Year C
It is perhaps the most troubling, most upsetting thing we are
asked to do in liturgical worship. Once
each year we are required to become part of a mob witnessing the rigged trial
of a person who brought peace into the world, modeled forgiveness, loved the
unlovable, and criticized the hypocrisy of the elite, be they political,
religious, or the indifferent well-to-do.
And with the mob we are forced to render a verdict.
“Crucify him! Crucify
him!”
The words which rang out in the courtyard in front of
Pilate’s residence centuries ago become our words echoing throughout this space
– this space where we come to be married, to baptize our children, to receive
the sacrament, to ask God’s care and keep before we bury a loved one. “Crucify him!” seems so out of step with
everything else this place is for us, and yet it is here on this day we are directed
to say these words; words which in some way link us to the original throng and
make us culpable with them.
It has been well chronicled crucifixion is one of the
cruelest, most painful forms of execution ever devised. Mel Gibson’s 2004 movie The Passion of Christ was criticized for its extreme, graphic depiction,
but (at least to my way of thinking), it was probably far tamer than the real
thing. I have heard numerous sermons and
talks describing in detail the exact nature of the suffering crucifixion
inflicts. I will spare you the
details.
Typically, the point of such preaching is to impress upon the
listener the pain and punishment Jesus took upon himself to pay the penalty for
our sins. The whole point of Passion
Sunday, then, is to impose a quilt trip which will drive us to our knees in
remorse. This then motivates us to amend
our lives moving forward in grateful acknowledgement of all Christ has won for
us through his suffering on our behalf. When
accompanied by an extreme emotional response, it becomes what is known as a “conversion
experience.”
This process is known as the atonement theory of the
Crucifixion:
9 We are all sinners.
9 Sin demands punishment.
9 The punishment is death.
9 It is a cost too great for us to pay.
9 Christ, being sinless, pays the price (or atones) on our
behalf.
It is a nice, tidy theology, certainly with biblical roots
and support from the ancient Hebrew sacrificial system. But I wonder if we are missing something when
the complex events of this day become as describable as a recipe for baking
chocolate chip cookies.
In 1972, a French writer by the name of Rene Girard authored
an influential and somewhat dense book titled Violence and the Sacred in which he explored the ritual role of sacrifice
in diverse religious and cultural systems.
His work has been hailed by many for analyzing how socially sanctioned
violence (like crucifixion) has been played out in many different cultures and
ages.
Girard sees in the Cross a kind of mirror which forces us to
look at ourselves and at our society.
And what we see when we look at ourselves is our most violent
tendencies, from political institutions to personal encounters. In the Cross we see our tendency to scapegoat
the weak and marginalized in order to absolve and unify the whole. When we shout “Crucify him!”, it is not
because we want redemption for telling petty lies or sneaking a second helping
of dessert. We are proclaiming Jesus
must die because he threatens the status quo by calling into question
fundamental aspects of our society and ways we benefit from them at the expense
of others.
It takes a brave person to engage the news in our day and
time: shootings in downtown Suffolk and a killing in northern part of our city;
gunshots at McArthur Mall and Virginia Beach; gang shootings in Sacramento’s
entertainment district, unspeakable, inhumane acts in the Ukraine; multiple
states enacting legislation designed to marginalize the most vulnerable and misunderstood
members of our society. Ours is a
violent world and the human race is a violent people. In some way, shape, or form, every act of
violence is a statement proclaiming I will get what I want at your expense, or
I will make secure what I value by rendering you harmless. This is the message mirrored back to us from
the Cross. This is what we seek when we
say, “Crucify him!” We want our lives to
be better by making someone else’s worse.
The word ‘atonement’ was created by William Tyndale, the
first person to translate the bible into English from original Hebrew and Greek
texts. It literally means “at-one-ment”,
the bringing together of that which has been separated. Tyndale used this word as a translation for
several different biblical words which mean ‘reconciliation.’ Like so many before him, he saw in the Cross
a work meant to unite God to a world estranged from God – at-one-ment – and to bridge
the chasm between peoples so deeply divided against one another. Does Jesus accomplish this by transferring
the unpayable balance of our sins into his own account or did he make it
possible by holding before us the worst of our behavior and calling us to
repent?
A rocket strike at a railroad station kills dozens of
innocents, injuring scores more, all attempting to flee the destruction of
their homeland. Before the soldiers
fired the weapon they took the time to paint on it a message: “For the Children.” I ask you this: did Jesus die on the Cross so
the sins of these perpetrators would be forgiven (the atonement theory) or to
hold up to us a mirror which forces us to look at our darkest tendencies and
calls us to repentance and change?
Well, either way, this much is certain: as individuals, as a
people, as a society, as the human family, we desperately need God’s Spirit to
fall upon us to transform us in ways we desire but cannot achieve through our
own initiatives and merits. Through the
observance of Holy Week, we are invited to do more than shout “Crucify him.” We are invited to walk with Jesus, to ponder
the meaning of a symbolic foot washing, to share in the institution of his
sacred meal, to stand in silence at Golgotha, to die with him, and (ultimately)
to rise with him in newness of life. It
is a journey from “Crucify him” to “Create in me a new, clean heart.” I invite you to join me on this pilgrimage of
dying and new birth.
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