At this hour He hangs.
The blind He healed no longer see; the deaf He healed no longer understand. Those who stood close are now only brave enough to watch -- from a safe distance.
He cries out; they bring Him vinegar and gall to drink. A small Roman market opens at the foot of a dripping cross: guards place bids on His garments, even the hem of His garment.
Nothing can stop His bleeding issue.
No one knows, perhaps not (yet) even He, that everyone hangs in Him, that His exsanguination is theirs; is their only hope. There is mockery, scoffing, cursing;
the unknowing living spit sarcasm into His wounds,
He, the only knowing dying,
turns vitriol to wine
He has finished His cup
and it pours out
pooling beneath so many
nervous feet
one thief finds paradise in His great poverty
another finds nothing worth taking
not even this broken bit of bread
a sign maker admires his work,
dumb to the irony of his irony
a crown weaver picks a thorn from his thumb
thinking about furlough
a virgin finds her son finding her Son
and a son finds the mother who gave birth to
a dying God
a rabbi weeps at the Law's last breath
a guard feels the weakness of the sword,
the strength of surrender
a spear pierces the side of heaven
and hell spills out
there is no safe distance
©2007 Bill Gnade. All Rights Reserved.
Showing posts with label Holy Week. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Holy Week. Show all posts
Friday, April 02, 2010
Friday, March 21, 2008
The Day They Call Good (Redux)
[In honor of Holy Week, and mindful of what this day means to all Christians, I repost a meditation I wrote for last year's Good Friday.]
At this hour He hangs. The blind who were healed no longer see; the deaf He made hear no longer understand. Those who once stood as close as possible are scattered, most now only brave enough to stand -- at a safe distance.
He cries out; they bring Him vinegar and gall to drink. A small Roman market opens at the foot of His dripping cross: guards place bids on His garments, even the hem of His garment.
Nothing can stop His bleeding issue.
No one knows, perhaps not (yet) even He, that everyone hangs in Him, that His exsanguination is theirs; is their only hope. There is mockery, scoffing, cursing;
the unknowing living spit sarcasm into His wounds,
He, the only knowing dying,
turns vitriol to wine
He has finished His cup
and it pours out
pooling beneath so many
nervous feet
one thief finds paradise in His great poverty
another finds nothing worth taking
not even this broken bit of bread
a sign maker admires his work,
dumb to the irony of his irony
a crown maker picks a small thorn from his thumb
thinking about furlough
a virgin finds her son finding her God
and a son finds the mother who gave birth to
this dying God
a rabbi weeps at the Law's last breath
a guard feels the weakness of the sword,
the strength of surrender
a spear pierces the side of heaven
and hell spills out
there is no safe distance
©Bill Gnade 2007, 2008./Contratimes. All Rights Reserved.
At this hour He hangs. The blind who were healed no longer see; the deaf He made hear no longer understand. Those who once stood as close as possible are scattered, most now only brave enough to stand -- at a safe distance.
He cries out; they bring Him vinegar and gall to drink. A small Roman market opens at the foot of His dripping cross: guards place bids on His garments, even the hem of His garment.
Nothing can stop His bleeding issue.
No one knows, perhaps not (yet) even He, that everyone hangs in Him, that His exsanguination is theirs; is their only hope. There is mockery, scoffing, cursing;
the unknowing living spit sarcasm into His wounds,
He, the only knowing dying,
turns vitriol to wine
He has finished His cup
and it pours out
pooling beneath so many
nervous feet
one thief finds paradise in His great poverty
another finds nothing worth taking
not even this broken bit of bread
a sign maker admires his work,
dumb to the irony of his irony
a crown maker picks a small thorn from his thumb
thinking about furlough
a virgin finds her son finding her God
and a son finds the mother who gave birth to
this dying God
a rabbi weeps at the Law's last breath
a guard feels the weakness of the sword,
the strength of surrender
a spear pierces the side of heaven
and hell spills out
there is no safe distance
©Bill Gnade 2007, 2008./Contratimes. All Rights Reserved.
Thursday, April 05, 2007
On Maundy Thursday: A Reply To A Brother
Today is Maundy Thursday, that holy day when Christ mandates that we love each other a new way: we are to love each other as He loved us. It is the day for celebrating this new commandment; it is also the day we meet with Him for the first feast day, when the cup of salvation and the bread of heaven were first consecrated and given to the Church. It is also the day of betrayal, when dark forces entered into the heart of Judas Iscariot, tempting him to turn Christ over to the political powers, perhaps, sadly, to force the Savior's hand to deliver Israel from the Roman occupiers. But as we know, Jesus would have none of that scheme, nor would He bow down and worship the idols of power, authority or even earthly acts of righteousness.
_____________
Who Are The Saints?
Earlier this morning I read an essay, "The Canonisation [sic] of John Paul II: The Denial of the Gospel," critical of the seemingly imminent canonization of the late-Pope John Paul II. It was written by David Ould and posted at the Anglican website, Stand Firm. It is a challenging essay in many ways. And I left a rather lengthy comment with Mr. Ould that I would like to share with you. It follows below. Of course, I will add some further thoughts at the end of this post. I think, in many ways, it is all a fitting Maundy Thursday meditation.
The context of my comment has less to do with the actual canonization of the Pope and more to do with God's love for His people and the mysteries of Christ's sacrifice on the cross. There is virtually no technical language in my reply; there need not be to make the sort of points I wanted to make. But it must be stated first that while Mr. Ould is offended by much of Roman Catholic teaching about canonization, the bulk of his umbrage is directed at the Church's teachings about what it means to be saved and sanctified. I do not think it necessary that you read his post first, but it will surely not hurt if you do.
_______________
Dear Mr. Ould,
May you have a safe and blessed trip to Singapore. And may this truly be a blessed and holy Easter for all.
At the risk of being facetious, I must make this observation: If all (true) Christians are saints, and if Pope John Paul II is a true Christian, then he is a saint. Hence, I see no reason NOT to canonize him this side of glory. OK. So not all of us other saints get that honor. So? Besides, there are many who believe that the Pope is their spiritual elder, their lesser, even adoptive father. Are we not told by the Lord to honor our elders, and to honor our parents?
Alright. Enough facetiousness, though I don't think my points are useless. Now, I would like to turn to a few things you've written thus far. First you wrote this after your citation of the Catholic Encyclopedia on Beatification/Canonization:
Your statement strikes me as akin to the grumbling vineyard workers in Jesus' parable who worked all day and yet were paid the same as those who worked but an hour. "What is that to you?" I hear our Lord ask. I am also reminded of the petulant brother who refused to celebrate the return of the Prodigal Son; he did not seem to understand that the father's love was complete and total, and yet, well, differently distributed: the happy father made distinctions.
Of course, as you said, we are all saints. Sort of like all cities are earthly; and yet we find that God prefers Jerusalem to Salt Lake City. Yes, all of the earth is full of God's glory, and yet God is not dismayed that Abraham builds altars indicating that some places are more glorious than others. Could this not be the way with saints, that all saints are equal, and yet some are more equal than others? Are we not all going to be judged -- and rewarded -- differently? Or does everyone get the same reward after the great purgative fires? Is that true, even scriptural?
You mention purgatory in your essay:
But later in the comments thread you write:
Had you more fully reported what the Catholic Encyclopedia said about the canonization and beatification of saints, you would have noted that the Church posits that there are people who live such sacrificial and "heroically virtuous lives" that they could be described as "prolonged martyrdoms." Martyrs, as you know, are those who in death immediately pass to heaven; they are not the dead in Christ who "rise first", as Paul proclaims (which suggests that there are saints in the ground and saints that are in heaven: the saints in heaven are those who fought well in the tribulation, no?). I wonder, then, if it is at all possible that there are those Christian brothers and sisters who live such obedient lives that they pass through purgatory -- in this life? Is that not possible, and is this not exactly what Catholics say of some saints?
In response to Dan Martins' comment suggesting that you had not accurately presented the Catholic case, you wrote:
The whole debate about justification/sanctification seems often to be more akin to autopsy than theology: it divides terms so meticulously as to leave a corpse with no mystery. But the glories of the faith are powerful and mysterious. One wonders how the myriad faithful of the ancient church could ever have been saved without having Luther's parsing and privileged view of things, or even Aquinas' or Augustine's. The thief on the cross, no doubt, was without much theology, and yet he was ushered -- today, our Lord promised him -- into paradise.
Of course, the thief was given a special privilege. No one else that we know of had such a promise made to him or her. But this promise did not come without a price: the thief still had to die, to hang on that cross, next to a dying Savior who made what must have seemed a wild promise in the fading light of things: the thief hung faithfully on his own cross, his life bleeding into the refiner's fire, the devil calling him to doubt, to deny, to fall faithless into death's cynicism. His entry into paradise was no easy pass. And he was given such life without baptism, or without understanding "prevenient grace" or "expiation" or "forensic satisfaction."
Did God show preferential treatment to the thief, to Lazarus, to Elijah, to Moses? Were they not whisked away, or given a second life, while others were not?
"What is that to you?" I hear Him ask.
I may have a problem with honoring JPII with canonization; it does seem a bit like induction into the RCC Hall of Fame. But I have no qualms with honoring certain brothers and sisters above others; I would be saddened to learn that Billy Graham's funeral (should he have one) is equal to my own. And I have no problem whatsoever believing that all my brothers and sisters, including Pope John Paul II, deserve more notoriety and acclaim as saints in this life, than do I. Love, after all, considers everyone else more important than oneself. In short, love does make distinctions.
Peace.
BG
_______________
Further Thoughts
Much of the debate between Protestants and Catholics about the mechanics of salvation seem rooted in how time is perceived. Am I justified in an instant, or over time? Am I sanctified in a moment, or does it take time, perhaps a lifetime -- and more -- to be sanctified? I guess these are good questions, but it seems to me that if there is a God who justifies and sanctifies, then His sense of time is what ultimately matters. And what is His sense of time, He Who lives in the Eternal Now, outside of time? What is time to Him, what is process, if a thousand years are to Him like a day? Is my lifetime of struggle in the Faith but a moment to Him? Does He not see my salvation, and my sanctification, as He sees all of life, in an instant?
I do not know. But it irks me to no end that churches divide themselves over what are absolute mysteries of the faith. Some gnostic claims to understand the totality of the Incarnation; another gnostic claims to know how it is we are justified -- in toto -- before the eyes of God. Such gnostic ambition is disheartening, to say the least, and nearly always results in some utterly clear, mystery-free heresy. But just think of the countless souls that have been deemed saints in the eyes of God who did not understand complex theological terms! It is humbling, for certain. As it should be. We are called to believe in a Savior, a God-Man; we are called to follow Him, to obey His commands; to eat His flesh and drink His blood; to love each other as He has loved us.
The last thing I believe Jesus ever did, or expected His disciples to do, was to quibble over the language used to describe what even the great councils of the Faith have proclaimed is forever mysterious: how a Man can be God, and God, Man; and how each of us, sinners and enslaved to death, are to be made saints alive in holiness and truth.
The God-Man Jesus the Christ came to deliver me. Can I be delivered without knowing, or even understanding, the exact details how? If exactitude is important, then what of the man who accepts Christ as his Savior and then, suddenly and inexplicably, drops dead?
We see through a glass darkly indeed.
Have a blesséd Maundy Thursday.
BG
©Bill Gnade 2007/Contratimes. All Rights Reserved.
_____________
Who Are The Saints?
Earlier this morning I read an essay, "The Canonisation [sic] of John Paul II: The Denial of the Gospel," critical of the seemingly imminent canonization of the late-Pope John Paul II. It was written by David Ould and posted at the Anglican website, Stand Firm. It is a challenging essay in many ways. And I left a rather lengthy comment with Mr. Ould that I would like to share with you. It follows below. Of course, I will add some further thoughts at the end of this post. I think, in many ways, it is all a fitting Maundy Thursday meditation.
The context of my comment has less to do with the actual canonization of the Pope and more to do with God's love for His people and the mysteries of Christ's sacrifice on the cross. There is virtually no technical language in my reply; there need not be to make the sort of points I wanted to make. But it must be stated first that while Mr. Ould is offended by much of Roman Catholic teaching about canonization, the bulk of his umbrage is directed at the Church's teachings about what it means to be saved and sanctified. I do not think it necessary that you read his post first, but it will surely not hurt if you do.
_______________
Dear Mr. Ould,
May you have a safe and blessed trip to Singapore. And may this truly be a blessed and holy Easter for all.
At the risk of being facetious, I must make this observation: If all (true) Christians are saints, and if Pope John Paul II is a true Christian, then he is a saint. Hence, I see no reason NOT to canonize him this side of glory. OK. So not all of us other saints get that honor. So? Besides, there are many who believe that the Pope is their spiritual elder, their lesser, even adoptive father. Are we not told by the Lord to honor our elders, and to honor our parents?
Alright. Enough facetiousness, though I don't think my points are useless. Now, I would like to turn to a few things you've written thus far. First you wrote this after your citation of the Catholic Encyclopedia on Beatification/Canonization:
Most worrying is the statement that saints are those "whose holy lives have made them worthy of His special love".Please permit me to ask, Is there no distinction in God's love? Prima facie it seems that there isn't. But what of Jesus? Did He, the Incarnate God, show preferences? What of the disciple whom Jesus "loved most"? What of him [tradition calls him the "Beloved Disciple], and what of Jesus' seeming partiality here? Is this not proof that God does not love everyone equally, or in the same way?
So, to put it clearly, there's more than one type of Christian. There's the ordinary run of the mill sort like you and me, and then there's those who by virtue of what their lives look like are worthy of God's special love.
Your statement strikes me as akin to the grumbling vineyard workers in Jesus' parable who worked all day and yet were paid the same as those who worked but an hour. "What is that to you?" I hear our Lord ask. I am also reminded of the petulant brother who refused to celebrate the return of the Prodigal Son; he did not seem to understand that the father's love was complete and total, and yet, well, differently distributed: the happy father made distinctions.
Of course, as you said, we are all saints. Sort of like all cities are earthly; and yet we find that God prefers Jerusalem to Salt Lake City. Yes, all of the earth is full of God's glory, and yet God is not dismayed that Abraham builds altars indicating that some places are more glorious than others. Could this not be the way with saints, that all saints are equal, and yet some are more equal than others? Are we not all going to be judged -- and rewarded -- differently? Or does everyone get the same reward after the great purgative fires? Is that true, even scriptural?
You mention purgatory in your essay:
For most of us we will not be pure upon our death - there will still be dung remaining which will need to be burned off in purgatory before we may enter God's presence.It seems that you hold to some idea of a refiner's fire; this is good, for it is inherently biblical [ref. 1 Cor 3:12ff]: those who pass through the fire, though they shall be saved, shall nonetheless suffer loss.
But later in the comments thread you write:
I trust readers can see clearly what the Roman church thus says about those that are not saints; they are not definitely in Heaven. Apparently, then, Christ’s work on the Cross is not sufficient to get them there directly.I ask you: if Christ's atoning death on the cross is sufficient, then why should ANY Christian be delayed in the refiner's fire? Do you not contradict yourself here? For if, as you say, Christ's death is totally sufficient for all Christians to enter paradise, then why must they first pass through purgatory?
Had you more fully reported what the Catholic Encyclopedia said about the canonization and beatification of saints, you would have noted that the Church posits that there are people who live such sacrificial and "heroically virtuous lives" that they could be described as "prolonged martyrdoms." Martyrs, as you know, are those who in death immediately pass to heaven; they are not the dead in Christ who "rise first", as Paul proclaims (which suggests that there are saints in the ground and saints that are in heaven: the saints in heaven are those who fought well in the tribulation, no?). I wonder, then, if it is at all possible that there are those Christian brothers and sisters who live such obedient lives that they pass through purgatory -- in this life? Is that not possible, and is this not exactly what Catholics say of some saints?
In response to Dan Martins' comment suggesting that you had not accurately presented the Catholic case, you wrote:
Problem is, the Roman Catechism doesn’t address the issue. Unless, of course, I missed it in which case I would appreciate a reference.Now, I wish I knew by "the issue" what you meant. Do you mean the issue of canonization, or that of justification/sanctification? You are correct if you mean the former; you are wrong if you mean the latter. But the very heart and purpose of your whole polemic, and the very context of Fr. Martins' remarks, are all about justification/sanctification and the modus operandi of both. Hence, you must mean the latter; and it must be pointed out that the RC catechism very much enlarges upon Christ's work on the cross (see ¶595-623 here). Christ's sacrifice is described in ¶616 as "redemption and reparation, as atonement and satisfaction", while ¶618 refers to it all for what it truly is, "a paschal mystery." All in all, the language of the catechism here is lovely and orthodox, broad and inclusive, covering much theological ground; it is hard to find fault with it without destroying its mystery by parsing it into so many theologically correct fragments.
The whole debate about justification/sanctification seems often to be more akin to autopsy than theology: it divides terms so meticulously as to leave a corpse with no mystery. But the glories of the faith are powerful and mysterious. One wonders how the myriad faithful of the ancient church could ever have been saved without having Luther's parsing and privileged view of things, or even Aquinas' or Augustine's. The thief on the cross, no doubt, was without much theology, and yet he was ushered -- today, our Lord promised him -- into paradise.
Of course, the thief was given a special privilege. No one else that we know of had such a promise made to him or her. But this promise did not come without a price: the thief still had to die, to hang on that cross, next to a dying Savior who made what must have seemed a wild promise in the fading light of things: the thief hung faithfully on his own cross, his life bleeding into the refiner's fire, the devil calling him to doubt, to deny, to fall faithless into death's cynicism. His entry into paradise was no easy pass. And he was given such life without baptism, or without understanding "prevenient grace" or "expiation" or "forensic satisfaction."
Did God show preferential treatment to the thief, to Lazarus, to Elijah, to Moses? Were they not whisked away, or given a second life, while others were not?
"What is that to you?" I hear Him ask.
I may have a problem with honoring JPII with canonization; it does seem a bit like induction into the RCC Hall of Fame. But I have no qualms with honoring certain brothers and sisters above others; I would be saddened to learn that Billy Graham's funeral (should he have one) is equal to my own. And I have no problem whatsoever believing that all my brothers and sisters, including Pope John Paul II, deserve more notoriety and acclaim as saints in this life, than do I. Love, after all, considers everyone else more important than oneself. In short, love does make distinctions.
Peace.
BG
_______________
Further Thoughts
Much of the debate between Protestants and Catholics about the mechanics of salvation seem rooted in how time is perceived. Am I justified in an instant, or over time? Am I sanctified in a moment, or does it take time, perhaps a lifetime -- and more -- to be sanctified? I guess these are good questions, but it seems to me that if there is a God who justifies and sanctifies, then His sense of time is what ultimately matters. And what is His sense of time, He Who lives in the Eternal Now, outside of time? What is time to Him, what is process, if a thousand years are to Him like a day? Is my lifetime of struggle in the Faith but a moment to Him? Does He not see my salvation, and my sanctification, as He sees all of life, in an instant?
I do not know. But it irks me to no end that churches divide themselves over what are absolute mysteries of the faith. Some gnostic claims to understand the totality of the Incarnation; another gnostic claims to know how it is we are justified -- in toto -- before the eyes of God. Such gnostic ambition is disheartening, to say the least, and nearly always results in some utterly clear, mystery-free heresy. But just think of the countless souls that have been deemed saints in the eyes of God who did not understand complex theological terms! It is humbling, for certain. As it should be. We are called to believe in a Savior, a God-Man; we are called to follow Him, to obey His commands; to eat His flesh and drink His blood; to love each other as He has loved us.
The last thing I believe Jesus ever did, or expected His disciples to do, was to quibble over the language used to describe what even the great councils of the Faith have proclaimed is forever mysterious: how a Man can be God, and God, Man; and how each of us, sinners and enslaved to death, are to be made saints alive in holiness and truth.
The God-Man Jesus the Christ came to deliver me. Can I be delivered without knowing, or even understanding, the exact details how? If exactitude is important, then what of the man who accepts Christ as his Savior and then, suddenly and inexplicably, drops dead?
We see through a glass darkly indeed.
Have a blesséd Maundy Thursday.
BG
©Bill Gnade 2007/Contratimes. All Rights Reserved.
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
On Christianity And Politics: Palms At His Feet, At His Throat
Jesus' Silence About Political Oppression
This past Sunday was Palm Sunday, the Christian celebration of Christ's entry into Jerusalem; He entered that great city with a donkey as His steed. Palm branches were laid before Him as a sign of welcome and of His high place in the hearts of those who gathered to see Him. Shouts of "Hosanna!" were heard everywhere. "Save us!"
The irony and sorrow of the scene are well-known: Jesus' entry into Jerusalem, described by some as triumphal, is profoundly misunderstood by everyone around Him. He is not coming to Jerusalem for a political fight; He is not mounting a coup. He is merely mounting a stubborn donkey that will take Him toward the temple mount; He will pray with blood pouring from his brow in the shadow of the Mount of Olives; He will mount a cross that will be set upon a mount of trash. The one thing He will not mount is a protest of the government, nor will He mount an overthrow. His goal is different.
Jesus was born in a captive nation. He was born in the southern reaches of the Roman Empire, in a tiny territory over which a god, a Caesar, a kaiser, presided. The Roman emperor was supreme; and while Rome appears to have tolerated the Jewish love of their one true God, there is no doubt that many Jews did not tolerate the one true god of Rome.
Think about it all for a moment. Here we have -- in Rome -- the seat of the great man/god in the person of Caesar Augustus. Rome had been a Republic, but as Christ came into the world, Rome was becoming an Empire, where the Caesar, the Kaiser, the Tsar, reigned supreme. A man/god sits on the throne in Rome; a God-Man nurses at His Mother's breast in a tiny manger somewhere far away. Israel, the nation of the Chosen People of God, is held captive. The true King is hidden in a cave.
How is it that throughout Jesus' ministry as recorded in the Gospels He says virtually nothing, nothing at all, about living as a captive to the Romans? How is it He never mentions this injustice; how is it that He never talks about the government at all? Once He mentions Caesar: He holds up a coin and asks, "Whose image is on this?" But He never rails against what was clearly the anti-Christ on that coin; He never mentions Him again. There is no talk in Jesus' ministry about this captivity. He is only focused on the captivity of sin, guilt and the fear of death. There is no mention of social injustice; He is not preoccupied at all with subverting the power structure of the street, marketplace, Senate or Sanhedrin; He could care less about the collusion between opportunistic Jews and their Roman occupiers. Jesus is talking "sheep" and "goats" and "lilies" and "vineyards" and "children" and "adultery" and "stones" and "virgins" and "love." He is not talking politics; He is talking about pastoral life while scribbling in the dirt or fishing in the sea. While Rome the Parasite leeches the life-blood from Israel, the real King of the Jews is not raising the alarm about such parasitism; He merely blesses a few loaves of bread, some fish, and He feeds the masses. In His simplicity there is nothing radical or progressive; He is not seated in Rome as a dying idol, He's a shepherd walking about in a living idyll. And when He meets a Roman centurion -- an oppressor with a sword and a god above him, one he obeys immediately -- Jesus blesses the man for his faith; and in that blessing, Jesus, the King of all, says NOTHING about the centurion's sword, his orders or the gods that he serves. Jesus says nothing.
And yet He is the revolutionary.
________________
Politics Of Rightness, And Left
How is it that I get so caught up in political debate? My gut tells me that I am really not involved in political debate in order to forge policy or to change the power structure of Washington. My debate is entirely about truth: I fight what I believe are lies about what is going on right before my eyes. My fight is not to make America great or Republicans the party of choice. My fight is with those who want to damn others with their propaganda. I have fought here to preserve the human mind; I have fought to protect myself from delusions about 9/11, the Iraq War, climate change, or John Kerry's towering intellect. I have fought to protect what it means to be human, a fully integrated and sexual human, made in the image and beauty of God; and I have kicked at the deceptions proffered about identity, gender, and marriage. I am not arguing for a party or a President. I am arguing for a decent argument about all the things that matter.
But I do turn, too often, to my like-minded political leaders for deliverance. I do this even when I know that no such help can come from these fallible souls.
In the midst of this Holy Week, I think of my Christian brothers and sisters who only seem to be able to see Jesus in political terms. They see Him going about doing good political works; while I believe He did not do a single political act. They believe the gospel is about freeing people from other people; I believe that the gospel is about freeing people from themselves -- for themselves.
When Jesus tells His disciples to feed the poor, His advice is the inverse of what one would expect a Hosanna-leader to say. He does not tell His followers to fight the oppressors so that the poor can be made wealthy. He does not tell them to redress injustices in courts, in the halls of legislation. He tells them, instead, to just stop it in themselves: Just feed the poor and stop expecting others to create an ideal situation in which you can obey my commands. Love your neighbor -- right now! You. You love your neighbor. You feed Him. You help the poor. Just do it. Stop making excuses about governmental corruption, about injustice and unfairness and discrimination. You are the one who is unjust, unfair, corrupt, and discriminating: Stop it, and go and feed my sheep. And stop worrying about what others -- like the Romans -- are doing, or NOT doing. You are the one I am talking to. Go.
The God-Man Jesus, the True Caesar, is remarkably silent when it comes to politics. That is why, in part, He was betrayed into the hands of politicians, and they crucified Him.
He did not save them the way they wanted.
And the Roman Caesar never did either.
Peace.
PS. If Jesus was at all critical of political oppression, it was not of the Roman occupiers, but of those religious who oppressed their own kind. Jesus was quite open about His discontent with the Pharisees; these moral and religious leaders laid heavy burdens on others they themselves would not carry. Sounds quite familiar, really. But the Pharisees were ostensibly on the side of Israel. They were not occupiers, they were not minions of the god-man in Rome. Yet it was these folks that Jesus berated and chided the most: their morality upset Him far more than did the idolatrous Romans' behavior. Why? Why did He seem more intent on freeing people of their obligatory moral duties -- apparent rules for proper living, good works and justice -- than He was in liberating Palestine from the grip of an anti-Christ and his armies?
©Bill Gnade 2007/Contratimes. All Rights Reserved.
This past Sunday was Palm Sunday, the Christian celebration of Christ's entry into Jerusalem; He entered that great city with a donkey as His steed. Palm branches were laid before Him as a sign of welcome and of His high place in the hearts of those who gathered to see Him. Shouts of "Hosanna!" were heard everywhere. "Save us!"
The irony and sorrow of the scene are well-known: Jesus' entry into Jerusalem, described by some as triumphal, is profoundly misunderstood by everyone around Him. He is not coming to Jerusalem for a political fight; He is not mounting a coup. He is merely mounting a stubborn donkey that will take Him toward the temple mount; He will pray with blood pouring from his brow in the shadow of the Mount of Olives; He will mount a cross that will be set upon a mount of trash. The one thing He will not mount is a protest of the government, nor will He mount an overthrow. His goal is different.
Jesus was born in a captive nation. He was born in the southern reaches of the Roman Empire, in a tiny territory over which a god, a Caesar, a kaiser, presided. The Roman emperor was supreme; and while Rome appears to have tolerated the Jewish love of their one true God, there is no doubt that many Jews did not tolerate the one true god of Rome.
Think about it all for a moment. Here we have -- in Rome -- the seat of the great man/god in the person of Caesar Augustus. Rome had been a Republic, but as Christ came into the world, Rome was becoming an Empire, where the Caesar, the Kaiser, the Tsar, reigned supreme. A man/god sits on the throne in Rome; a God-Man nurses at His Mother's breast in a tiny manger somewhere far away. Israel, the nation of the Chosen People of God, is held captive. The true King is hidden in a cave.
How is it that throughout Jesus' ministry as recorded in the Gospels He says virtually nothing, nothing at all, about living as a captive to the Romans? How is it He never mentions this injustice; how is it that He never talks about the government at all? Once He mentions Caesar: He holds up a coin and asks, "Whose image is on this?" But He never rails against what was clearly the anti-Christ on that coin; He never mentions Him again. There is no talk in Jesus' ministry about this captivity. He is only focused on the captivity of sin, guilt and the fear of death. There is no mention of social injustice; He is not preoccupied at all with subverting the power structure of the street, marketplace, Senate or Sanhedrin; He could care less about the collusion between opportunistic Jews and their Roman occupiers. Jesus is talking "sheep" and "goats" and "lilies" and "vineyards" and "children" and "adultery" and "stones" and "virgins" and "love." He is not talking politics; He is talking about pastoral life while scribbling in the dirt or fishing in the sea. While Rome the Parasite leeches the life-blood from Israel, the real King of the Jews is not raising the alarm about such parasitism; He merely blesses a few loaves of bread, some fish, and He feeds the masses. In His simplicity there is nothing radical or progressive; He is not seated in Rome as a dying idol, He's a shepherd walking about in a living idyll. And when He meets a Roman centurion -- an oppressor with a sword and a god above him, one he obeys immediately -- Jesus blesses the man for his faith; and in that blessing, Jesus, the King of all, says NOTHING about the centurion's sword, his orders or the gods that he serves. Jesus says nothing.
And yet He is the revolutionary.
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Politics Of Rightness, And Left
How is it that I get so caught up in political debate? My gut tells me that I am really not involved in political debate in order to forge policy or to change the power structure of Washington. My debate is entirely about truth: I fight what I believe are lies about what is going on right before my eyes. My fight is not to make America great or Republicans the party of choice. My fight is with those who want to damn others with their propaganda. I have fought here to preserve the human mind; I have fought to protect myself from delusions about 9/11, the Iraq War, climate change, or John Kerry's towering intellect. I have fought to protect what it means to be human, a fully integrated and sexual human, made in the image and beauty of God; and I have kicked at the deceptions proffered about identity, gender, and marriage. I am not arguing for a party or a President. I am arguing for a decent argument about all the things that matter.
But I do turn, too often, to my like-minded political leaders for deliverance. I do this even when I know that no such help can come from these fallible souls.
In the midst of this Holy Week, I think of my Christian brothers and sisters who only seem to be able to see Jesus in political terms. They see Him going about doing good political works; while I believe He did not do a single political act. They believe the gospel is about freeing people from other people; I believe that the gospel is about freeing people from themselves -- for themselves.
When Jesus tells His disciples to feed the poor, His advice is the inverse of what one would expect a Hosanna-leader to say. He does not tell His followers to fight the oppressors so that the poor can be made wealthy. He does not tell them to redress injustices in courts, in the halls of legislation. He tells them, instead, to just stop it in themselves: Just feed the poor and stop expecting others to create an ideal situation in which you can obey my commands. Love your neighbor -- right now! You. You love your neighbor. You feed Him. You help the poor. Just do it. Stop making excuses about governmental corruption, about injustice and unfairness and discrimination. You are the one who is unjust, unfair, corrupt, and discriminating: Stop it, and go and feed my sheep. And stop worrying about what others -- like the Romans -- are doing, or NOT doing. You are the one I am talking to. Go.
The God-Man Jesus, the True Caesar, is remarkably silent when it comes to politics. That is why, in part, He was betrayed into the hands of politicians, and they crucified Him.
He did not save them the way they wanted.
And the Roman Caesar never did either.
Peace.
PS. If Jesus was at all critical of political oppression, it was not of the Roman occupiers, but of those religious who oppressed their own kind. Jesus was quite open about His discontent with the Pharisees; these moral and religious leaders laid heavy burdens on others they themselves would not carry. Sounds quite familiar, really. But the Pharisees were ostensibly on the side of Israel. They were not occupiers, they were not minions of the god-man in Rome. Yet it was these folks that Jesus berated and chided the most: their morality upset Him far more than did the idolatrous Romans' behavior. Why? Why did He seem more intent on freeing people of their obligatory moral duties -- apparent rules for proper living, good works and justice -- than He was in liberating Palestine from the grip of an anti-Christ and his armies?
©Bill Gnade 2007/Contratimes. All Rights Reserved.
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