God; one represents the ‘old covenant’ and the other the ‘new covenant’. Many prophets from Islam share their names with characters in Christianity. Moses and Jesus are among the special messengers of God. Both Jesus and Moses find copious references in the Qur’an. The Qur’anic narrative of Moses (who is clearly considered a major prophet, being a messenger), for the most part, is similar to the Bible. The image of Jesus in the Qur’an is similar to and different from the other prophets, including Moses and this appears not to be accidental. The prophets in the Qur’an serve to support Muhammad’s call for the unity and the otherness of God. The prophets call people to worship this transcendent God and warn them of the impending punishment should they fail to heed the prophetic warning. The narratives involving the prophets are relevant because they serve as illustrations of what might happen to those who do not heed the warnings of Muhammad, the final prophet. The specific issue at the heart of the traditional Muslim objection to Christianity revolved around the relation between Jesus and God as well as humanity and God. God is one and utterly transcendent and Christology sacrifices this fundamental prophetic affirmation. Thus, the Qur’anic references involving Jesus can be read as projecting a Jesus who corrects this sort of immanent Christology.

Does the Qur’an contain anything that might suggest a possibility of the ‘fulfilment’ of the ‘prophets and law’ through intimacy with God? Sufis present possibilities of which Surah 18:60-82 is the most significant.¹ We have here an early revisionist tradition which somehow got ‘left behind’ despite early redactions to conform the text of the Qur’an to a single dominant and exoteric tradition. This passage records the story of Moses’ apprenticeship with a mysterious person. The story provides the Sufis with a Qur’anic basis for the plurality of revelatory processes through the agencies of the prophet (nabi) and the saint (wali) – the former gaining knowledge of the one transcendent God through the angel of revelation, Gabriel, and the latter directly from God. Neither the similarity in the narrative content nor the difference in aims between the Qur’an and the Bible is the main issue here. It is what we have in the Qur’an itself about Moses and his mysterious companion that is fundamentally problematic. This additional narrative does not appear to conform to the main structure of the prophetic salvation history rather it appears to serve as a departure from it and, therefore, revisionist in intent.

This additional narrative concerns what appears to be introducing an alternative discourse on the nature of the prophetic revelation. It seems to be suggesting that the prophets (even the messengers) may be the means of revelation but neither are they perfect nor is the revelation through them ‘final’. This Qur’anic narrative of Moses’ transformation through his association with a mysterious figure known in the Islamic tradition as the Khidr (the Green One), though exceptional may be the evidence. This narrative is rather elaborate and approximates in its oddity to the biblical narrative of Abraham and the mysterious king of Salem, Melchizedek.

The main structure of the narrative is as follows: Moses, the quintessential prophet, is informed of this mysterious person; Moses searches and finds him at a place where ‘the two seas meet’ (a picture of the interface between the physical and spiritual worlds);² his covenant with the mysterious companion, their journeys, conversations and Moses’ eventual ‘enlightenment’. The core of this Qur’anic narrative is repeated and expounded both in the canonical and Sufi traditions:

60. Behold, Moses said to his attendant, I will not give up until I reach the junction of the two seas or (until) I spend years and years in travel. 61. But when they reached the Junction, they forgot (about) their Fish, which took its course through the sea (straight) as in a tunnel. 62. When they had passed on (some distance), Moses said to his attendant: Bring us our early meal; truly we have suffered much fatigue at this (stage of) our journey. 63. He replied: Sawest thou (what happened) when we betook ourselves to the rock? I did indeed forget (about) the Fish: none but Satan made me forget to tell (you) about it: it took its course through the sea in a marvellous way! 64. Moses said: That was what we were seeking after: So they went back on their footsteps, following (the path they had come). 65. So they found one of Our servants, on whom We had bestowed Mercy from Ourselves and whom We had taught knowledge from Our own Presence. 66. Moses said to him: May I follow thee, on the footing that thou teach me something of the (Higher) Truth which thou hast been taught?67. (The other) said: Verily thou wilt not be able to have patience with me! 68. And how canst thou have patience about things about which thy understanding is not complete? 69. Moses said: Thou wilt find me, if Allah so will, (truly) patient: nor shall I disobey thee in aught. 70. The other said: If then thou wouldst follow me, ask me no questions about anything until I myself speak to thee concerning it. 71. So they both proceeded: until, when they were in the boat, he scuttled it. Said Moses: Hast thou scuttled it in order to drown those in it? Truly a strange thing hast thou done! 72. He answered: Did I not tell thee that thou canst have no patience with me? 73. Moses said: Rebuke me not for forgetting, nor grieve me by raising difficulties in my case. 74. Then they proceeded: until, when they met a young man, he slew him. Moses said: Hast thou slain an innocent person who had slain none? Truly a foul (unheard of) thing hast thou done! 75. He answered: Did I not tell thee that thou canst have no patience with me? 76. (Moses) said: If ever I ask thee about anything after this, keep me not in thy company: then wouldst thou have received (full) excuse from my side. 77. Then they proceeded: until, when they came to the inhabitants of a town, they asked them for food, but they refused them hospitality. They found there a wall on the point of falling down, but he set it up straight. (Moses) said: If thou hadst wished, surely thou couldst have exacted some recompense for it! 78. He answered: This is the parting between me and thee: now will I tell thee the interpretation of (those things) over which thou wast unable to hold patience. 79. As for the boat, it belonged to certain men in dire want: they plied on the water: I but wished to render it unserviceable, for there was after them a certain king who seized on every boat by force. 80. As for the youth, his parents were people of Faith, and we feared that he would grieve them by obstinate rebellion and ingratitude (to Allah and man). 81. So we desired that their Lord would give them in exchange (a son) better in purity (of conduct) and closer in affection. 82. As for the wall, it belonged to two youths, orphans, in the Town; there was, beneath it, a buried treasure, to which they were entitled: their father had been a righteous man: So thy Lord desired that they should attain their age of full strength and get out their treasure - a mercy (and favour) from thy Lord. I did it not of my own accord. Such is the interpretation of (those things) over which thou wast unable to hold patience.

Identity of Moses’ Companion: The Khidr

There is no agreement among Muslims as to the exact identity and the role of Moses’ companion. Firstly, one might see in the role an angel of God charged with the function of mediating the divine revelation like the angel Gabriel to Muhammad or simply guiding the seekers of God. If this companion was an angel then there would not seem to be any conflict of aims or any suggestion of revision. Moses’ companion’s input could then simply be seen in terms of a revelatory process not ranking at the level of wahy (revelatory knowledge without any prophetic participation) but in the sense of ordinary angelic guidance, even inspiration (ilham).

Secondly, some (by far the majority) would think of Moses’ companion as another prophet, albeit a special one, since a prophet of Moses’ standing apprenticed with him. This interpretation is based on the Qur’anic use of the term rahm (mercy) in relation to him.³ The Qur’an often refers to God as the rahim (the benevolent) or rahman (the merciful). One of the attributes of God in the Qur’an is his rahm, mercy. This mysterious person was granted ‘mercy from God,’ a phrase normally reserved for the prophets in the Qur’an. God channels his mercy to humanity through his prophets so that they might turn to the worship of one God.⁴ Bukhari, the compiler of one of the six canonical traditions, sahih al-bukhari, includes this Qur’anic narrative in his work and, names Moses’ companion as the Khidr.⁵ God leads Moses to the Khidr, a ‘learned contemporary’ (or a nabi, a prophet of lower rank than rasul). Tabari (d. 935 C.E.), a Muslim historian, in his major work on the history of the prophets and kings, holds the view that the history has a sacred quality to it because it has been punctuated with the coming of prophets. He identifies the Moses’ companion with the Khidr of the wider Islamic tradition.⁶ However, the task of the traditional scholars becomes complicated here. Moses is not just a nabi, but a rasul (messenger), a bearer of the Torah. Moses’ companion may be a ‘servant of God’, but he does not hold the high title of the rasul. Thus, arguably, the commentators fail to satisfactorily address the fundamental question: how can a prophet of lower spiritual rank instruct a prophet like Moses?⁷

Thirdly, some would argue that an answer can be found in the Sufi or Sufi inspired writings where Moses’ companion identified as the Khidr plays a central role as a continuing means to revelatory knowledge. Incidentally, here we possibly have a strong evidence for the idea of ‘revisionist Islam’.⁸ Here, the quality of possessing the knowledge of/from God is not the exclusive preserve of the nabi/rasul, but is shared also by the wali. A way this may be reconciled with the primary locus of prophecy (in Sufi discussions) would be by representing the status of the wali (friend and thus possessing direct relational knowledge) or wali-e kamil (the perfect saint) as being notionally subservient to that of the nabi/rasul.⁹ The Khidr here would be associated with the idea of ‘the Water of Life’ (hence a symbol of immortality),¹⁰ a hidden saint who initiates the aspirant to sainthood in the path to God; he is someone alive, hearing and willing to assist those who call on him. For this reason, the Khidr would be ritually prayed to and would appear to the supplicants in dreams and would confer with them (as he did with Moses).

Sources for the Idea of the Khidr

Muslims are not unique in believing in the Khidr or a Khidr-like individual. Hasluck¹¹ shows that in Turkey, even among the orthodox Sunnis, the Khidr tradition is prevalent. A special day is observed as the ‘feast of Lydda’ on the 23rd of April all over Turkey to honour him. The Khidr is especially popular among the Shi‘ah sects, the Nusairi, the Yazidi and the Druze. Many Christians of Asia Minor and Syria consider the Khidr as being identical with Elisha and St. George. Many Muslims thus, perform pilgrimages to churches dedicated to St. George, an Orthodox Christian saint and also a widely venerated patron saint in Europe.

The idea of the Khidr being a wanderer is unsurprising. The travel in the early and medieval times was filled with seen and unseen dangers. The uncharted expanses often meant people getting permanently lost or perishing. The stories of St. George from the European traditions may have been a source of the legends of the Khidr in the Islamic tradition.¹² Such an idea would have provided a point of contact and convergence between Christians and Muslims. Some Muslim Kurds, for instance, believed that ‘Ali, the fourth Caliph after Muhammad, was an incarnation of the Christ and the twelve apostles of this Christ were actually the twelve imams of the Shi‘ah and that Peter and Paul were Hasan and Husain (sons of ‘Ali). It is not clear if these points of contact emerged out of their own or they were actually created with the purpose of obfuscating the distinction between Christians and Islam, in order to make the transition of Christians into Islam easy; but such fusion of ideas undeniably existed.

Western scholarship suggests that Islam possibly inherited the tradition of the Khidr from some of the more ancient legends floating around in the Islamic world as Muslims were in dialogue with Christians and Jews. Three major sources of Surah 18:65-82 have been discussed by these scholars: the Gilgamesh Epic, Hibbur Yafeh me-ha-Yeshu‘a, and the Alexander Romances.

The Epic of Gilgamesh, written ca. 2500 B.C.E., relates the adventures of Gilgamesh, the King of Uruk. The tablets containing the epics were found by A. Layardwere and were deciphered, in 1873, by the English Assyriologist, G. Smith. The epic was published in 1999 in English translation by A George.¹³ Many myths are said to have been written about Gilgamesh in the Sumerian language on clay tablets. These were integrated into a longer versions which survive in Akkadian (related to Hebrew) and in Hurrian and Hittite (an Indo-European language). These were written in the script known as cuneiform. The most complete version exists in twelve tablets from the ruins of the library of Ashurbanipal who was the king of Assyria from 669-633 B.C.E. at Nineveh. This library was destroyed by the Persians in 612 B.C.E. Gilgamesh was two-thirds god and one-third man and hence, mortal. The story begins with the coming of Enkidu. Gilgamesh has no compassion for Uruk. The gods thus create Enkidu, a second self. Gilgamesh undertakes a journey of discovery with Enkidu, which transforms him and focuses his gaze to loftier things. Wensinck uses, in particular, the ideas in the Qur’an of the ‘junction of the two seas’ and the mysterious ‘servant of God’ to suggest that this epic was the source of the Qur'anic story.¹⁴ B. Wheeler argues that Wensinck’s connection between the epic and the Qur’an is based on the information attributed to the Qur’anic story in Qur'anic commentaries. Wensinck does not make any distinction between the Qur'an and its commentaries. The commentaries most likely used the epic to explain Surah 18:60-82.¹⁵.

Some Western scholars claim that Surah 18:60-65 was partly sourced from The Alexander Romances.¹⁶ Alexander III was the King of Macedonia (334-323 B.C.E.) who went on a campaign against the great Persian empire and by the time of his death in Babylon, ruled over much of the world. He remains an enigma and for this reason he has inspired poetry, songs and stories all over the world. The argument that Surah 18:60-82 is based on the Alexander romances is based on two factors: Firstly, the idea of the fish in 18:61 and 63 that appear