I spoke to a friend today who told me that she and her husband were about to watch Mel Gibson's film "The Passion of the Christ," as they do each year on Good Friday. It has become part of their spiritual preparation for Easter. It's a film I still haven't seen. But I recall vividly the controversy it engendered back in 2004 in the run up to its release. On my own campus, a forum was organized to discuss the questions at the heart of the controversy, especially the question of who was responsible for the death of Jesus of Nazareth. Between four and five hundred people crowded into one of Princeton's largest auditoriums, with others standing outside the doors. Most of the leaders of the University were there. It was as tense an atmosphere as I can recall in my years here. Despite having not seen the film, I was invited to be on the panel. The other panelists were my colleagues Jeffrey Stout, Cornel West (who also had not seen the film), and John Gager, plus Bill Donahue of the Catholic League and David Elcott of the American Jewish Committee. In case MoJ readers might find them to be of some interest, here are the remarks I offered:
Please excuse me for speaking this afternoon in a very personal mode. I rarely speak this way even in private settings; never in public. The nature and seriousness of the business at hand, however, demands what turns out for me to be rather a personal response.
I have not seen “the Passion of the Christ.” Most of my Christian friends who have seen the film, including some with whom I have worked for the past decade-and-a-half in promoting understanding and cooperation between observant Jews and devout Christians, praise the film as a spiritually powerful re-presentation of the suffering, death, and resurrection of Christ. Yet many Jewish friends with whom I have discussed the movie are uneasy about it—some deeply so. A few worry that its intention is to stir up anti-Jewish sentiment among Christians, by reviving the ancient charge of deicide. A far larger number grant that this is not the film’s intention, but fear that its consequences could include hostility and even violence against Jewish people, perhaps not here in the United States, but in Europe, the Islamic world, and in other places beyond our borders where it might be shown.
No one who reflects on the shameful history of persecution of Jews by Christians, including Christians exercising ecclesiastical authority, will fail to take this concern seriously. The gospels have in the past sometimes been distorted to whip up prejudice and violence against Jews; and any representation of Christ’s passion, however praiseworthy in itself, could be misused for that purpose again. That is why it is important, not only for Jewish organizations, but also, and especially, for Christian leaders, Protestant and Catholic alike, to remind people that it is solemn Christian teaching that Christ’s death is not to be blamed on the Jews, and that anti-semitism is always and everywhere a sin. This can be done, and should be done, without in any way suggesting that devout Protestant and Catholic believers are living powder kegs of anti-semitism. They are not.
Pope John Paul II, throughout his pontificate, has set an excellent example. His apologies and requests for forgiveness in the name of the Church for sins committed by Christians against Jews have been ungrudging and manifestly heartfelt. He visited the Great Synagogue of Rome to declare that the Jewish people, far from being enemies of Christians, are “our brothers” and even “our elder brothers” in faith. He has unceasingly proclaimed the teaching of the Second Vatican Council in Nostra Aetate against blaming the Jewish people, then or now, for Christ’s suffering and death, and he has seen to it that this teaching is permanently enshrined in utterly unambiguous terms in the Universal Catechism of the Catholic Church.
“The Passion” has revived discussion of the question: “Who killed Christ?” Speaking for myself, I begin with a different question: “Who is Christ?” It is the answer to this second question, really, that determines for me the answer to the first.
Jesus himself put the question to his disciples: “Who do men say that I am?” They answered: “Some say John the Baptist; some Elijah; some the Prophet.” Jesus then said: “And who do you say that I am?” Simon Peter replied: “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God.” I have thought about this, and prayed about this, and argued with myself about this, and reached the same conclusion Peter reached. Jesus of Nazareth is the Christ, the Son of the living God. He was sent by his Father as our Savior to share in our humanity, to suffer and die in a supreme act of self-sacrificial love in atonement for sins, and to be raised up to glory, making possible for us resurrection, salvation, and sharing in the divine life of the triune God.
So having come to faith in Christ, I approach the question of responsibility for his death from the perspective of faith. And from that perspective, the answer to the question “Who killed Christ? is clear, all-too-clear for my own comfort. I did it. I am the one responsible. It was not “the Jews,” or even “the Romans.” It was not “the religious leaders of the time.” It was not Pontius Pilate. It was not the crowd, or any of the historical figures in the dramatic account presented in the gospels. It was for my sins that the Son of God suffered and died. It was for my selfishness, my pride, my greed, my lusts, my covetousness, my self-indulgence, my injustices, my failures of courage and of love. I hear St. Francis of Assisi talking to me when he says: “It is you who have crucified him and crucify him still when you delight in your vices and sins.” Yes, it is true. I am the one. I am responsible. And I am sorry.
Someone might say, “well, even from a Christian vantage point, it’s not just you; all are sinners, and Christ died for all; so the responsibility is shared by all.” As the Catholic Catechism, in the precise context of rejecting the allegation of Jewish guilt for the crucifixion says: “all sinners were the authors and ministers of Christ’s Passion.” Well, yes, that’s true. I certainly don’t deny it. But this theological truth is easily misunderstood. The guilt is not collective, even when we take the collectivity to be the whole of mankind. Sins are committed by individuals, though individuals can conspire to create sinful institutions and social structures. So my guilt is not reduced or diluted by what I accept as the theological fact that “all sinners are authors of Christ’s Passion.” In gazing upon the suffering Christ, it is not other people’s sins with which I am confronted; it is my sins.
Many good people do not answer the question “Who is Christ?” as I do. For them, the question “Who killed Christ?,” if it is to be asked at all, can only be addressed as a matter of historiography. Unfortunately, the quantity and quality of the details provided in the gospels and other sources, while sufficient to answer the personal and existential question that presents itself in the light of faith, leaves much uncertain and obscure about the events of Holy Thursday night and Good Friday. That does not mean that historians shouldn’t do their best in trying to sort the matter out; but their answers will necessarily be tentative and somewhat speculative.
For my part, having arrived where I have arrived on the question “Who is Christ?, the question “Who killed Christ?” confronts me as a very personal and existential one. Of course, if the Catechism is right about all sinners being authors of Christ’s passion, then others who have arrived where I have arrived on the question “Who is Christ?” will find themselves confronted, as I find myself confronted, with the personal and existential version of the question “Who killed Christ?” Each Christian believer will hear St. Francis talking to him, very personally, when he says: “It is you who have crucified him.”
In the liturgical commemoration of Christ’s passion in Holy Week, the Catholic Church has found a way of confronting the faithful vividly with the personal and existential truth of the matter. There is a responsive reading of the gospel account of the events of Holy Thursday and Good Friday. A lector serves as narrator. The priest reads the words of Jesus. A deacon or the lector reads the words of Herod, Pontius Pilate, and other individuals in the story. And the congregation reads the words of the crowd. I will tell you candidly that I dread this service. I have to drag myself to it. The reason I dread it, is because I am required to confront that very personal and existential question. Nothing could be more painful. And it is painful, because this is not a play. I am not there as an actor playing a role or part, from which I will later disengage myself. The liturgical context, from the point of view of faith, makes it real, not pretend, not make-believe. It brings out the truth of the matter. What I dread are two words that I am required to speak. And I dread them, because they leave me in no doubt as to the answer to the personal and existential question: “Who killed Christ?” They come after Pilate has agreed to release the criminal Barabbas at the crowd’s demand. Pilate then asks: “What would you have me do with Jesus of Nazareth?” And we say—I say—“crucify him.” Yes, I say it. I am the one calling for his death—not as an actor in a play, but as my very self—a real-life sinner rendered transparent to myself in the existential reality of the liturgy. In that moment, as a worshiping Christian, I am made to speak the truth about myself, my guilt, my need for repentance and forgiveness. There and then, I validate the charge that St. Francis confronts me with: “It is you who have crucified him.” Yes, it is I.
