The One We Love to Hate

Judas Iscariot is the most hated man in Christian history. Dante placed him in the lowest circle of hell in his Inferno. Rogue historians have tried to exonerate him, but he is still seen by most Christians as the closest thing to the devil incarnate ... short of the Antichrist himself.

Hate is an interesting emotion. I must confess that my anger has drifted into the netherworld of hate at times. Not the intense hatred that Republicans and Democrats express for each other these days ... but close.

When I examine my own hatred honestly, I must admit that the qualities I hate in others are the qualities I refuse to acknowledge in my own soul. That is how I can see those characteristics so clearly in others. It takes one to know one. Hate is a form of self-delusion.

In order to identify myself as a good person, I must identify people "out there" who are the bad people. In order convince myself that I am a loving person, I have to be able to point to those who are hateful persons. The great Swiss psychiatrist Carl Jung called it the shadow.

The shadow is our hidden self, the dark side of our soul. It holds those characteristics that we won't admit about ourselves, those qualities that are so inconsistent with our self-image that we reject them with every emotion we can conjure up. Unable to acknowledge them in ourselves, we project these dark qualities onto others. We vilify and dehumanize people, calling them names and demonizing them. But the truth is they are us. Our enemies are the incarnations of our own hearts.

To get back to the two political parties, what the Republicans hate about the Democrats are the qualities they cannot admit about themselves, and vice-versa. "Independent" folks like me who stand self-righteously above the two party oligarchy are no better than anyone else. What we hate about the two major parties is what we won't admit about ourselves.

"We have seen the enemy and he is us," as Pogo said. That is why Jesus told us to love our enemies. It is the only way we can love ourselves and love our neighbor.... and love God. We cannot love the Lord with all of our hearts if part of our hearts hates others.

What do you hate? Whatever it is, it is the part of you that is reflected in your enemies' eyes. Perhaps you hate those who hate, those who engage in "hate speech" and hateful actions? They represent the hatred in your own soul.

Do you hate Judas? He is you. The apostles knew this instinctively. When Jesus announced at the Last Supper that one of them would betray him, they all responded, "Lord, is it I?" They knew who the real enemy was.

As the old gospel song says, "Not my sister, not my brother, but it's me, O Lord, standing in the need of prayer. Not the preacher, not the sinner, but it's me, O Lord, standing in the need of prayer."

A Baptist Crucifix

There are a lot of people who do not know what a crucifix is. I heard about a girl shopping at the jewelry counter in a department store. She was thinking of buying a cross. The young sales clerk brought out a velvet tray with an assortment of gold, silver, and jeweled crosses, and asked, "Would you like a plain cross or one with a little man on it?"

When I was growing up, I was taught to dislike crucifixes. I wasn't told why. It is strange to think back on it, because I was raised in a church. But I was raised in a Protestant church. We didn't believe in crucifixes. Much later Baptists  explained it to me, "The Catholics have Jesus on the cross, whereas we believe that Jesus is risen!" Well, it turns out that Catholics believe in the resurrection also, but they focus a lot on the crucifixion. Not a bad place to rest your mind... especially during Lent.

As I contemplate the cross, I imagine what a person would see in it if they had no story about Jesus to go with the image - like the clerk who knew him only as "the little man." A crucifix is an image of torture, a man dying a painful death. If you didn't know the gospel story, that is all you would see: suffering and death caused by others.

Let's just stick with that idea for a moment without adding the church overlay. The cross is the extinguishing of a human life. Maybe that is why Marc Chagall painted Jesus on a cross so often. Not because he was a closet Christian, but because it reminded him of the Holocaust. He saw a Jew being killed. He saw a Jewish crucifix.  He saw himself.

When I see the cross, I see myself. A Baptist crucifix. The extinguishing of everything that I call me. The spiritual life is about dying - the death of self. Man stripped bare, having nothing left, not even one's pride, not even oneself. The apostle Paul said that Christ "emptied himself" in order to go to the cross. He emptied himself until there was nothing left. "He made himself nothing." When nothing is left, in the space that remains is God.

In the cross man is gone, and what's left is the intersection of two perpendicular lines. An X where an I used to be. John the Baptist pointed to Jesus and said, "Behold the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world!" He then said, again pointing to Jesus, "He must increase; I must decrease."

That is the cross. I decrease. He increases. I am no more. He is. There is just the cross, pointing to heaven, pointing to God, pointing to the One who made himself nothing yet is the great I AM.

Artwork is Marc Chagall's White Crucifixion, oil on canvas, 1938.

Not I, but Christ

Christians argue over what parts of the Bible to take literally. Passages like the seven days of creation, Noah's ark, and the miracles of Jesus come to mind. But before we argue over evolution, lets look at the crucifixion. It is much more central to the Christian faith.

"I have been crucified with Christ." The apostle Paul meant his words to be taken literally, but not historically. History tells us that Paul was not crucified with Jesus in Jerusalem. Caesar Nero beheaded Paul in Rome thirty years after Christ died on the cross. But Paul still meant those words literally. He reckoned himself dead when he penned those words.

Galatians 2:20 reads: "I have been crucified with Christ; it is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me; and the life which I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave Himself for me." Another translation puts it even more starkly: "It is not I who live, but Christ lives in me."

If I take this literally, it means I no longer live. It would be much more comfortable to read this as a metaphor - the way some people interpret the resurrection of Jesus. But let's not be too quick to spiritualize our death. This may be just the ego's attempt to avoid the hard truth of our own demise. Let's take the verse literally and see where it leads.  

"It is not I who live." That means there is no "I." The self that I reckon myself to be is not I. I am not. Christ is. "It is not I who live, but Christ lives in me." Christ lives. That is the message of Easter.

Again, let's take the life of Christ in me literally and not figuratively. The risen Christ did not ascend to live on the planet Kolob, where the Mormon deity is said to dwell.  Christ lives in me. "You ask me how I know he lives? He lives within my heart," as the Easter hymn says. I am not here, but Christ is. The life I live is Christ's life. This body of flesh and blood is Christ's body.

This type of radical rethinking of life can only be apprehended by faith - faith in the Christ who loved me and gave himself for me. He takes my place not only on the cross, but also presently in this body that I call me.

It is a lot to ponder. I feel a bit like Alice falling down the rabbit hole. But honestly, it rings more true to my experience than the myth of my self as an autonomous eternal ego. I no longer live. What a relief! No fear of death. No fear of life. Just the risen Christ living in me. Now that's something to celebrate at Easter!

Overeating at the Last Supper

There is a new study of the Last Supper in the International Journal of Obesity (my Bible!) It studies 52 paintings of the Last Supper in the last thousand years and shows that plate size and portions increased dramatically over this time period.

According to this study, the portions were micro-sized at the beginning, barely observable in the paintings. Gradually the plates grew larger and the portions grew more generous until the apostles were depicted as eating a super-sized Seder. The article concludes that the tendency toward overeating is not just a recent phenomenon, but has been a growing cultural problem in the West over the centuries.

What the study does not describe is the menu at the original Last Supper. It was the Passover meal, the holiest celebration in the Hebrew calendar. Each family had roast lamb with all the fixins. Sure they overate. It was the biggest meal of the year! It was the Last Supper after all, not the Last Snack. 

I picture the Last Supper as a Jewish rendition of Norman Rockwell's Thanksgiving dinner painting. The only difference is that the father carving the roast beast wears a black hat and sidecurls.

So let's set the record straight. The Last Supper was a feast - the biggest feast of the Jewish year. The apostles ate so much that they could not stay awake in Gethsemane after dinner. They were too full to pray with Jesus. Talk about falling asleep in church while the minister is preaching! These guys dozed off while Jesus was crying out in agony in the garden!

And sure we are fat. I don't need the International Journal of Obesity to tell me that. All I have to do is look in a full-length mirror in the morning. Sure we eat too much. But what does that have to do with the Last Supper?

Let's leave the Lord out of it. And let's not feel guilty for feasting at this holiday season. I for one plan to overeat at an elegant buffet at a nearby country club on Easter Sunday. It's a celebration after all - like the Passover was a celebration. Let's put the guilt in the freezer for one day. I will diet on Monday.

The Other Easter

People die every day. Death never takes a holiday. I am reminded of that fact every morning when I read the newspaper. One of the first parts of the paper I read is the obituary page. This is not because I am particularly morbid, but because it happens to be located in the first half of the first section of our small daily paper. Death may not be big news in the cities, but not much happens in Beaver County, Pennsylvania. So the deaths of our neighbors get top billing.

The other hot spot of our newspaper is what they call "Mugshot Monday." It is right before the obituaries. Every Monday the paper prints unflattering photos of our other neighbors who entered the county jail that week. Yes, it is exciting living in Beaver County. Sometimes the ones in the obituaries were put there by the ones on the mugshot page! And vice-versa, with the emphasis on the vice.

Back to the obits.... Imagine if a person you saw listed in the obituaries on Wednesday showed up at your door the following Sunday? It sounds like one of those zombie or vampire films that are so popular among teens these days. But this is no Hollywood horror flick. This is what happened on the first Easter Sunday in Jerusalem.

Jesus was not the only one who rose from the grave on Easter Sunday. Matthew's account of the crucifixion says that the death of Jesus triggered some interesting events.  

"Then, behold, the veil of the temple was torn in two from top to bottom; and the earth quaked, and the rocks were split, and the graves were opened; and many bodies of the saints who had fallen asleep were raised; and coming out of the graves after His resurrection, they went into the holy city and appeared to many."

We don't hear any more about these other resurrections, but they must have caused quite a stir! Who were these people? It calls them "saints," which in biblical language does not mean super-religious people but simply believers in Jesus.

I wonder what the rest of the story is. What tales did these folks tell of their death experience? Did they meet Jesus? If so, what did they talk about? What did the Romans or Sanhedrin think? I wish the gospel writers had interviewed these resurrectees. Where are the good investigative reporters when you need them?

The point of these other Easter stories is that the death and resurrection of Jesus had power! It was so powerful that it spilled over to others. That is what I am counting on. I am promised that it will spill over to me, and to all those who die in Christ. "For as in Adam all die, even so in Christ all shall be made alive."  Alleluia! 

Artwork is Resurrection, oil on canvas, 21" x 19" 1993 by Christina Saj

The Seamless Robe of Christ

The small details of the gospels fascinate me. The minutiae that others ignore capture my attention. One of these small details is the seamless robe of Christ. When Jesus was crucified, the Romans stripped him and divided his personal possessions among themselves. There were four soldiers and they made four piles. One wonders what else was in those four piles.

Jesus' most valuable possession was his tunic. It was made with such extraordinary craftsmanship that the soldiers did not want to ruin it by tearing it into four pieces. So they cast lots for it. John notes that this was in fulfillment of a prophecy about the Messiah in the Psalms.

There has been much speculation about this robe over the centuries. One account says that the robe was cut into pieces and divided in order to protect it from theft or loss. What the Romans crucifers would not do, the church felt it necessary to do. No less than six churches in Germany, France and Russia, claim to possess the robe or fragments of it. There was even a film made about the robe back in the 1950's, appropriately entitled "The Robe."

I am not interested in Hollywood epics or holy relics. But I am intrigued that the apostle John would include this detail of the tunic in his passion narrative. It seems to have some significance beyond itself.

A seamless robe is out of place in a crucifixion scene. Normally at a death, robes were torn as a sign of grief. This robe is purposely not torn. If you believed Mel Gibson's bloody rendition of the passion of Christ, there would be little left of any garment that Jesus wore at this trial. But here it is - the perfect, seamless robe of Christ lying at the foot of the cross.

The Church fathers saw it as a symbol for the unity of the church. But the church hardly appears unified to me. I see the robe of Christ more simply as a sign of love. 

Someone - likely one of his women followers - wove that robe for him. Perhaps it was his mother - like Hannah making a robe annually for her son Samuel. Perhaps it was one of the other Marys or Martha. Was it a gift from a grateful sinner forgiven for her sins, an offering of cloth for his body like another sinner poured spikenard on his feet? We can never know and probably should not speculate too long. We might end up believing our own theories.

But it was likely a gift because Jesus was no weaver, and he had no money to purchase such a garment. It was made with love and worn with love. It is a sign of love for the one who was love and died for love. It prompts us to give our gifts of love to this One who is the Lover of our souls.

Image is a stamp commemorating the Exhibition of the Seamless robe of Jesus at the Cathedral of St. Peter, Trier, Germany.

The Heart of Darkness

The only time I ever experienced complete darkness was in Mammoth Caves in Kentucky. It was so dark that I could not see my hand before my face. My eyes never adjusted to the dark because there was no light to adjust to. Earlier in my life I was a photographer and spent a lot of time in a darkroom. But then there were "safelights" that allowed me to see in the dark, while not fogging up the prints.

But there were no safelights in Judea when Jesus died. There was complete darkness for three hours - from noon to three by our clocks. These three hours of darkness harken back to the three days of darkness in Egypt in Moses' day, where it is described as "darkness that could be felt." It looks ahead to the plague of darkness in the book of Revelation, which is so deep it causes pain.

The cross is wrapped in darkness. It is at the heart of the darkness. The darkness prohibited anyone from seeing Jesus on the cross while he was dying. This darkness is symbolic and spiritual. We cannot see what Jesus did on the cross. Not really. We have our theories of sin and salvation, sacrifice and propitiation. They are helpful, like safelights in a darkroom.

I believe the biblical models of atonement, and I preach them. They aid the understanding, but I know that the truth of the cross is deeper than that. It is wrapped in darkness. These ideas point to truth, but they only go as far as the mind can understand.

There is a heart of darkness in the cross that I can never understand. I cannot comprehend how the darkness tore the temple veil in two from top to bottom or caused the earth to shake and the dead to rise. I cannot comprehend the agony of darkness that caused Jesus to cry, "Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?" - "My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me?"

I am in darkness when it comes to the mystery of the cross. As I contemplate the cross in the dark, I learn to unknow my theories and embrace the one who died in darkness and laid in darkness for three days and rose in darkness. Where the mind cannot see, the soul can apprehend. At the heart of darkness is the cross, and at the heart of the cross there is life.