2nd Week of Easter: The Woundedness of the Messiah

A great deal of my Scripture readings, thoughts, and conversations of late have begun to spin a dense web concerning the events following the resurrection of Christ. It has never struck me until now, how much attention is paid--by the characters within the narratives, and the authors themselves--to the physical wounds on Christ's body, and what this woundedness says about our God and our relationship with him. As I have continued to reflect on this concept, I want to bring up several areas I have been dwelling on for some time that this resonates with greatly, particularly the eschaton. I don't intend to explore them at length, so feel free to leave thoughts, questions, and concerns.

1. On the Bridegroom

I'd like to open this discussion by examining two very old paintings which depict Christ's ascension.

First, check out this rendering by Dali, and then this one as Rembrandt pictured it.

You perhaps noticed, especially in the context of this discussion, two very striking differences: the hands and feet of Jesus. To me there is something very powerful and compelling about the truth contained in Rembrandt's rendering. I would imagine that most of us, when we envision Christ seated at the right hand of the Father, don't picture Him with nail holes in his hands and feet, and a chunk of flesh missing from his side; an eternal reminder of the pain and horror he suffered for the people He loves. (For that matter, I wonder how many people think of Christ as even having flesh.) It's far less complicated to settle for Dali's picture in that regard.

2. On the Bride

The Church's union with Christ is referenced throughout scripture, notably here in St. Paul's letter to the Galatian Church, in which he locates the point of unity precisely at Christ's crucifixion. It has been discussed previously that the death of Christ allowed us to be free from the strangle-hold of sin in our reality. However, the other half of the equation is equally important, as St. Peter points out here. Again, we see this reference to the wounded Savior, and what is being alluded to here is not only our unity in death, but also our unity in the resurrection and life (characterized by righteousness). The wounds are precisely and paradoxically what bring healing.

I am intrigued by the ways in which the identity of the resurrected Christ seems to be so inextricably tied with his woundedness. St. Luke provides us with this interesting exchange between Jesus and his disciples. Indeed, a great deal of the way in which we relate to Christ and interact with him revolves around our desire to draw near to him and put our hands on the wounds which allow us to do so.

In another sense, Jesus blunty draws attention to a seemingly simple, but all-too-often misunderstood aspect of human existence (which He Himself experienced): our embodied nature as creatures made in the image of God is characterized, among other things, by our physical existence. We are not ethereal, anonymous ghosts. We are embodied individuals known personally by God and to one another.

Therefore, why should we think that our eternal existence will somehow be carried out apart from this embodied nature? I love the beautiful portrait the prophet Isaiah paints of this in his own poetic way.

3. On the Wedding Feast

This post-resurrection scene recounted by St. Luke is a wonderful image, I think, and a great place to end this discussion. I like to think that our eternal existence, dwelling in the full glory of a resurrected Messiah, bearing His wounds in full view, will be a lot like this.

Holy Week Day 3: Thoughts on Divine Child-Abuse

I remember hearing an interview on NPR some time ago with an espoused atheist (whose name has since slipped my mind) who wrote a book dealing with the violence of what he labeled the "Christian" God. He invited his audience to ask how an ever-loving, good God could condemn anyone to hell, and how a just God could murder his own son as payment for the sins of others. This latter question is the one I'd like to open up in light of Holy Week.

Though I think the author's perspective is rooted somewhere between an ignorance of and a misinterpretation of the Christian narrative, such questions are nevertheless valid for anyone seeking to understand these acts, especially those outside the Church who have legitimate concerns, hesitations, and suspicions about it. Furthermore, it is no surprise, given the plethora of violent interpretations of the Cross perpetuated among many Churches, that one would choose atheism over barbarism.

If the Church is intentional about how it engages in such conversations, there are as many benefits to answering these questions as there are to having them answered. Too often in certain Christian circles, staunch defenders-of-the-faith jump at the chance to dismantle piecemeal tenets of atheism, carelessly dismissing the idea of divine child abuse as yet another example of how heretical 'the world' has become. (Never addressing what such a continuous downward spiral of culture would reveal about the effectiveness of the Church.)

I also think it's important to espouse the orthodox doctrine of the Trinity without using it as another tool to dismiss the question. It is valid to say that since Christ is God, the cross is not divine child abuse. Yet while true (albeit incomplete), this 'defense' leaves itself open to being boiled down to divine self-mutilation, which is no more attractive. Luckily, however, it is also valid to say that Christ has a separate personhood from God. In a real sense, Jesus is the Son of God, and while simultaneously focusing on this distinctiveness is scarier for some, it is the only way to address the situation accurately and fully in the context of the Christian narrative. For, we know that rather than God simply acting as some sort of medieval flagellant, Christ, in individual expression, humbled Himself, obedient and subservient even to the point of death.

That being said, I'd like to move on to an interpretation of the Cross which I have found deeply compelling, and I don't want to frame it as a 'defense,' (at least in the overly loaded sense of the word) as much as an 'articulation.' I don't think it's helpful or productive to answer these questions merely in opposition to atheism, the ermerging church, or what have you. I think the 'challenge' of atheism calls us to affirm and know and claim our own story, rather than militaristically defend it, trench by trench, as if it were a piece of territory.

I want to draw from Rene Girard's rich, anthropological conception of the cross. What I find of value in his interpretation is that the responsibility for the violence of the crucifixion is rightly placed on human beings, not God. As a sort of cliff note, Girard's historical setting might read like this: the Roman and Jewish governments both desired absolute authority and were, at the end of the day, violently at odds with one another. However, what was found in the figure of Jesus of Nazareth was a suitable scapegoat, whose violent destruction would appease both sides, at least for a brief period. It seems reasonable to say that neither the Governors nor the Sadduccees believed that Jesus was the Messiah, yet both (and for similar reasons) saw his elimination as being advantageous to solidifying their own claims to power. This conflict is indicative of the cycle of violence which has been in motion since Cain and Abel.

"Part of the problem in the history of Christian interpretation, beginning already with the fathers, was that the Passion was for them a unique event. That is understandable of course. They saw it as a unique event, a single, unique event in worldly history. It is indeed unique as revelation but not as a violent event. The earliest followers of Jesus did not make that mistake. They knew, or intuited, that in one sense it was like all other events of victimization since the foundation of the world. But it was different in that it revealed the meaning of these events going back to the beginnings of humanity: the victimization occurs because of mimetic rivalry, the victim is innocent, and God stands with the victim and restores him or her. If the Passion is regarded not as revelation but as only a violent event brought about by God, it is misunderstood and turned into an idol. In the Gospels Jesus says that he suffers the fate of all the other prophets going back to Abel the just and the foundation of the world (Matt. 23:35; Luke 11:50)." - The Girard Reader

As the preeminent scholar and theologian, Brian Robertson, said in a sermon this past Sunday, God did not cause the events surrounding the crucifixion, he used them. I think it's dangerous to say that from the beginning of time, God's intention was to have his son murdered, and furthermore that such a murder is the only way forgiveness could happen. I know this will open up the proverbial can of worms, but I think what Girard offers is an interpretation which seeks to describe the overflowing, selfless nature of God's love.

Furthermore, it's an interpretation which takes into account the wider story of God's continual work of redemption and salvation in his creation. If we look at Christ's conversation with Nicodemus, we hear him directly address how mankind is to receive the gift of salvation. While Christ knew this work would literally culminate on the cross, he chose to explain it to Nicodemus, who was undoubtedly well-versed in the Torah, by comparing himself to the bronze snake in the book of Numbers.

Just like the poisonous snakes in the desert, God chose to use the violence which theretofore had justly condemned humanity to death as a means to save us. The fact that Jesus is the only human being who has ever been truly innocent, makes him the ultimate skapegoat toward whose death humanity might look to in order to see their acts of violence for what they truly are. Christ's words become clearer and we understand why those who refuse to look to the cross and recognize their own faults will be condemned.

So we see how God, rather than using his son as a whipping boy and an outlet for his wrath, in his infinite love and mercy chose to sacrifice his Son so that all who look upon him will find the salvation he desperately wants us to accept.

Brief Thoughts on GM

I've been asked by several people how I feel about Obama and the Federal government essentially telling GM's CEO, Rick Wagoner, to step down from his leadership position at the private company.
First, we should be accurate about how we use the term 'private.' I think the distinction people are trying to make is that it's not a federally owned company. However, GM is not a private company, it is a public company. I only point this out as a pet peeve, and I'm not arguing that that makes them a federal company. I'm simply saying that a publicly traded company is not private. That being said, here's a few thoughts on questions raised over the last few days:

• Over 15 years ago, GM had the opportunity to place itself on the cutting edge of automobiles with the production of the EV-1. This car consumed zero gallons of gas per mile and had zero emissions. For detailed information about what I'll briefly outline here, watch the great documentary, "Who Killed the Electric Car?". The short story is, a culmination of forces including the oil lobby saw to it that the production of affordable electric cars cease and desist and even ensured that EV-1s already on the road would be reclaimed and promptly destroyed. In place of the Electric Car, GM began production on the Hummer. All this to say that GM dug itself into a deep hole by confining itself to the production of vehicles that were so inefficient and consumed so much fuel, they couldn't even be sold in most foreign markets; nor, as we're seeing now, the U.S. market.
  

• As a result of such business practices, GM could no longer keep itself afloat. The leadership turned to the federal government. I am not well-versed enough to know whether the stockholders of the public company were unwilling to support it, or if the company was bent on receiving taxpayer dollars. At any rate, the federal government approved billions of dollars (your dollars) to go towards this failed company. Then, as we all know, the company asked for more money, and got it.
  

• For this reason, as much as the federal government deserves to be critiqued on their use of taxpayer money, GM should be critiqued just as sharply, for their willingness to even think about taking tax dollars from the American people directly for themselves completely isolated form any type of service offered, goods sold, etc. If you want to talk about rewarding failure, here's a perfect example.
  

• Finally, having received an outlandish amount of funding from the federal government, GM effectively sold their soul. If the federal government and its money are the only thing keeping your company afloat, then Barack Obama can put whoever he wants in charge.

• As a sort of aside, I would also be interested in hearing whether the company, whose demise or even the thought thereof warrants the absolutely insane type of bailout we've seen (the defense of which rests on the fact that if the company collapses, our entire economy will collapse), is in fact already nationalized.
  

Thoughts?