Mark 15: Sifting Through the Crucifixion Narrative

Continuing for another couple of weeks with the Passion story as it is related in the gospel of Mark, we read of the crucifixion event and some connections with the Hebrew Scriptures made by the early church. It  bears repeating that there is very little evidence of a historical Jesus, but we wouldn't necessarily expect there to be. There is very little evidence from the first century of any single person who wasn't a powerful political or military figure, or a historian who wrote about important political and military figures. The Christian cult is mentioned in a couple of historical documents, but in these reports historians repeat what the early church believed about Jesus, rather than verify their story.

Even if there were more evidence of a historical Jesus, this would not necessarily validate any particular story about him. That a person names Nunzio exists is one kind of assertion; to say that Nunzio is manager of an Italian restaurant is another kind of assertion; and to say that Nunzio never buys wine for his restaurant because he can just turn water into alcohol whenever he wishes is yet another kind of assertion. To prove that Nunzio is a real person does not thereby lead to the conclusion that Nunzio can turn water into wine. Even to prove that Nunzio seemed to turn water into wine on one occasion does not necessarily conclude that he could do it again, or that he could perform any other amazing feat. With regard to Jesus, there is simply no way to prove the claims of the gospel narratives.

This is not a glaring indictment for most believers. Many people would say that accepting the gospel narratives requires faith, and they believe that their lives are improved by that faith. I have suggested that believing in a historical Jesus or that such a person performed miracles is rather shallow when one considers the minimal impact such belief could have in an individual's life. To believe in unicorns or dragons matters not at all (save that one may be a target for those who would take advantage of such gullibility), until one decides to quit one's job, leave one's family, and go hunting for unicorns or dragons. Then, it matters a great deal. Belief in what Jesus symbolizes -- belief to the extent that the values represented by the Jesus archetype permeate one's life -- would seem to be more vital than belief that Jesus actually existed.

Thus, when reading the Passion story in any of the gospels, one might do well to push past the question of whether something really happened and look to the symbolism as one would look at any other mythological tale. What is the wisdom being communicated? Where does one find oneself in the story? If the story is about Hercules slaying a hydra, does one identify most with the heroic role, with the role of the nephew Iolaus, with the townsfolk who were victims of the danger until someone heroic came along, or with the naysayers after the event who minimized the accomplishment? Can one learn something from every character in the story about oneself, or about what a best possible version of oneself might look like? This would seem to be a more valuable approach than blind belief that someone accomplished something unique a long time ago, and that the intangible benefits are available to anyone who just believes the story.

For the early church, it was important to set Jesus up as a unique messianic figure connected to Hebrew Scripture. This was possibly an unfortunate misinterpretation of the intentions of the prophets, particularly Isaiah, who cast vision for every individual to live into the ideal of compassionate justice. When the words of the ancient scriptures are made to be about a single person, it rather lets everyone else off the hook for living into that ideal. Several of the quotes and details of the crucifixion story are thus attributable to attempts on the part of the early church to affirm that Jesus was a unique fulfillment of Hebrew prophecy. The mythologizing of the story can be seen in the wine mixed with myrrh which Jesus refuses, the fall of darkness over the land, the casting of lots (gambling -- rolling dice) for his clothing, the presence of criminals alongside him (although this would certainly not be unusual, since criminals were crucified in droves in the Roman empire), and the words that Jesus speaks, which are a reference to a psalm of lament.

An interesting feature of the story is the tearing of the temple curtain from top to bottom. Many have interpreted this as a symbol that the separation between God and man was no more -- that people did not have to go through priests and sacrificial rituals to connect with the divine. Others have suggested that this is a symbol that God no longer lives in houses made by human hands, which would have been a significant concept in the first century. In any case, it was certainly an indictment against the religious power structures of the time, and it was a call to a change of perspective.

The burial scene is intended to provide enough details to make the resurrection event convincing, even though that event is a bit odd as it is told in the earliest version of the gospel of Mark. The verification that Jesus is dead, the traditional appropriate Jewish treatment of the body, and the heavy stone rolled across the tomb entrance are to make resurrection reports credible and impressive. Normally, a poor man crucified as a criminal would have been tossed in a mass grave, and whether he was still there or whether he had gotten up and walked off somewhere would be very difficult to determine. Like the other seemingly historical aspects of the story, hanging one's faith on whether things happened exactly as a gospel narrative suggests is a rather shallow reading. The real value is in determining the application in one's own life, and there are more worthwhile applications that mere belief in an event.

When I say that it is unfortunate that the early church appropriated Hebrew scripture to assert that Jesus was a unique messianic figure, I mean that it is very difficult to reclaim some of the ideas of those writings if one believes that they applied specifically to one particular person. Lament psalms were meant to be available to a community and to any individual who experienced the kind of suffering and pain reflected in the poem/song. Connecting a lament psalm to Jesus takes it somewhat off the market for personal expression, because, from the perspective of believers, no one suffered or felt pain like Jesus.The lament becomes about Jesus' suffering instead of our own, and our own suffering is made insignificant by comparison.

Except that our own suffering isn't insignificant. Comparing it to someone who has suffered more might seem like our preoccupation with our own pain isn't legitimate, but that doesn't keep us from feeling the pain. It just gives us reason to feel guilty or ashamed about feeling our pain. One big lesson that we could take from understanding how the gospel writers and the early church made use of well-known Hebrew scriptures is to reclaim our experience. The original intent behind much of the prophetic writing in the Old Testament was for individuals and communities to be more intentional in their behavior and to have more integrity to their values. These ideas are not unique to the Old Testament. This has been a challenge in many cultures from many different perspectives throughout human history. Seen as such, the Hebrew scriptures become one resource among many resources to influence individuals toward living in a way that contributes to holistic well-being in their own lives and in the lives of their communities and neighborhoods. We need to experience our own suffering without being ashamed of feeling pain, and we need to recognize our own role in influencing our realities.

There are two symbolic results of the crucifixion that bear acknowledgment -- truths that the early church recognized and expressed as well as it could in the culture of the first century. First, there is that image of the curtain being torn in two. There is no separation between the divine and humanity. Since whatever we call divine is intrinsic to humanity, we can connect with those qualities within ourselves whenever we wish. We might become more skillful at introspection, but we are never denied access to our deepest, most noble self and we do not have to go through any particular ritual actions to connect with ourselves. God is a word people use to refer to a deep part of themselves, but we do not have to follow any linguistic protocol to connect with that part of ourselves that we could characterize as divinity.

Second, there is the idea of forgiveness. In the context of a covenant relationship between a supernatural and humanity, human beings had to somehow account for the things they did that were out of alignment with what their supernatural wanted. This is what the Jewish sacrificial system was largely about: staying in alignment with the values of their supernatural. It became something of an obsession in Jewish society. Keeping oneself pure, remaining personally in step with religious law, became more important than risky acts of justice or compassion. People were perhaps apt to disconnect from real, deep community because they didn't want to be scrutinized. Even today, a lot of people are more concerned about what they have done wrong, what other people have done wrong, what people might be thinking about doing wrong, or what wrong motives they may have had for doing something that seems quite good on the outside. It is also much easier to stay in a judgmental frame of mind when you're focused on how people are failing.

The early Christian church solved this issue, but most of them didn't seem to realize it. By inventing a dying and rising messiah figure who eliminated the need for ritual animal sacrifice, the early church essentially said, "We don't have to worry about sin anymore." This is not to imply licentiousness (although some people in the early church apparently did take it that way), but rather to say that the best thing to do when you fall short of your ideal is to get up -- hopefully with the help and embrace of a loving community of people -- and take another run at it. The idea of sinfulness is laced with shame, and it winds up not being incredibly helpful. If we were to accept that we have nothing to fear from getting something wrong, we might get past the self-obsession with where we might spend an imaginary afterlife and focus on things that matter right now -- like how we are in our relationships with the people we encounter every day.

Even for people who want to believe in the historical validity of the Passion story, then, there are these two big things that can transform the way we do life. We are not separated from whatever it is we call divine, and we are capable of making mistakes and moving on. There are often consequences when we fall out of alignment with our deep guiding principles, but those consequences don't have to come with shame or insurmountable guilt. We are human beings. We are not perfect. We will disappoint one another because we will have expectations of one another that go unmet. That's life. Our real work is not to try not to do anything wrong and to do whatever we can to make up for all of the mistakes we make. Our real work is to bring our capability into full engagement in the communities where we live.

This doesn't mean permissiveness with regard to harmful behavior. It means focusing on what will create greater well-being rather than what someone has done wrong. We never just do harm to one person; our harmful acts always affect ourselves and a whole network of people -- often even people that we will never meet. The idea behind grace is not that we shrug our shoulders and say, "Ah, well, I'll do better next time," but instead to direct our focus away from our own "eternal destinies" and toward how we can positively influence the world around us right now, in this moment. This is how we move beyond our fears of scarcity, fears of embarrassment, fears of insignificance, and fears of powerlessness and move into transformational relationships with the people around us. Whether the Passion story sources that kind of focus for you or whether you draw inspiration from somewhere else, we are capable of building incredible powerful connections with other people when we are willing to set shame aside and bring our authentic selves forward.

Judges 10-12: When Breaking an Agreement Might Be a Good Idea

A couple of leaders get a mention after the wicked Abimilek meets his end, but the next judge of the Israelites that gets any real attention is Jephthah.  His story is a reminder that sometimes people are going to base their actions on personal prejudices rather than a person's capability.  Even though there is some debate about how literally to interpret a vow that Jephthah makes, there is something to be taken from the story regarding the agreements we make.

The story of Jephthah is another tale of an unlikely savior.  He isn't a southpaw or a woman, but he is a bastard.  When his legitimate half-brothers thought he posed a threat to their inheritance, they sent Jephthah away.  Then, when there was a threat from the Ammonites, they wanted him to be commander-in-chief of the tribe of Manasseh.  He was understandably suspicious, but with the agreement that he would be put in a position of power if he was victorious, he set his sights on turning back the Ammonites.

His initial diplomatic message to the Ammonite king suggests that either Jephthah had a sketchy idea of Israelite history or he was trying to pull the wool over the Ammonite's eyes.  Or perhaps the writers of Judges and the writers of the book of Joshua were working from different historical perspectives for different purposes.  Whatever the case, Jephthah's version of history isn't the main point to his message.  His primary thrust is, "Our god gave us this land.  Be happy with what your god gave you and stop trying to take our land."  Since the history is a bit fuzzy, there isn't a great deal to be gained from considering how boldly ironic this statement is.

The Ammonite king, of course, disregards the message, battle ensues, and Jephthah is blessed by the Spirit of the Lord.  He vows to sacrifice the first thing that comes out of his house if he returns victorious, and he wins the battle.  Unfortunately, the first thing out of his door is his daughter, but being a man of his word, he sacrifices her.  It isn't entirely clear what this means, since translators disagree about some of the nuance.  Obviously, sacrificing anyone as a burnt offering has never been an approved act of worship in the Israelite tradition.  The only thing that came close was Abraham's willingness to sacrifice Isaac, but in that story, God intervenes and stops the sacrificial act, distinguishing his values from the supposed values of the other gods of the area.  As the story reads, God seems to be fine with Jephthah's vow -- he doesn't intercede in any way.  But it may be that Jephthah's daughter was simply dedicated to God in some less brutal way.

Still, killing one's daughter because of a vow doesn't seem that far out of context for the behavior of the ancient Israelites.  They committed some fairly barbaric acts when it comes down to it.  When the men of a fellow tribe challenge Jephthah for not letting them in on the opportunity to claim some Ammonite spoils, these two tribes of Israel become adversarial, with the Gileadites killing an astonishing forty-two thousand Ephraimites before all is said and done.  It's perhaps a small comfort that when someone makes fun of the way you pronounce a word these days, you usually have only a bit of pride at stake.

In any case, the Israelites' view of God is different here.  Yes, bad things are punishments from God, and good things are rewards from God.  Human endeavor is given very little weight in the grand scheme of things.  It is a pervasive cultural dismissal of personal responsibility.  "If we killed all those people, then obviously God wanted us to kill all those people.  Otherwise he would have done something about it."  "If God let insects eat your crops, then obviously he was angry at you."  I suppose one could say that the Israelites were in the position of power because they could stop their worship of other gods at any time and be the kind of people Yahweh wanted them to be, but they were obviously getting something out of their decisions.  That something may have been freedom from responsibility.

When we are criticized or looked down upon because of who our parents are, or because of our accents, or because of what our leaders have said, it's important to remember that the people doing the criticizing aren't seeing us.  They are seeing a characteristic that represents a personal fear for them somehow.  When we can behave in a superior way toward something that represents fear, we think we are being courageous.  Many times we are just being bullies to people.  Other people don't deserve to be punching bags for us to work out our innermost fears in an outwardly violent way.  Whether they take the shape of judgments, prejudices, or outright hatred, our fears are ours to own.  When we recognize the symptoms of fear gone out of control, it's our responsibility to manage that fear in a way that doesn't bring harm to other people.  That becomes easier to do when we recognize our personal responsibility for our actions and beliefs.

We make all sorts of agreements with ourselves.  Some of those agreements are based on fear, but some of them are based on legitimate striving for a more satisfying, fulfilling existence.  We want to protect ourselves, or we want to give ourselves incentive or encouragement, and so we start making deals.  "If I get this job, I will allow myself to celebrate."  Or "If I lose this job, I'm going to give myself permission to get revenge."  We don't necessarily do this consciously, but we are making deals like Jephthah all the time.  If you want to think of it as making deals with God, that's fine.  At the end of the day, though, God isn't going to hold you accountable to reckless vows.  You will.  Or you will let yourself be human and realize that you can break the vows with yourself that are harmful to you and other people.

It's easy for us to dig in our heels when we think that there is some divine power looking down on us and rigidly judging what we do and think.  We think we are obligated to follow through with something because we've made a commitment, even after we realize that what we've committed to may not be the wisest course of action.  Whether you believe that the divine is within you or outside of you, the character of the divine is not unreasonable, unyielding, or unforgiving.  We often misplace those characteristics on the divine because we are unwilling to be reasonable or forgiving with ourselves.  We think that it means something horrible about who we are if we go back on our word.  Breaking the reckless, harmful agreements with ourselves actually means that we are able to learn, that we are able to be wise, that we are able to forgive.

There will be more opportunity to look at the character of the divine, and more opportunity to look at the agreements we make with ourselves.  For now, the story of Jephthah seems to be saying these three things: Verify that your information is accurate before you go to war in your life.  Deal with your fear (judgment, prejudice, hatred, ...) in a healthy way, not in a way that brings harm to you or any other person.  Examine the agreements you've made with yourself about who and how you must be, and develop a willingness to break those agreements that do not reflect the deep truth, undeniable beauty, and inspiring creativity you possess.  You are capable of creating more in your life than strict adherence to reckless vows.

Numbers 5: Forgiveness and Communication Is Just So Much Simpler

Numbers chapter 5 brings up some issues that have already been addressed in previous books of scripture: atonement and adultery.  Unlike some previous verses dealing with adultery, we now get a formula that the priest is supposed to follow if a husband suspects that his wife has been unfaithful.  The wife really has no say in the matter, and let's face it, refusing to succumb to the priest's "faithfulness test" would probably be seen as an admission of guilt, the punishment for which is death by stoning.  The formula assumes that there is nothing wrong with a husband being so jealous that he would make a spectacle of dragging his wife before a priest to have her tested.  On top of that, as you can see, the "test" is really little more than witchcraft.

On the topic of atonement, this chapter of Numbers commands that any Israelite who has wronged another person should confess and make restitution.  Some people today still expect that if someone has wronged them, that individual should take it upon themselves to apologize and seek to make amends, but that doesn't always happen.  To make matters more complicated for modern-day Christians, the New Testament solution for these sorts of problems is for the "victim" to forgive.  That's right, when someone has committed some hurtful act against you, Jesus doesn't say that they should offer a elaborate sacrifice.  When you suspect your spouse of being unfaithful, Jesus doesn't say you should drag her before a priest so he can perform some hocus-pocus.  His answer is, when people wrong you, forgive them.

This is one of those times when the simplest answer isn't necessarily the easiest answer, but there really is no reason to complicate things.  If you have done something which has brought harm to another person, admit it and make whatever amends you are able.  It's as simple as that.  If someone else has brought harm to you, don't dwell on it, just forgive them and move on.  There's no reason to be a doormat, but there's also no reason to bear a grudge.  You can learn something from the situation and exercise more wisdom in the future, but once a deed is done, it's done.  Forgive and put the matter to rest.  People may not even realize that you think they've done something wrong, so stewing and waiting around for them to apologize is pointless.  Even should you decide to inform people of their wrongdoing, they won't always respond the way you want.  Forgive them, learn your lesson, and get on with your life.

Of course, if you have a relationship with more longevity, like what one would hope for in a marriage, it helps to cultivate open and honest communication.  Forgiveness is still key, but it's also helpful to let the person with whom you're planning to spend the rest of your life know what you're thinking.  That sort of meaningful communication requires vulnerability, not a power trip.  It certainly doesn't require a priest to perform any special magical ceremonies.  Simply communicate with the people you care about.  If they don't accept what you reveal about yourself, it's better to know that truth than to live a lie.  It's more likely that they have their own fears about being vulnerable, and they may even be grateful that you make vulnerability seem safe.

If you want to hold on to grudges and spend entire relationships protecting yourself, no one can stop you.  Imagine for a moment what kind of life that would be.  How satisfying and enjoyable is a life without vulnerability?  How satisfying and enjoyable is a life spent demanding that other people apologize for what they've done to you?  However counter-intuitive it may seem, meaningful relationships result from apologizing when you legitimately have something to apologize for, practicing forgiveness instead of holding grudges, and embracing vulnerable, honest communication in the relationships you value.   That's not overtly Christian, it's just healthy human behavior.

It may be tempting to base decisions on how we think someone will react.  In fact, we can probably come up with plenty of excuses for why we shouldn't own up to our misdeeds or forgive people who have somehow wronged us.  Any excuse we come up with is ultimately going to boil down to one word: fear.  The truth of the matter is that being honest and forgiving actually makes our own lives better.  Fear saps us of energy.  Grudges rob us of opportunities.  Trying to hide from the truth about our own actions is exhausting.  Being honest in our communication and forgiving people frees us to focus on the things that are actually important in life.  Life doesn't have to be complicated.

Dinah and the Shechemites: Not a New Band, Just a Story of Senseless, Violent Retribution

The actions of Jacob and his children didn’t always reflect an awareness of any sort of divinity, except perhaps with the assumption that they could do whatever they wanted because their god was better than other gods (which may not actually be any sort of awareness at all).  Consider the tale of Jacob’s daughter, Dinah, in Genesis 34.  Once Jacob and his family were settling into their new stomping grounds, Dinah went out unescorted to meet the other local women.  Shechem, the son of the area’s ruler (Hamor) saw Dinah and was instantly smitten, so he took her and slept with her against her will.  At least that’s the story recorded in scripture.  Jacob’s sons (Dinah’s brothers) were outraged, but they played it cool, deceiving Hamor and Shechem into thinking that they approved of a marriage between Dinah and Shechem.  They insisted that all of the men under Hamor’s authority be circumcised before plans could continue, to which Hamor readily agreed.  While the men were recovering from the minor surgical operation, Jacob’s sons slaughtered all the men, stole all of their wealth, livestock, women, and children, and considered it justice.  Jacob was angry that his reputation in the area was going to take a hit from his sons’ actions, but they showed no remorse.

When people tell stories about events that have happened to them, there’s no way to tell how much of the story is truth and how much is elaboration.  Even in this day and age, when two people engage in a moment of passion, they may have completely different accounts of the incident, should the occasion to talk about it arise.  If one person winds up feeling shame about the event, or thinks there might be something to gain from playing the victim, the story could easily become radically different from reality.  Even in reading the biblical account, it seems that Hamor and Shechem have a completely different understanding of the situation than Dinah’s family.  The alleged rapist wants to marry Dinah, Hamor wants to share his land with Jacob’s family, and they are willing to have all of their men undergo circumcision as part of the agreement.  It doesn’t seem like the behavior of ruthless criminals. 

Rape does happen.  And most people would agree that rapists deserve some sort of justice.  Even though it may be difficult to get to the truth when there are conflicting accounts, people who have been raped should not have their lives, behavior, or clothing scrutinized merely because they are brave enough to come forward.  That being said, it’s important to get as close to the actual truth as one can before meting out justice. 

But perhaps evaluating the nature of intimacy between Dinah and Shechem is out of place, considering the culture of the time.  If women were considered property, then it wouldn’t really have mattered whether Dinah consented or not, Shechem’s actions would constitute theft.  Maybe a closer story in today’s culture would be slightly less emotionally charged than considering one’s only daughter or sister as the victim of a violent sexual crime.  That image could understandably provoke a person to violence.  So, let’s consider a story about a car.

Imagine you have a classic car parked in a parking lot somewhere.  This car is a real beauty, your pride and joy.  But when you get back to the car after leaving it alone in the parking lot, you realize that someone has ripped open the steering column, hotwired the car, and taken it for a spin.  You are beside yourself with anger and disbelief, when a man approaches and says, “That is a great car.  I saw it sitting there and I just had to take it for a test drive.  I’d like to buy it from you.  Name your price.”

With your best poker face masking your rage toward this man, you say, “Sure, I’d love for you to have this car.  But, you and everyone in your neighborhood have to drink a bottle of this delicious wine.”  The man agrees, goes back to his neighborhood, and proceeds to get everyone drinking wine.  When the neighborhood is recovering from the alcohol, you go on a killing spree, slaughtering everyone in close proximity to this guy like you’re filming a slasher film.  Then you steal all of the cars in the neighborhood, as well as any valuable electronic devices, jewelry, cold hard cash, …you get the picture. 

Justice?  Not by a long shot.  Of course, this modernized retelling doesn’t capture all of the nuances of the cultures involved in the original story, but it doesn’t really need to.  No matter how you look at the situation, the actions of Jacob’s sons constitute a disproportionate response out of unchecked rage.  It’s a pretty impressive feat—killing a community’s men and making off with all the women, children, and valuables—but it’s far from model behavior.

Even as the heroes of their own story, the sons of Jacob come across as barbaric and nearly amoral.  Their sister was “defiled” by one man.  Their response is to kill an entire city of men and make off with everything and everyone else in the city.  And they set the stage for the slaughter by making a mockery out of the sacred sign of a holy pact with God.  It may seem clever, but it’s hard to call it just.  It would almost seem inhuman if it weren’t so close to some beliefs held by many people in the 21st century.  Many people still seem to find the idea of wiping out those who are different so much more compelling than the idea of learning how to find common ground and share the world with fellow inhabitants.

So, if we are not going to emulate over-the-top violence as a reaction to situations and people we don’t like, what is the alternative?  There are probably many, and the best among them are going to involve seeing other people as equal partners in creation.  People are all valuable and fallible, even the person who looks back at you from the mirror.  It isn’t about permissiveness or accepting wrongdoing.  Justice still has a place, when it is actually just and stems from the acknowledgement of every person’s inherent value.  Every person has that divine essence of truth, beauty, and creativity, but every person doesn’t tap into it equally.  So, in a word, we’re talking about forgiveness.

Forgiveness doesn’t mean eliminating consequences.  Forgiveness is simply a word for letting go of the dehumanizing hostility we so often direct at people.  There is no honest assessment of spiritual truth that can lead to the conclusion that forgiveness is an inappropriate response.  It’s a wonderful image to think that an all-knowing, benevolent god handles all matters of forgiveness, that mercy is ultimately the purview of the Almighty.  The concept of a Christ dying for the world’s sins can leave some people with the impression that the issue is handled without them needing to be involved.  But the act of forgiveness is our responsibility, regardless of religious persuasion.  Moreover, the act of forgiveness itself is healing, not to the one being forgiven, but to the person doing the forgiving.

Forgiveness is crucial to human relationships on every scale.  Without it, we are in a perpetual state of war with everyone, including ourselves.  There is still a place for justice, and actions have consequences.  We don’t have to make those consequences worse for ourselves and others by embracing hatred.  It is our responsibility as human beings to act toward one another in a way that honors our mutual value.  And when someone makes a misstep on that path, it is our responsibility to forgive.  It is one way of recognizing the deep truth, beauty, and creativity within ourselves, to recognize that even in the darkest of circumstances, we are capable of letting go of hatred.