PASSION NARRATIVE, John 18:1-19:42
John 18:1-19:42 is the account by John of the passion.
The church year for most Christians throughout the world includes the observation of Good Friday. For many Christian traditions, the account by John of the passion of Jesus during the last hours of his life constitute the Gospel lesson. The remembrance of this story year after year is a matter of re-visiting a painful event.
What does repetition mean in our lives? For those with cable television, for example, you will likely find The Shawshank Redemption somewhere. This brutal but uplifting story of an innocent man beating the cruelty and evil of a mid-20th-century prison and escaping to freedom is a story many of us do not repeating. It did not win the best picture of 1995, which went to Forrest Gump. Repeating movies is not a favorite pastime of mine, so once is normally enough. I like to watch Groundhog Day in February. Déjà vu is another movie I like to watch occasionally. Star Wars is a series of movies I like to watch for its overarching myth of good battling evil. Some old movies, such as An Affair to Remember, I will enjoy again.
I have read and re-read some books. Theologian Wolfhart Pannenberg has kept me coming back to read and re-read. Part of Karl Barth Church Dogmatics keeps returning to me. Something about Friedrich Schleiermacher keeps me coming back. Some philosophers, especially Descartes, Locke, Hume, Kant, Hegel, Whitehead, and Charles Taylor, I tend to keep close and keep finding new insights. I read Nietzsche more than once, but mostly because he gets things wrong in such an interesting way. Some books I would like to read more often I do, such as Lord of the Rings. If we expand our consideration of repetition to music, I am sure most of us have artists and individual songs to which we keep coming back for a variety of reasons.[1]
Our culture seems to value the new. Why do we spend so much time with stories we already know? Soren Kierkegaard authored a book on repetition. He said that which one repeats has been, otherwise one could not repeat. The fact that it has been makes the repetition into something new. Frankly, this is a difficult book. For most of us, if we were going to understand it, it would be through reading it repeatedly. Yet, if we receive new insights in each reading and gain in our understanding, have we repeated? Has not the book become something new to us?
Think of why we repeat many things in our lives. Here are the traditional categories.
We may develop habits, such as running or other exercise for a physical discipline. We do not need to think about them, and that is their value.
We may repeat because of an addiction, which is like a habit on evil steroids.
We may develop a ritual, such as what to do on Thanksgiving, Christmas, or New Year. They are ritual, and not habit or addiction, because they are symbolic and expressive. The ritual does not rule us. Rather, we choose ritual because of the symbolic meaning the ritual has to us. Private moments of meditation and corporate worship for spiritual discipline, can become ritual in that sense.
Status quo bias is an interesting reason for repetition as well. People tend to stick with previous decisions because of the cost of coming to a new decision is mentally exhausting. “I do not love this job, but whatever. I do not want to look for a new one.” We grow accustomed to certain political views we no longer question or to certain stores at which we also shop.
The research of Cristel Antonia Russell and Sidney Levy discusses the notion of repetition under dissimilar categories than the ones I just mentioned.
One reason we repeat is not complicated. We simply like it. They call it “reconstructive consumption.” In this case, repetition breeds affection, the contrast to the notion that familiarity breeds contempt. One might say that repetition can make one feel like one has come home. Their scientific term is “mere exposure effect." This scientific expression explains why we watch repeatedly Tim Robbins' character Andy Dufresne burst through that disgusting sewer pipe during his escape from Shawshank. It is the theory that we like something simply because a previous experience exposed us to it. Familiarity may breed contempt, as the old saying goes, but it can also turn a film into a cult classic.
They identify a second reason for repetition as nostalgia. It can be nice to remember the past merely because it is past. Clay Routledge refers to the historical dimension of nostalgia and the autobiographical dimension of nostalgia. We may have a fondness of the way things were. However, on the personal side exposure to songs we liked in our youth makes us feel loved and worthy. It simply makes us feel good.
A third reason is therapeutic. One can take a journey now because one took a similar journey earlier in one’s life. If one has been a pastor in a certain area for 40 years, for example, the pastor may want to make sure to visit each of the churches at some point near retirement. It can be a therapeutic journey. One can re-read a book or re-see a movie, not just because of repetition, but also because of a need to reconcile oneself with one’s past. It becomes a pilgrimage or sentimental journey. Applied to movies and books, repetition means they cannot surprise us. We know how they end. We know how we will feel when they end. Something new may be exciting in its discovery, but it may also prove to be a waste of time and disappoint us.
Their fourth reason for repetition is existential. Russell and Levy put it this way.
The dynamic linkages between one’s past, present, and future experiences through the re-consumption of an object allow existential understanding. Reengaging with the same object, even just once, allows a reworking of experiences as consumers consider their own particular enjoyments and understandings of choices they have made.
This is not mere nostalgia or therapy. It is pop culture as palimpsest—an old memory, overlaid with new perspective.
On the other side of this, however, are the films that are really, good but so difficult to watch that most of us will only want to see them once. The brutal first sequence of Saving Private Ryan with its realistic portrayal of D-Day, or the senseless violence and inhumanity of Schindler's List, for example, are hard to watch once, let alone multiple times. The viewer does not want to go through that emotional pain again -- even if both films are cinematic masterpieces. We tend to see Saving Private Ryan on TV only during Memorial and Veterans days and Schindler's List rarely because programmers seem to realize that they are difficult to revisit. (Some other films that fall into this category are the post-apocalyptic father-son drama The Road, Nicolas Cage drinking himself to death in Leaving Las Vegas or the haunting fight over a home in House of Sand and Fog. Kate Winslet may be the queen of "one and done" films, with movies like Revolutionary Road, Little Children, and The Reader to her credit.) You will not see any of these flicks very often on TV or in your local DVD vending machine, either, even though critics acclaim them as among the best.
Perhaps the most difficult of these "once is enough" films, however, is Mel Gibson's The Passion of the Christ. Time magazine made it the number 1 ridiculously violent film, although looking at the rest of the list, this judgment seems politically or anti-Christian motivated. The film portrays the brutality of Jesus’ crucifixion with so much blood and pain that critic Roger Ebert, who might have seen more movies than any person has ever seen, called it the most violent film he had ever watched. Slate critic David Edelstein reviewed it as "The Jesus Chainsaw Massacre." It is arguably one of the most difficult films to watch in the history of cinema, and yet, not only did it gross more than $370 million during its theater run, it also sold 4.1 million copies of the DVD on its release date. Some movies may be difficult to watch more than once. Yet, they may also remind us of some important truths that we are afraid to confront.
Repetition is an interesting phenomenon. Yet, combined with that, why is once enough for other experiences? What might we be trying to avoid?
The passion narrative in all four gospels is a difficult read. Yet, I have done it every year since the mid-1970s. The story reveals truths about God and humanity that I find difficult to face.
The story of the birth of Jesus marks the most widely known and celebrated religious holiday in America. However, the story of the death of Jesus has become a controversial part of his biography. At least in the world of scholars and pastors, and for some outside Christian circles, people have an opinion on the circumstances, causality or meaning of the death of Jesus. For Christians in the pews on Good Friday, this story is both familiar and jarring. One possibility in reading this passage is to focus upon unrecognized elements. John has some distinctive traits regarding the Passion that one can easily misunderstand. Christians following the lectionary hear this passage every Good Friday. For them, we can explore the story in a way that will give it some new life.
One easily misunderstood element of the Passion in John is the group labeled simply “the Jews.” It distinguishes John’s cast of characters from the synoptic gospels. While the synoptic authors usually define Jesus’ interlocutors more specifically — scribes, Pharisees, chief priests, elders, Herodians, etc. — John pits Jesus against “the Jews” and sometimes against “the world.” Indeed, the Passion Narrative in John will bring the Jews and the world together in the answer Jesus gives to Pilate: “If my kingdom were from this world, my followers would be fighting to keep me from being handed over to the Jews” (18:36). The Jews thus travel through John’s gospel as a corporate character, one that appears quite frequently in the passion narrative (about 20 times). Many scholars and pastors of the last generation have worried about the portrayal of the Jews, especially in the passion narrative. In some parts of the world, Christians learn about Jews primarily from their Bibles and not from human interaction. So what can we do, in post-Holocaust Christianity, to encourage faithful interpretation of the text without promoting antipathy toward Jews and Judaism today?
Most mainline denominations have officially encouraged sensitivity to the portrayal of Jews and Judaism on Good Friday. An exegete has many different options.[2] First, you could balance the negative portrayal of Jews with other aspects of John’s gospel. Jesus as John presents him is fully Jewish, and almost every character (good or bad) in the gospel is a Jew. John portrays Judaism positively in several instances (4:9, 22; 11:19). John’s overall message of God’s embracing love should guide all interpretation of his account (1:7; 6:39; 10:16; 12:32). Second, one could provide a nuanced analysis of “the Jews” as a character in the story. Perhaps the part they play as a character in the story John tells is a simplification of the many Jewish authority groups that the synoptics separate into specific groups. Alternatively, perhaps they are a foil for Jesus; performing a symbolic function in a similar way as does “the world” as John tells the story of Jesus. Third, one could de-emphasize the historical question of why authorities crucified Jesus (“Was it the Jews’ fault or not?”). The point in all the accounts of the Passion is getting a response from us as readers now. John in particular has a way of telling the Passion that invites us to see the new revelation God intends us to see in Jesus.
John also offers a unique description of Pilate due to his prominent role in the Passion. As a character in the story, John tells us, administrative expediency guides Pilate more than anything else does. He wants only one simple question answered, “Are you a king?” However, he becomes more confused the more Jesus speaks. Moreover, John goes to such lengths to incriminate the Jews and defend Pilate (the Romans) that he describes Pilate as “afraid” (19:8) and continually trying to release Jesus. The Jews respond with an accusation whose historical accuracy cannot be defended; they accuse Pilate of not being a friend of the emperor (19:12), which he obviously was (as the Roman prefect). From extra-biblical sources (Josephus, Tacitus, Philo) we can infer that most Judeans and Samaritans viewed Pilate unfavorably during his tenure (A.D. 26-36). He exercised obstinacy and even wrath through the office of prefect, which combined military, financial and judicial authority over the subjugated region. It is difficult to reconcile this historical figure with the depiction by John of a fearful, temperate pawn who receives slanders from the crowd.
“Where do we read ourselves into the passion narrative?” Christians have grown accustomed to reading themselves into the protagonists of the New Testament, usually Jesus and Paul. Nevertheless, our lives are perhaps more like the other characters we meet in their stories. We can make the story of the Passion in John come alive if we read ourselves into the minor characters that we might overlook. For example, Nicodemus reappears in the passion narrative to help prepare the body for burial: “Nicodemus, who had at first come to Jesus by night, also came, bringing a mixture of myrrh and aloes, weighing about a hundred pounds” (19:39). When the disciples of Jesus had abandoned him, Nicodemus was there to help provide a proper burial. What do we know of Nicodemus from before? He was a Pharisee and leader of the Jews who came secretly to Jesus with questions about his signs and teachings (3:1-21). Later he speaks up amid a group of Pharisees to defend Jesus’ right to teach: “Our law does not judge people without first giving them a hearing to find out what they are doing, does it?” (7:51). We cannot conclude from this slight evidence that Nicodemus was completely committed to Jesus as Messiah. Rather, John portrays him as a curious seeker and an upright leader, unafraid to hear innovative ideas and stand up for the rights of the unjustly accused. When Jesus dies, Nicodemus is there to prepare him for a respectful burial. Though not called a disciple, Nicodemus sees a form of discipleship through to the end.
We could also read ourselves into the other characters that follow Jesus to the end: the women at the foot of the cross. “Meanwhile, standing near the cross of Jesus were his mother, and his mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene” (19:25). John emphasizes their role more than the Synoptics do. They are “near the cross” in John but looking on “from a distance” in the synoptics (Matthew 27:55; Mark 15:40; Luke 23:49). Furthermore, one of them, Mary Magdalene, is the first witness to the appearance of the risen Lord as John tells the story. She receives an intimate and private revelation (20:11-18). Because of this, ancient and medieval Christianity called her the “apostle to the apostles” (apostola apostolorum). More than the other disciples, these women beheld the suffering of Jesus face to face. Through the text, we can wonder what caused these women to remain near the cross and watch Jesus die. Why was it important for all of the gospel writers to preserve their presence there? Did they fulfill their discipleship more than the others did? If to imitate Christ on Good Friday means to suffer, perhaps to follow Christ on Good Friday means to stand near the cross and witness. On Good Friday, we follow by standing still.
18:1-12 shows the betrayal and arrest of Jesus, occurring after the private discourse in 13-17, for which see as well Mt 26.47—56; Mk 14.43—52; Lk 22.47—53). In difference from the Synoptic account, we can note that only John mentions the presence of soldiers. He does not have the clearly marked Gethsemane scene we find in the Synoptic accounts. However, in 12: 27-28, we find Jesus struggling in his soul and wondering if he should pray that the Father save him from this hour of his suffering and death. Yet, he submits to the will of the Father, and then the voice from heaven affirms that the Father has already glorified Jesus and will do so again in the resurrection. Such a voice is also present in the Synoptic accounts of the baptism and the Mount of Transfiguration. Submission to the will of the Father is precisely what the prayer at Gethsemane intended as well. In other words, as often with John, popular scenes in the Synoptic account of the story of Jesus play out differently, but they are present. I should mention that Hebrews 5:7 also refers to the agony of Jesus in prayer. Thus, while true that we do not move from the meal scene to the Garden of Gethsemane, John has included the message of that Synoptic story at a different point in his story. Another difference with the Synoptic account is that he shows Jesus taking the initiative in the arrest. This passage shows the contest between light and darkness. Theologically, John stresses this contest throughout his account of the story of Jesus.
1 After Jesus had spoken these words, he went out with his disciples across the Kidron valley to a place where there was a garden, which he and his disciples entered. 2 Now Judas, who betrayed him, also knew the place, because Jesus often met there with his disciples. 3 Therefore, Judas brought a detachment of soldiers, the basis for some scholars to suggest that the Romans initiated the arrest, together with police from the chief priests and the Pharisees, and they came there with lanterns and torches and weapons. Judas stands for us as an image, a warning, of how far astray it is possible for us to wander. Judas was with Jesus from the first, surely intended to follow him faithfully. Yet he betrayed his master. Thus, Judas stands for us as a warning. It is possible, the example of Judas reminds us, to become terribly self-deceived. John presents Judas, not only as the betrayer of Jesus, but also as the great self-deceiver. On one occasion in the ministry of Jesus (John 12:1-8), when a woman came in and wasted an expensive jar of ointment, pouring it on Jesus, as an act of affection, Judas condemned her for the waste, saying that the money ought to have been given to the poor. On that occasion, the gospel writer says that Judas was merely deceiving himself and attempting to deceive Jesus. He did not care about the poor, but only cared about the money. Judas, the great deceiver. His self-deception is a witness to human reality. We imagine ourselves better than we are. We have an empty image of goodness and imagine that we participate in it. “I think, therefore I am,” Descartes famously said. However, who is this “I”? Some moments this “I” seems jerked around by forces beyond the control of our will and reason. Among our chief problems is the “I” and the reasons it ascribes to itself for its behavior. Our deceit is deep. In that sense, to affirm “I am” is to affirm our profound self-deception. The human heart, your heart and mine, is deceitful and corrupt (Jeremiah 17:9). The irony and paradox of humanity is that the more we desire to be good and adhere to the truth, the more prone we are to deceive ourselves that we are expressions of such goodness and truth. In that sense, the cynics among us may be less prone to self-deception than the conscientious person. Yet, the cynic is not off the hook, for the cynic has the self-deception of standing in an imaginary good place from which to pronounce such cynicism. The point is, the people who move events toward the crucifixion of Jesus are not particularly evil. In fact, they seem motivated by a desire to be good. I have suggested this possibility with Judas. Jewish leaders adhere to their interpretation of scripture that led them to the conclusion that Jesus must die. Pilate will be an example of a good man trying to maintain neutrality in a moment that demands a decision. Here is the good news. Granted, “If we say that we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us,” but also “If we confess our sin, he who is faithful and just will forgive us our sins and cleanse us from all unrighteousness” (I Jn 1:8-9).[3] 4 Then Jesus, knowing all that was to happen to him, came forward and asked them, “Who are you looking for?” 5 They answered, “Jesus of Nazareth.” Jesus replied, “I am he.” We find a revelation of the divine name, as in the Exodus account of the burning bush. Judas, who betrayed him, was standing with them. 6 When Jesus said to them, “I am he,” they stepped back and fell to the ground. When the soldiers fall, it shows what must happen when light confronts darkness. 7 Again he asked them, “Whom are you looking for?” They said, “Jesus of Nazareth.” 8 Jesus answered, “I told you that I am he. So if you are looking for me, let these men go.” 9 This was to fulfill the word that he had spoken, “I did not lose a single one of those whom you gave me.” 10 Then Simon Peter, who had a sword, drew it, struck the high priest’s slave, and cut off his right ear. The slave’s name was Malchus. 11 Jesus said to Peter “Put your sword back into its sheath. Am I not to drink the cup that the Father has given me?” 12 So the soldiers, their officer, (again, a basis for suggesting that Romans initiated the arrest) and the Jewish police arrested Jesus and bound him.
18:13-27 shows the interrogation of Jesus. In this passage, Jesus stands up to his questioners, while Peter backs down. Peter Denies Jesus (Mt 26.69—75; Mk 14.66—72; Lk 22.54—62) John appears to have a separate tradition concerning the denials by Peter from either that of Mark or Luke.
13 First, they took him to Annas, who was the father-in-law of Caiaphas, the high priest that year. 14 Caiaphas was the one who had advised the Jews that it was better to have one person die for the people. Contemporary texts show that people knew Annas for his greed, power, and wealth. In difference from the Synoptic account, only John mentions the role of Annas.
15 Simon Peter and another disciple (not necessarily the Beloved Disciple) followed Jesus. Since the high priest knew that disciple, he went with Jesus into the courtyard of the high priest, 16 but Peter was standing outside at the gate. So the other disciple, who the high priest knew, went out, spoke to the woman who guarded the gate, (scholars have some question about this possibility) and brought Peter in. 17 The woman said to Peter, “You are not also one of this man’s disciples, are you?” He said, “I am not.” The denial by Peter contrasts with the confession by Jesus, “I am he.” 18 Now, the slaves and the police had made a charcoal fire because it was cold, and they were standing around it and warming themselves. Peter also was standing with them and warming himself. Peter is representative of all of us in our vulnerability when an event in our lives places our professions of faith and loyalty to the test.
The High Priest Questions Jesus. 19 Then the high priest questioned Jesus about his disciples and about his teaching. 20 Jesus answered, “I have spoken openly to the world; I have always taught in synagogues and in the temple, where all the Jews come together. I have said nothing in secret. 21 Why do you ask me? Ask those who heard what I said to them; they know what I said.” The reference by Jesus to witnesses suggests that this occasion is an informal interrogation. Annas wants information for a later trial. 22 When he had said this, one of the police standing nearby struck Jesus on the face, saying, “Is that how you answer the high priest?” 23 Jesus answered, “If I have spoken wrongly, testify to the wrong. But if I have spoken rightly, why do you strike me?” 24 Then Annas sent him bound to Caiaphas the high priest.
Peter Denies Jesus Again. 25 Now Simon Peter was standing and warming himself. They asked him, “You are not also one of his disciples, are you?” He denied it and said, “I am not.” 26 One of the slaves of the high priest, a relative of the man whose ear Peter had cut off, asked, “Did I not see you in the garden with him?” 27 Again Peter denied it, and at that moment, the cock crowed.
18:28 – 19:16a shows the trial of Jesus before Pilate with the theme of the Kingship of Jesus. The story of Pilate as told by John may represent the story of a good man trying to stay neutral in a struggle that demands a total commitment. He is another representative of a reaction to Jesus in this Gospel that is neither faith nor rejection. These proceedings do not suggest, contrary to the idea presented by some scholars based on verses 3 and 12, that Pilate could have initiated the process. The initiation came from Jewish officials.
Episode One is in verses 18:28-32. Jesus before Pilate (Mt 27.1—2, 11—14; Mk 15.1—5; Lk 23.1—5) In this passage, Jewish authorities ask Pilate to condemn Jesus, similar to Mark 15:2-5. The Romans crucify Jesus the day before the Passover. Jewish tradition describes Pilate negatively. Pilate seems to treat what happened before as making accusations. John is the only one of the gospels that tries to give a reason for the Jews bringing Jesus to Pilate.
Religious leaders who kill in the name of God is not new. It has been going on, from the beginning of human history. In this case, blasphemy is the accusation. A satirical piece in the Onion after 9/11/2001 included stories titled, “Terrorists surprised to find selves in hell.” Another title was, “We expected eternal paradise for this” and “God angrily clarifies ‘don’t kill’ rule.” "Somehow, people keep coming up with the idea that I want them to kill their neighbor," God tells the Onion during a press conference near the World Trade Center. "Well, I don't. And to be honest, I'm really getting sick and tired of it." The story ends with an angry message from God: "How many times do I have to say it? Don't kill each other anymore -- ever!" Then, "witnesses" say, "God's shoulders began to shake, and he wept."[4]
28 Then they took Jesus from Caiaphas to Pilate’s headquarters, the praetorium, the old palace of Herod the Great. It was early in the morning, 6 am. They themselves did not enter the headquarters, so as to avoid ritual defilement and to be able to eat the Passover. 29 Therefore, Pilate went out to them. He stepped outside the protective walls of the "praetorium." Pilate had to meet with the priestly accusers of Jesus. The design of Pilate's politically correct presence in Jerusalem during the festival of Passover was to discourage the throngs of visitors to the city from rioting in the streets. Pilate said, “What accusation do you bring against this man?” 30 They answered, “If this man were not a criminal, we would not have handed him over to you.” 31 Pilate said to them, “Take him yourselves and judge him according to your law.” This suggests that no formal trial has taken place. The Jews replied, “We are not permitted to put anyone to death.” 32 (This was to fulfill what Jesus had said when he indicated the kind of death he was to die.)
To read this story of John is to read about people who make a judgment about Jesus. The disciples have already fled, leaving Jesus alone. Jewish religious leaders have decided he has broken Jewish laws so thoroughly that he deserves death. Pilate is trying to do something to keep the Jewish crowds quiet. The crowds would rather have the bandit Barabbas freed than they would Jesus.
As a public official, a political leader, an important Roman citizen, Pilate has no reason to wallow in the concerns of the bothersome, insignificant Jewish inhabitants of this land. His declaration, however, also serves to free him from appearing to be in alliance with the Jewish authorities who brought Jesus to him. This Jewish problem, Jews accusing another Jew, is not something in which Pilate wants involvement.
In these judgments against Jesus, these groups represent us. We place ourselves in the seat of the judge. We view ourselves as competent to judge. Yet, our self-deception and sin blind us to the fact that we are in fact the ones judged.
Episode Two is in verses 18:33-38a, the first interrogation by Pilate of Jesus.
As I Timothy 6:13 puts it, “Christ Jesus, who in his testimony before Pontius Pilate made the good confession.” John provides some reflections on the nature of that “good confession.” Jesus does not offer a defense. Jesus did not owe Pilate any defense. He offered only a confession. By offering this confession, he also showed the limits of political power.[5]
An inscription at Caesarea, placed on a stone and dated from the time of Jesus, identifies “Pontius Pilatus” as prefect of Judea. He held this office from 26 to 36 AD. He was the representative of Roman military, financial, and judicial authority in Judea. Most Judeans and Samaritans viewed Pilate unfavorably, as the most tangible representative of an occupying authority. However, if individuals respected Roman authority and paid taxes, the Romans could be quite neutral in a region. Of course, one could also be in trouble if one gained popularity among the peasants. In Judea, this meant claims to kingship. The time of Passover, a remembrance of deliverance from bondage in Egypt, was a dangerous time for the Romans. Pilate was present, discouraging the crowds from rioting in the streets. Generally, Pilate does not want to insert himself into a Jewish dispute. His concern is only whether someone threatens Romans power in the area.
The account of the arrest of Jesus by the Romans has focused, until now, upon the innocence of Jesus of the charge against him. In this episode, the emphasis shifts to how Pilate will respond to the truth. Jesus shifts the focus of Pilate’s questions from the realm of provincial political power to the idea of truth.
In the Gospel of John, Jesus has said little about the kingdom of God, although he does have concern that people might make him king. Pilate wants to keep the conversation in terms of power. Which one of us has the power here? Are you a king? From where do you get your power? By forcefully claiming a kingdom "not from this world," Jesus defines the nature of his messianic identity. As proof, Jesus points out that he has no soldiers, no armies, and no lawyers that are fighting for his freedom.
Jesus wants to speak in terms of truth. In fact, his “job description,” if you please, the reason God made him and the purpose God has for him, is to testify to truth. Those who listen to the truth hear his voice. Those who are part of his kingdom listen to his voice. Pilate, the representative of power, will use force. The truth, Jesus, who earlier in this gospel said, “I am the Way, I am truth and life,” uses “voice.” Pilate wants to know “what” truth is, when what he needs is to know “who” truth is.
33 Then Pilate entered the headquarters again, summoned Jesus, and asked him, “Are you the King of the Jews (Βασιλεὺς τῶν Ἰουδαίων)?” The question is consistent with the other gospels as well. Pilate questions Jesus about kingship. John has said nothing about the rule of God, while the Synoptic Gospels have it as a major theme. However, as often in this gospel, John will take a theme of the Synoptic account and present it in a unique way. Thus, John expands on the concept of kingship here. If so, the kingship of Jesus is, to Pilate, political and is an act of treason against the power of Rome. We find a similar question with a quite different answer in Mark 15:2, “Pilate asked him, Are you the King of the Jews? He answered him, "You say so.” With John, the kingdom is in the world, but not of this world. Where did Pilate get this title for Jesus? In John 6:15, the people tried to make him a king. 34 Jesus answered, “Do you ask this on your own, or did others tell you about me?” The question challenges Pilate's personal knowledge of Jesus and the charges that Jewish authorities have leveled against him. By suggesting that Pilate only knows what "others tell you about me," Jesus reminds Pilate that he has no "evidence" against Jesus except the hearsay evidence of priests. The question by Jesus is not one of further education but of clarification. 35 Pilate replied, “I am not a Jew, am I? This translation is the most literal of the first retort of Pilate. The reply of Pilate has contempt in it. Yet it establishes some early groundwork for his non-culpability in the whole matter. As a public official, a political leader, an important Roman citizen, Pilate has no reason to wallow in the concerns of the bothersome, insignificant Jewish inhabitants of this land. His declaration, however, also serves to free him from appearing to be in alliance with the Jewish authorities who brought Jesus to him. This Jewish problem, Jews accusing another Jew, is not something in which Pilate wants involvement. Your own nation and the chief priests have handed you over to me. What have you done?” Pilate's response is contemptuous. 36 Jesus answered, “My kingdom is not from this world. If my kingdom were from this world, my followers would be fighting to keep me from Roman authorities handing me over to the Jews. However, as it is, my kingdom is not from here.” By making such a forceful claim, Jesus defines the nature of his messianic identity. The Jews were waiting for a Davidic messiah another glorious warrior king who would free them from exile to a renewed position as the holy kingdom of Israel. This is not Jesus' identity or intent. As proof, Jesus points out that he has no soldiers, no armies, no lawyers fighting for his freedom, an observation that resonated with an official of the militarily based Roman Empire. He may refer to the incident in 18:10-11, where Peter pulled a sword when the Romans came to arrest Jesus, and Jesus told him to put it away. Matthew 26:53 even refers to the idea that Jesus called upon his Father to deliver him had the point been to have a kingdom on this earth. For John, the kingship of Jesus is a theological category that redefines the understanding of power of the world. We saw that understanding at work with the entry of Jesus into Jerusalem, as the disciples spread palm branches along the way, proclaiming, “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord – the king of Israel.” The point here, in contrast, is that any power Jesus comes from God, not military might or human institutions. Because of this, in the world, the kingdom is inconsiderable and from a human point of view and insignificant kingdom, a kingdom that is like leaven in the meal, or a treasure hidden in the field, or the gran of a mustard seed. His kingdom does not come in a way that says, “Look, here it is.” We need to see that even in John, the focus on the concealed or hidden nature of the king and kingdom. His disciples forsook him. In the end, he was alone. The servant of God entered the world in this way but pressed on toward revelation in the resurrection and ascension. In all of this, we have “the royal man.” [6] 37 Pilate asked him, “So you are a king?”
We need to consider this notion of king and kingdom. “Are you king of the Jews?” Pilate asks. He asked with a certain condescending sneer. Must have. Big, powerful Pilate has the legions of Rome backing him up. Powerful Pilate stands strong before this whipped, bleeding, bedraggled Jew, Jesus. “Are you king?” Some of the soldiers surely snickered. How should I know who you are? Pilate does not know, he cannot know. He is a Roman, a Gentile. He knows power, the power of the sword, Roman law. All he knows is that kingdom, a kingdom propped up by the sword, the Roman occupation forces in Judea, violence, the clinched fist, the boot, the Roman Bar Association.
Jesus arrived in Jerusalem at the beginning of Holy Week with crowds proclaiming him king. Undoubtedly, the crowds desired the restoration of the past glory of the kingdom of David. They envisioned throwing off the oppression of Rome. The concern of Pilate is here. He wants to know if Jesus is the type of king that threatens Rome. Political and military power is the concern of Pilate. Frankly, these are our concerns as well. We want to be the party in power.
Of course, Jesus points out that he has no soldiers, no armies, no lawyers fighting for his freedom. By forcefully claiming a kingdom "not from this world," Jesus defines the nature of his messianic identity. Political and might Jesus' identity or intent.
Jesus answered, “You say that I am a king. For this, I was born, and for this, I came into the world, to testify to the truth. The final words of Jesus to Pilate in this first interview once again demarcate the otherworldly character of his job description. This job description thwarts the attempt of Pilate to find evidence of treason against Jesus. Pilate wants to talk about the claim of Jesus to "kingship." Jesus instead talks about "truth." If John's gospel leans toward Hellenistic notions about "kingdoms," the words Jesus now speaks about "truth" are still overwhelmingly Hebraic in nature. In John 8:47, we read, “Whoever is from God hears the words of God. The reason you do not hear them is that you are not from God." We find a similar sentiment in I John 4:6, “We are from God. Whoever knows God listens to us, and whoever is not from God does not listen to us. From this we know the spirit of truth and the spirit of error.” "Truth" for Jesus is not merely something that one thinks about; one feels truth and acts it out in life. In Hebraic culture, there is no such thing as a separate intellect. Hebrew thought inextricably binds mind, body and emotions together. The root meaning of the Hebrew emet, "truth," is "trustworthy" or "faithful." In Hebrew, "truth" is a term more descriptive of a person than any intellectual proposition.[7] Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice.” We should notice the metaphor of “voice” that Jesus employs in his response to the charge of kingship. In explicating whom it is that belongs to the truth, Jesus declares that the members of his kingdom are precisely those people who listen to his voice. In the gospel of John, the voice of Jesus plays a key role in the conversion and ultimate salvation of those who follow Jesus. The metaphor of voice incorporates Jesus’ role both as eschatological prophet and as the word of God. In 5:25-29, during a debate about the authority of Jesus, he explains that “the dead will hear the voice of the Son of God, and those who hear will live” (v. 25). In 10:1-18, the parables of the sheepfold and the good shepherd, Jesus can lead the sheep because they hear and know his voice, but “they do not know the voice of strangers” (v. 5). The metaphor of voice guides the whole discourse (vv. 3, 4, 5, 16, 27). Finally, the first resurrection appearance in John’s gospel, the epiphany to Mary Magdalene at the tomb (20:11-18), centers on the voice of Jesus. Although Mary had already looked at Jesus, she did not recognize him until she heard his voice speaking her name (v. 16). Bringing these insights back to the dialogue with Pilate, we might encapsulate the confrontation in this way: Power (Pilate) uses force, but the truth (Jesus) uses a voice. 38 Pilate asked him, “What is truth?” Pilate shakes his head and wonders "What is truth?" Rather, the words of Jesus describe, "Who is truth?" "I am the Way, the Truth and the Life." When Pilate responds to Jesus' comments on "truth" with the question, "What is truth?" he may merely have been making a scornful, under the breath snort. Considering the way Jesus' trial proceeds from this point forward, such scorn would seem well justified. However, Pilate's question may also reflect his inability to adapt his Roman understanding of the nature of truth to Jesus' Hebraic use of the term. Truth in the Greco Roman understanding was purely a cognitive function, an intellectual proposition. For Pilate, rooted in Greek intellectualism and Roman pragmatism, truth was something one thought. Jesus declares himself born "to testify to the truth," and claims as his own those who "belong to the truth." Earlier in this Gospel, we find Jesus saying that he testifies to what he has seen and heard, even while people do not accept his testimony. Yet, one who accepts his testimony certifies that God is true. God has sent Jesus to speak divine words and God gives the Spirit without measure (John 3:32-34).[8] Thus, finally facing Jesus, Pilate conducts his formal inquiry into "the truth" of what has been said and done. The statement by Jesus here is characteristic of the ideas and language of John. His definition of true kingship is essentially the sovereignty of truth. For example, in 8:45-47, Christ speaks truth, and in 8:31-2, where to dwell in his word is to know truth and experience liberation by it. Kingship is one that does not oppress or enslave but sets people free. According to 17:17, his word is truth. Of course, 14:6 says that Jesus is himself the truth. However, by placing the statement in the context of a trial scene, truth is present, and truth judges the people present. In 3:18-21, John closely relates truth and light. We must not lose sight of the irony here. People think they are judging Jesus, when judgment is upon those who do not see the truth in Jesus. The reason John has focused the issue of kingship in the Passion Narrative is that the question of authority to judge, which Pilate claims, is the divinely assigned prerogative of Christ.[9] In both dialogues with Jesus (John 18 and 19), Pilate wants to keep the conversation in terms of power. Which one of us has the power here? In 18:37, he asks, “Are you a king?” From where do you get your power? However, Jesus wants to speak in terms of truth. “I came into the world for this, to bear witness to the truth …” Earthly political power is not the measure of this king and this kingdom. Rather, the measure is the universal desire human beings have for truth. The power of Jesus is his testimony to the truth. John already indicated this in John 1:14, where the Word is “full of grace and truth.” He also indicated this in John 14:6, where Jesus says, “I am the way, the truth, and the life.” The world of ideas, the world beyond practical power struggles, is so foreign to Pilate that he must even ask for help, “What is truth?” (v. 38). The two dialogues between Jesus and Pilate in John 18 and 19 are thus a notable example of the confrontation between truth and power. We are not dealing with a question of idly speculative interest. Nor is it an attempt to back up the certainty of faith and proclamation. The truth for which humanity longs is in the act of God in Jesus Christ for us. Truth is the disclosure and recognition of that which is as it appears to humanity, of that which humanity cannot live without. When we encounter that which is, we attain to truth in the sense of disclosure and recognition. Hearing his voice is to be of the truth. We must accept His voice as the voice that speaks of Christ as that which appears as such. Christian experience can be truth and of the truth, but not so in abstraction. It is true to the extent that it proceeds from the truth. Truth rests upon what we learn of Christ.[10] The one who has really heard the voice cannot put the question of Pilate, “What is truth.” One cannot behave as though this had not happened, seeking and enquiring whether the light of the life of Jesus Christ that has shone upon the individual can really be light. One needs to respond as a child of that light. The individual hears the voice of Christ, and so the only question is how the individual will show that he or she is a hearer. One needs to show that one is hearer of the voice of Jesus Christ. One shows one is such by being obedient. One freed by the truth and for the truth might make only a partial or halting use of this freedom. One’s use might leave one much to be desired in the way of clarity and consistence.[11]
Pilate shakes his head and wonders, "What is truth?" Yet, Jesus describes who truth is. He had early said he was the way, truth, and life. Truth is not an idea, principle, or system, as worthy as such attempts by human beings may be. They are still only human attempts, error often dressing up itself nicely. One cannot expect to encounter truth as a phenomenon that we immediately and directly find illuminating, pleasing, acceptable, and welcome. Truth does not come easily and smoothly. It can come to us as alien, threatening, and uncomfortable as it draws near to us. It needs to pierce through the obscurity of human experience and change us by making us open to it. Things gained in an easy and self-evident way might be kindly and good, even true in its sphere, but it would not be the truth of God. The truth of God unmasks us as liars.[12]
We honor truth when we say that we need to speak it, even if our voices shake. In Jesus, we have the self-revelation of God. Preachers and theologians do not have the task of providing easy answers to human questions, even one as important as truth. In fact, maybe the good teacher of Christianity will make us progressively aware of a mystery. God, in Jesus Christ, is the cause of our wonder.[13] We humbly submit the formation of our views and concepts to the revelation of truth we have in Jesus. Yes, that is simple and mysterious at the same time.
“And he never said a mumblin’ word,” sings the spiritual. Not a word. He who was such a preacher, refused at the last to speak. Moreover, his silence is revealing, even damning. On another occasion in John, Jesus says, “I am the way, I am truth and life.” His silence may well mean that Pilate, and with him, every reader, is to pause and consider the possibility that Jesus is himself truth. When humanity receives a revelation of the truth, humanity hides from it.
I find myself bothered by the silence of Jesus after Pilate asks his famous question. He had said he was the truth on another occasion. He does not say that here. Religion is not the truth. It might be tempting to suggest that the teachings of Jesus are the truth. That might be the effortless way. Yet, Christ the teacher is more important any of his teachings. We might abolish the truth if we focus only upon what he said.[14] We might try to identify one of the churches as identifying the truth about Jesus. The Bible is the witness to Jesus, so we might find it tempting to proclaim it as the truth. We can think of these and many more areas of thought that contain true ideas and thoughts. Yet, Pilate did not ask about that. He asked about truth. Jesus is silent. His silence is instructive. We cannot put truth into rightly constructed words. Truth will not stand still long enough for us to grasp it. Truth beckons us in diverse ways and comes toward us from differing directions.[15] In this sense, truth is a lot like Jesus. As much as we try to put it into words, Jesus keeps escaping the boxes into which human beings might try to put him. Faithful churches, preachers, and theologians do not even try. Rather, in the end, they recognize their words have fallen short. They can only hope that their words lead to an encounter with the one who is beyond words.
John may well want us to put ourselves in the position of Pilate. We make judgments about our lives. We may believe we are doing the right thing. Yet, we may choose the expedient over the right. When we have an experience where the witness to Jesus comes before us, we have a decision to make. What will we do with Jesus? A bit of Pilate is in us. We think we are the judge. Yet, it may well be that we are on trial.
The late Sam Shoemaker, an Episcopal priest who served parishes in New York and Pittsburgh, told the story of a man entering the Salon Carre, the room in the Louvre in Paris in which hangs some of the most exquisite masterpieces in the art world. The man looks hurriedly at some of the works of Rembrandt and of Leonardo da Vinci, and then remarks to a guard, "What's all the fuss? I don't think these paintings are all that wonderful." Whereupon the guard replies, "They are not on trial‑‑you are."
The irony of this text is that Jesus was not on trial. Throughout the passion narrative, in fact, the disciples, the religious leaders, Pilate, and the crowds are all on trial before God. Of course, so are we as we engage this story.
When Jesus expresses that he testifies to the truth, and that those who share his concern will hear his voice, he refers to the power of words. I grant that in the immediate, political, and military might, even economic might, seem overwhelming. Words seem quite weak. One voice confronting the crowds, the religious authorities, and political authorities. How can anyone hear this voice amid so much opposition? In this moment, what else did Jesus have? When Pilate asks, “What is truth?” the question has a ring of cynicism. He has lived a hard life. He has given up on the noble possibility that humanity has an urge toward truth. Instead, he has concern for position and power. After Pilate asks the question, Jesus is silent.
Episode Three is in verse 18:38b-40. Jesus Sentenced to Death (Mt 27.15—31; Mk 15.6—20; Lk 23.13—25)
After he had said this, referring to the challenge Pilate offered with his skeptical question concerning truth, he went out to the Jews again and told them, “I find no case against him. 39 However, you have a custom that I release someone for you at the Passover. Do you want me to release for you the King of the Jews (Βασιλέα τῶν Ἰουδαίων)?” 40 They shouted in reply, “Not this man, but Barabbas!” Now Barabbas was a bandit. Pilate seeks to release Jesus. By going out to meet with the priests, Pilate reluctantly agrees to hear the case concerning Jesus. He is now launching a formal inquiry into the charges brought against Jesus, Pilate dealing with it as swiftly as possible with a potentially disruptive situation. Historians have no extra-biblical example of the amnesty opportunity presented here. Pilate has already pronounced Jesus innocent, so use of the title “king of the Jews” may be an attempt to get the Jews to renounce their desire for kingship. John constructs the confrontation scene between Jesus and the symbol of Roman authority to emphasize the kingship of Jesus and his divine qualification for judging the entire world.
Episode Four is in 19:1-3.
Then Pilate took Jesus and had him flogged. 2 In addition, the soldiers wove a crown of thorns and put it on his head, and they dressed him in a purple robe. John agrees with Mark here, while Matthew has a red robe. 3 They kept coming up to him, saying, “Hail, King of the Jews (Βασιλεὺς τῶν Ἰουδαίων)!” and striking him on the face. Jesus receives a second “not guilty” statement. Scourging often occurred before crucifixion, for death by crucifixion could take many days.
Episode Five is in 19:4-8.
4 Pilate went out again and said to them, “Look, I am bringing him out to you to let you know that I find no case against him.” Jesus receives a third statement of innocence. 5 Thus, Jesus came out, wearing the crown of thorns and the purple robe. Pilate said to them, “Here is the man!” The Christian reader of this text sees here an unwitting testimony to who Jesus is. It has the form of confession, even if unknown by him. 6 When the chief priests and the police saw him, they shouted, “Crucify him! Crucify him!” Pilate said to them, “Take him yourselves and crucify him; I find no case against him.” 7 The Jews answered him, “We have a law, and according to that law he ought to die because he has claimed to be the Son of God (Υἱὸν
Θεοῦ).” The claim to unity with the Father, and to a present inbreaking of the divine rule for those who receive his message, met with the response of an accusation of blasphemy.[16] This charge, based on the idea that he assumed an authority not his, is false, for Jesus continually differentiated himself for his Father.[17] 8 Now, when Pilate heard this, he was more afraid than ever.
Episode Six is in 19:9-11. Pilate talks with Jesus about power.
9 He entered his headquarters again and asked Jesus, “Where are you from?” However, Jesus gave him no answer. 10 Pilate therefore said to him, “Do you refuse to speak to me? Do you not know that I have power to release you, and power to crucify you?” 11 Jesus answered him, “You would have no power over me unless it had been given you from above; therefore the one who handed me over to you is guilty of a greater sin.”
Episode Seven is in 19:12-16a. Pilate yields to the Jewish demand for the crucifixion of Jesus. John omits a trial before the Sanhedrin, probably because of this theological interest in kingship at this point.
12 From then on Pilate tried to release him, but the Jews cried out, “If you release this man, you are no friend of the emperor. Everyone who claims to be a king sets himself against the emperor.” 13 When Pilate heard these words, he brought Jesus outside and sat on the judge’s bench at a place called The Stone Pavement, or in Hebrew Gabbatha. 14 Now, it was the day of Preparation for the Passover; and it was about noon. Noon is when the slaughter of the Passover Lamb began. He said to the Jews, “Here is your King!” 15 They cried out, “Away with him! Away with him! Crucify him!” Pilate asked them, “Shall I crucify your King?” The chief priests answered, “We have no king but the emperor.” The Jewish people become “friends of Caesar,” an official title, in contrast to their calling as the people of God. As John has pointed out, Jesus keeps replacing the Old Testament covenant with the new covenant in Jesus.16 Then he handed him over to them to the soldiers so they could crucify him.
Political and religious authorities falsely accused Jesus of fake capital crimes that resulted in a very real, awful, capital crime committed against him, a crime that changed the world — forever. When people withhold testimony, when others give false testimony, and when no one brings corroborating evidence, authorities have committed a crime. This was no miscarriage of justice. This was a crime. Yet, this crime is precisely what God used to continuing bringing the rule of God into the world through the witness of those who continued to live in fellowship with Jesus.
19:16b-30 shows the execution of Jesus on the cross.
Jesus died. It was a small event. Just another execution, a diversion for the people, entertainment for an afternoon. He died and nothing changed. It was a minute victory for Roman rulers. A one suspected revolutionary was dead. It was a small victory for the religious establishment. One who blasphemed the Temple is dead. Of course, it was a sizable tragedy for his followers. However, his death was barely a blip, quite forgettable, quite unremarkable, quite unexceptional. Certainly not what sociologists might describe as a generational defining moment. Of course, tragic deaths always leave scars that are profoundly personal. Sociologists will tell us that a defining moment or event can shape an entire generation. So, what of Jesus' generation? When Jesus died, his generation was not defined. When Jesus died, except for some women at the foot of the cross, no one mourned. No one knew this death was exceptional. There was no press report. No news briefing. No shocked nation. Few took notice of another Jew's execution.
Jesus did change the course of history, that we now realize. But at the time, who knew? Who cared? The disciples did not know. They had fled and returned to their former occupations, hauling nets, collecting taxes, pounding nails, trying to forget, trying to blend in, trying to hide. Religious leaders did not know. Many rejoiced that an agitating rabble-rouser was eliminated. They were anxious to get on with Passover. The political leaders did not know. They just wanted to get rid of that troublemaker and keep peace in an unimportant Roman province. "Keep the peace" equaled "keep their jobs." The people did not know. They were thoroughly disillusioned. The soldiers did not know. They gambled for his clothes. The thief beside him did not know. He taunted Jesus as he hung dying on the cross.
Do we know? Do we understand choosing the cross can be for us the defining moment of our spiritual lives? Have we encountered Christ in a way that affirms that Jesus was not just a good man, not just someone who showed us how to love one another, but as the Savior who died on this day, Good Friday, in a specific time and place, died for the sins of the world?
We will have no deep understanding of Christianity without reflecting upon the Cross. Yet, the cross and resurrection have a close bond in the gospel accounts. It seems consistent with the thought that one builds real hope on the far side of despair.[18] Such joining of them is chronological in that occur close in time. Yet, the joining is also theological. Pau will not refer to death, cross, death on the cross, or word of the cross without implying resurrection. He will refer to resurrection, glory, or splendor of the Father in a way that includes the death in shame that precedes it.[19]Throughout the story of the trial and crucifixion, we see humanity at its worst. Yet, from the standpoint of the word of resurrection, we see the excellence, glory, and beauty of the act of God. From the standpoint of resurrection, the cross removes any impediments that would hinder us from having anything but the enjoyment of such self-giving love now and forever. Our understanding of the atonement needs to prepare us to be ready for that intimacy.[20] From the standpoint of resurrection, the cross is a splendid theater of the incomparable goodness of God. The glory of God shines forth from the cross. Of course, if we need to have eyes to see, we will see the glory of God in all things God has made. Yet, it shines brightly in the cross, at least from the standpoint of resurrection. We see the sin of humanity, but we also see God blotting out that sin and redeeming humanity.[21]
The Christian doctrine of sin arises out of reflection upon what the cross says about us. It frees us from delusion about our perfectible. We are still active in improving self and world, but we acknowledge that our expectations should be modest. In fact, modesty in expectations is a sign that we have awakened from the dream of perfection. We believe in redemption, but we do not believe in flawlessness. Thus, the point of this teaching is not total depravity, basic wickedness of humanity, or an incapacity for goodness in humanity. Rather, it teaches us that sin and evil are unnatural, a disorder, and a perversion. We are creations of a good God. What has perverted itself can also experience the miracle of redemption.[22]
Sin shows itself in the fact that we are self-deceiving people who find it difficult to tell the truth about ourselves. In the cross, we see a mirror of who we are. On this day, God tells us the truth about ourselves, the whole truth. We deceive others God sent God’s only Son to us, to embrace us, to show us the way, and we responded with, “Crucify him!” Today is a day for honesty, honesty made possible through the crucified one who says, even from the cross, “I love you still.” We believe in our basic goodness. We do the best we can. We present a well-polished face to others. Such efforts to deceive others reflect what we have deluded ourselves into thinking we are.[23] Our sin is more incurable because we do not view ourselves as sinners.[24] Our inclination is toward hypocrisy, which is an empty image of righteousness. We will not have clear knowledge of self until we see the meaning of the cross.[25] We learn something else as we ponder the cross. We come upon a great irony of self-deception. Self-deception often arises out of our desire to be good and moral people. People who take their moral commitments seriously are the one who are most prone to deceive themselves about their moral commitments.
In the movie Schindler's List, I thought that the most horrifying episode was the scene toward the beginning of the movie when they were bringing Polish Jews into the concentration camp. They lined people up, and made them stand in rows before clerical, accountant people who, with typewriters before them, registered the prisoners. It was so horrifying because it was so ordinary. They were just doing their jobs, just typing in information on government forms. They just registered people for their certain deaths in the camp. It was one thing to see evil done by the soldiers, the guards at the camp. However, it was quite another thing to see evil done by ordinary, everyday people sitting before typewriters.
We rightly ponder the goodness and perversity of humanity. Robert Jay Lifton suggests an answer with the concept of doubling - that is, a division of the self into two functioning wholes, each of which acts as an entire self. Although there are some similarities between doubling and multiple personality disorder, doubling is a milder psychological condition that permits an otherwise well-integrated person with a conscience to engage in heinous criminal activity. It permits an individual to engage in evil with- out violating his or her conscience.
Lifton developed the concept of doubling in connection with a study of the doctors who worked for Himmler's SS during the Second World War. These physicians engaged in medical experiments sponsored by the Nazis for ideological and military purposes. Among their other responsibilities, these doctors also had to make determinations about which of the Jewish prisoners arriving at the death camps would be assigned to work programs and which would be consigned to the gas chambers. The doctors supervised the mass executions, and in some cases personally executed individuals with lethal injections. What began as a racial eugenics program involving sterilization procedures in 1933 progressed to a program of euthanasia in 1939 and eventually became the "Final Solution" for the racial and political undesirable. The doctors conveniently erased the border between healing and killing. Lifton calls it the "healing-killing paradox."
One important strategy that these medical people employed to carry on with their tortures was "technicizing" - that is, translating all their activities into technical tasks that they could measure by ordinary standards of efficiency. One SS doctor told Lifton, "Ethics was not a word used in Auschwitz. Doctors and others spoke only about how to do things most efficiently, about what worked best." They managed to adopt this strategy not by eliminating their consciences as such but by transferring them to the state. They subjected their consciences to Auschwitz criteria for what is good: duty to the fatherland, loyalty to their professional colleagues, improvement of living conditions at the death camps, and efficiency of operations. They subordinated the deaths of millions of innocent people to these ends, thereby freeing the consciences of their original selves.
Elsewhere in their lives, these medical people were living family members, responsible in their community, supportive of culture, appreciative of music and opera. They were the pillars of society, the ostensible shepherd of our civilization.[26]
We do well to ponder our capacity for greatness and perversity.
Episode One is in 19:16b-22. The Crucifixion of Jesus (Mt 27.32—56; Mk 15.21—41; Lk 23.26—49)
So they took Jesus; 17 and carrying the cross by himself, he went out to what people called The Place of the Skull, which in Hebrew is Golgotha. In difference with the Synoptic Gospels, John has no Simon carrying the cross. John follows the typology of Isaac carrying his own wood to the altar for sacrifice. He also emphasizes that Jesus is master of his fate. 18 There they crucified him, and with him two others, one on either side, with Jesus between them. 19 Pilate also had an inscription written and put on the cross. It read, “Jesus of Nazareth, the King of the Jews (ΒΑΣΙΛΕΥΣ ΤΩΝΙΟΥΔΑΙΩΝ).” 20 Many of the Jews read this inscription, because the place where the Romans crucified Jesus was near the city; and the Romans had written, since the place was near the city, in Hebrew, in Latin, and in Greek. 21 Then the chief priests of the Jews said to Pilate, “Do not write, ‘The King of the Jews (Βασιλεὺς τῶν Ἰουδαίων),’ but, ‘This man said, I am King of the Jews (Βασιλεὺς τῶν Ἰουδαίων).’ ” 22 Pilate answered, “What I have written I have written.”Pilate becomes an unwilling witness to the authority of Christ. The cross itself becomes such a testimony, “lifting up” the Son of Man in this way.
“There they crucified him…” Such simple words. The punishment of crucifixion struck fear in the hearts of the people of the Roman world. It was Rome's means of controlling the people. According to Roman custom, scourging always preceded the penalty of crucifixion; after this preliminary punishment, the condemned person had to carry the cross, or at least the transverse beam of it, to the place of execution, exposed to the jibes and insults of the people. On arrival at the place of execution the cross was uplifted. Soon the sufferer, entirely naked, was bound to it with cords. He was then, fastened with four nails to the wood of the cross. Finally, soldiers placed a placard called the titulus bearing the name of the condemned man and his sentence at the top of the cross. Authorities crucified slaves outside of Rome in a place called Sessorium, beyond the Esquiline Gate; they entrusted their execution to the carnifex servorum (the place of the hangman). Eventually this wretched locality became a forest of crosses, while the bodies of the victims were the pray of vultures and other rapacious birds. It often happened that the condemned man did not die of hunger or thirst but lingered on the cross for several days. To shorten his punishment therefore, and lessen his terrible sufferings, people would break his legs. This custom, exceptional among the Romans, was common with the Jews. In this way it was possible to take down the corpse on the very evening of the execution. Among the Romans, though, one could not take down the corpse, unless such removal had been specially authorized in the sentence of death. One might also bury the corpse if the sentence permitted. It is remarkable that all of this is behind the simple words, “There they crucified him.”
It would take some time, but Jesus is responsible for the abolishment of the cross as a means of capital punishment. In the early part of the fourth century Constantine continued to inflict the penalty of the cross on slaves guilty of, in the old Latin, delatio domini, i.e., of denouncing their masters. But later, he abolished this infamous punishment, in memory and in honor of the Passion of the Christ. From then on, authorities rarely inflicted this punishment and finally the practice faded into history. However, Christians remember that history every year as they recall the events of the last week of the life of Jesus.
Episode Two is in 19:23-25a. 23 When the soldiers had crucified Jesus, they took his clothes and divided them into four parts, one for each soldier. They also took his tunic; now the tunic was seamless, woven in one piece from the top. Seamless clothing is that of the priest. Soldiers not dividing the garment may suggest the unity of the church. Jesus is priest. 24 Therefore, they said to one another, “Let us not tear it, but cast lots for it to see who will get it.” This fulfilled what the scripture in Psalm 22:18 says, “They divided my clothes among themselves, and for my clothing they cast lots.” 25 Therefore, that is what the soldiers did.
Episode Three is in 19:25b-27. John may well want his readers to know that some followers of Jesus did not abandon him.
Meanwhile, standing near the cross of Jesus were his mother, and his mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene. 26 When Jesus saw his mother and the disciple whom he loved standing beside her, he said to his mother, “Woman, here is your son.” 27 Then he said to the disciple, “Here is your mother.” From that hour, the disciple took her into his own home. Although one could refer to the simple provision for the mother of Jesus, one could also understand this conversation as a provision for future believers and for the church. Jesus provides for the future. As Eve was the mother of humanity, Mary is the mother of the newly forming people of God who have responded to the revelation of God in Jesus.
Episode Four is in 19:28-30.
28 After this, when Jesus knew that all was now finished, he said (in order to fulfill the scripture); “I am thirsty.” The one who is the source of living water is thirsty. Jesus “thirsts” for God and the salvation of the world. John refers to 29 a jar full of sour wine was standing there. The drink the Romans offered was a vinegar-wine the soldiers often gave to prisoners. Therefore, they put a sponge full of the wine on a branch of hyssop and held it to his mouth. 30 When Jesus had received the wine, he said, “It is finished.” Then he bowed his head and gave up his spirit. All of this suggests a spirit of prayer. [27]
I share a story. A little boy had a sister who needed a blood transfusion. The boy had recovered from the same disease two years before. Her only chance for recovery was to have a transfusion from someone who had recovered from the disease. Since the boy had the same rare blood type and had recovered from the disease, he would be the ideal donor. The doctor asked if he would be willing to do this. At first, the boy hesitated. His lower lip started to tremble. But then he said, 'Sure, for my sister." The two were wheeled into a hospital room. They were side by side. They did not speak, but when their eyes met, the boy smiled at his sister. He was so healthy, while she was very pale and sickly. The nurse put the needle into the boy's arm, and the boy's smile faded. He watched his blood flow into the tube. When the ordeal was almost over, his voice slightly shaky, he said, "Doctor, when do I die?" Only then did the doctor realize why the boy hesitated, and why his lip trembled. In that moment, he made a great decision. He would sacrifice his life for one he loved.
I share another story. On the island of Formosa hundreds of years ago, it was the custom to offer human sacrifice. A kindly emperor by the name of Goho changed all of that. According to Goho's law, only animals, not humans, could be sacrificed. But there was a terrible drought and the crops failed. Once again, the people clamored for a human sacrifice. "Very well," Goho said, "tomorrow morning at dawn go into the forest and find your victim for sacrifice. He will be tied to a tree and wearing a red robe. Strike him for he is your sacrifice." Early that morning the men rose with their clubs and found things to be just as Goho said. There was a sacrificial man tied to a tree and wearing a red robe. They rushed forward and killed him. When they uncovered the face, they were horrified to discover it was Goho, their own beloved emperor. By his death, Goho was able to do what his law could never do. He changed the hearts and minds of his people forever.[28]
Episode Five is in 19:31-37. Soldiers Pierce the Side of Jesus
31 Since it was the day of Preparation, the Jews did not want the bodies left on the cross during the Sabbath, especially because that Sabbath was a day of great solemnity. Therefore, they asked Pilate to have the legs of the crucified men broken, breaking the legs being a cruel punishment in crucifixion, and the bodies removed. 32 Then the soldiers came and broke the legs of the first and of the other who they had crucified with him. 33 However, when they came to Jesus and saw that he was already dead, they did not break his legs. 34 Instead, one of the soldiers pierced his side with a spear, and at once blood and water came out. The water symbolizes living water and the waters of baptism, while blood coming from his body refers to the Eucharist. 35 (He who saw this has testified so that you also may believe. His testimony is true, and he knows that he tells the truth.) 36 These things occurred so that the scripture in Psalm 34:20 might find fulfillment, “None of his bones shall be broken.” 37 Further, another passage of scripture in Zechariah 12:10 says, “They will look on the one whom they have pierced.”
19:31-42 shows the removal and burial of the body of Jesus. The Burial of Jesus (Mt 27.57—61; Mk 15.42—47; Lk 23.50—56)
38 After these things, Joseph of Arimathea, who was a disciple of Jesus, though a secret one because of his fear of the Jews, asked Pilate to let him take away the body of Jesus. Pilate gave him permission, so he came and removed his body. 39 Nicodemus, who at first had come to Jesus by night, also came, bringing a mixture of myrrh and aloes, weighing about a hundred pounds. The amount suggests a kingly burial. 40 They, only John mentioning Nicodemus, took the body of Jesus and wrapped it with the spices in linen cloths, according to the burial custom of the Jews. 41 Now, there was a garden, the only gospel to mention the place of burial as a garden, in the place where they crucified him. At the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, the tomb is 125 feet from Calvary. In the garden, there was a new tomb in which no one had ever been laid. John is the only gospel to mention burial in a garden. The theme is the significance of the death of Jesus for his followers. 42 Therefore, because it was the Jewish day of Preparation, and the tomb was nearby, they laid Jesus there.
At the “old rugged cross,” we see humanity at its worst, but we also receive the invitation to see God acting in a way that will challenge us and potentially attract us. The emblem of suffering and shame becomes, for those with the eyes to see, the cherished emblem of the love of God.
It is "a monstrous blasphemy." That is how Erik Routley, who some consider the greatest hymnologist of the last century, described the well-known hymn "The Old Rugged Cross." Routley, who was also a composer and minister, explained his comment by saying, "I believe it to be wrong, misleading and spiritually wicked to treat the Cross as affectionately as that lyric does." Well! No cherishing the old rugged cross for him! Routley made that comment in a 1967 publication, more than 50 years after the hymn had been introduced to the public. His opinion had negligible impact because by that time, "The Old Rugged Cross" had become a favorite hymn and was widely used in churches across America. In a radio poll taken about 20 years after the song was written, "The Old Rugged Cross" received over 6,000 votes more than its nearest competitor, "Nearer My God to Thee," and a survey conducted by the Christian Herald magazine in the 1950s said it was number one of the "fifty favorite hymns." It's been performed back in the day by some 30 popular musical artists or groups -- from Elvis Presley to Wayne Newton, Anne Murray, Patti Page, Loretta Lynn, Alabama and a boatload of others. Routley, however, had not quite closed his mind on the hymn and went on to say, "I may yet learn that with all its unspeakable vulgarity it has said something authentic to somebody."
The hymn seems to have spoken to many "somebodies" and not in tones of "unspeakable vulgarity," but with the message of the gospel. In time, the song even won over some others who initially considered it both theologically and musically defective. Carlton R. Young, editor of the most recent hymnal for the United Methodist Church explains that his "understanding of the compelling witness for the gospel in this hymn, despite its perceived theological and musical shortcomings, began to be formed ... after hearing it requested and then performed in Preservation Hall, New Orleans."[29]
The author and composer of the hymn, the Rev. George Bennard, began work on this hymn in the fall of 1912, but did not complete it until sometime in 1913. He went public with it in June of that year, using it in a Methodist church in Pokagon, Mich. Bennard was a native of Youngstown, Ohio, and was converted to Christ in a Salvation Army meeting there. He became a Salvation Army officer and later a Methodist evangelist. In telling how the hymn came about, Bennard said it was the result of "a real soul struggle" and that he was "praying for a full understanding of the Cross and its plan in Christianity." After spending many hours in study and prayer about this, he finally could say, "I saw the Christ of the Cross as if I were seeing John 3:16 leave the printed page, take form and act out the meaning of redemption."
Good Friday is the one day above all others when the Cross takes center stage, both in the Christian narrative and in the lectionary reading for the day, which begins with Jesus' betrayal and arrest in the garden and extends through his crucifixion and burial. Certainly, in that Scripture reading, the cross (lowercase "c") -- the literal wooden object to which Jesus was nailed and upon which he died -- cannot be escaped. However, also present in the reading is the Cross (uppercase "C") -- the symbolic emblem that is now the most recognizable mark of the Christian faith and is a major hinge point of our theology.
Theologians wrestle with the nature of this mark and hinge point of faith and theology.
- Is the Cross, as the song says, "an emblem of suffering and shame ... where the dearest and best for a world of lost sinners was slain"?
- It is emblematic of a fate we all deserve because of our sins but which we don't have to face because Jesus faced it for us by taking our place and thus "satisfying" our debt to God?
- It is the place where Christ confronted the power of demons who first appeared to have won but who, come Easter morning, were shown to have lost?
- Is it a supreme symbol of God's love for us? Is it God sacrificing himself for the human race?
- Is it simply the preferred method of execution in the Roman Empire, to which Jesus was unjustly sent for confronting the shortcomings of the established religious leaders?
Some who have looked at the Cross have even decided that understanding it is too difficult. In the 17th century, British poet John Milton authored a poem on the birth of Jesus called "Ode Upon the Morning of Christ's Nativity." Afterward, he attempted to write a companion poem on the death of Jesus, but finally gave up. His collected works include the unfinished fragment, but underneath it, he scrawled these words: "This subject the author finding to be above the years he had when he wrote it, and nothing satisfied with what was begun, left it unfinished."
Indeed. It is true that there can be no deep understanding of Christianity without talking about the Cross, but it may also be true that there is no understanding of the Cross that satisfies all Christians (to say nothing of Christianity's critics).
What we can say, however, is that whatever the Cross and Jesus' death on it means, the New Testament ties the Cross firmly to the resurrection of Jesus. All four gospels "present Jesus' crucifixion in close conjunction with his being raised from the dead" and that the "joining of the two is as much theological and chronological," making Jesus' death and resurrection "one mystery of faith, not two." He goes on to point out that Paul's "use of the terms 'death,' 'cross,' 'death on the cross' or 'word of the cross' always implies resurrection, often in a phrase that occurs nearby. In the same way, his use of 'resurrection,' 'glory' or 'splendor of the Father' when referring to Christ is a way of including the death in shame that preceded it."[30]
Within the Gospel of John, we may get more help from something Jesus himself said about the Cross. Shortly before his final week, he spoke to his disciples about his coming "hour," by which he certainly meant all that would be involved in his Passion. He went on to tell them, "And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to myself." To that, John, the narrator, comments, "He said this to indicate the kind of death he was to die" (John 12:32-33). That is Jesus' statement about his death. He offers no theological interpretations but says that his death will have a pulling effect. He will draw people to him. Surely, not all who feel drawn will respond, but something about his death and his subsequent victory over death will attract people. The attraction to Jesus is in part because he gave his life for others. The response to many throughout history has been to open their hearts to the crucified and proclaim him Lord.
Many of us find it difficult to say, in the words of the refrain of George Bennard's song, "So I'll cherish the old rugged cross." On one level, we ought to recoil at that. Would we cherish the electric chair, the gas chamber, the executioner's needle, the hangman's noose? Jesus himself certainly did not cherish the cross; he prayed that his Father would spare him of it. However, if we are talking about the eventual meaning of the Cross, then cherishing does not sound so strange. In that sense, we suspect that cherishing the Cross was a genuine emotion for Bennard. That may not be the case for every Christian, but there is something about it that connects for many. Dr. Charles E. Ferrell tells of a time a few years ago when, coincidentally, he was pastoring a church in the city of Bennard's birth, Youngstown. One day, at a gathering of Christians, he met a woman who had had two children born with a genetic defect. Her son had died at age 6. Her daughter appeared to be all right until age 10, when the genetic problems froze her at that age, even as the years added up. Ferrell was moved by the woman's story and asked her if having had two children with those conditions had wilted her spirit. The woman replied, "People often tell me that it has been my cross to bear. I tell them, 'No! As far as I am concerned, there has been only one cross that counted. The cross of Christ. That cross has seen me through.'" Some people hand out a little card that had a tiny wooden cross pasted to it. Next to the cross was a little poem titled "The Cross in My Pocket" that explained in verse that the little cross was a reminder "to no one but me / that Jesus Christ is Lord of my life / if only I'll let him be." Using the Cross that way seems to us to be a way of cherishing it -- or better, of cherishing the relationship with Christ to which it points.
[1] Inspired by Thompson, Derek. "On repeat: Why people watch movies and shows over and over." The Atlantic Monthly Website, theatlantic.com. September 10, 2014.
[2] (see the excellent compendium: Reimund Bieringer et al., eds., Anti-Judaism and the Fourth Gospel [Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2001])
[3] Inspired by (Stanley Hauerwas, Truthfulness and Tragedy [South Bend, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1977], p. 82.)
[4] --Religion News Service, "Satirical paper's serious message," The Washington Post, October 6, 2001, B9.
[5] Barth, Church Dogmatics, IV.2 [64.3], 176.
[6] Barth, Church Dogmatics, IV.2 [64.3], 167-68.
[7] (For more discussion on this difference, see Ian Pitt Watson, "God's Truth" The Princeton Seminary Bulletin, 7, 1986, 67 75.)
[8] 32He testifies to what he has seen and heard, yet no one accepts his testimony. 33 Whoever has accepted his testimony has certified this, that God is true. 34 He whom God has sent speaks the words of God, for he gives the Spirit without measure. (John 3:32-34)
[9] Dodd, The Interpretation of the Fourth Gospel, New York: Cambridge University Press, 1953, 1970, 435-37.
[10] Barth, Church Dogmatics, IV.1 [59.2] 249.
[11] Barth, Church Dogmatics IV.3 [69.2], 77-78.
[12] Barth, Church Dogmatics, IV.3 [70.1]375-78.
[13] It is not the task of Christianity to provide easy answers to every question, but to make us progressively aware of a mystery. God is not so much the object of our knowledge as the cause of our wonder. --Kallistos Ware. Thanks to Rev. Linda C. Rahe, retired ELCA clergy, Holland, Ohio, for sharing this.
[14] Kierkegaard, Søren. "Truth is the way." Provocations, Charles E. Moore, ed. Farmington, Penna.: The Bruderhof Foundation. Inc., 2002, 52. Practice in Christianity, 123-4, 210-1.
[15] --Frederick Buechner, frederickbuechner.com. March 23, 2015. Retrieved June 29, 2015.
[16] Pannenberg, Systematic Theology Volume 2, 337.
[17] Pannenberg, Systematic Theology Volume 1, 263, 310.
[18] John Keats
[19] Gerard S. Sloyan.
[20] Dennis Kinlaw, Let's Start With Jesus. Thanks to Rev. Jeff Coleman, The Highlands UMC, Gainesville, Georgia, for passing this on to us.
[21] John Calvin, Commentary on John 13:31.
[22] – Walter Wink, “The Gladsome Doctrine of Sin,” The Living Pulpit, October–December 1999
[23] Reinhold Niebuhr, The Nature and Destiny of Man, Vol. 1, pp. 186–188
[24] – Augustine, The Confessions, Book 2
[25] John Calvin (Institutes of the Christian Religion, Book I, Chapter 2, pp. 37–38.)
[26] (Ted Peters, Sin: Radical Evil in Soul and Society [Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 1989]. pp. 205-206.)
[27] Pannenberg, Systematic Theology Volume 3, 10.
[28] E. Stanley Jones.
[29] Young, Carlton R. Companion to The United Methodist Hymnal. Nashville: Abingdon, 1993, 642-643.
[30] Sloyan, Gerard S. Why Jesus Died. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 1995, 3-4.
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