Father Forgive Them (The First Word from the Cross) -- Luke 23:32-34

Two others also, who were criminals, were led away to be put to death with him. When they came to the place that is called The Skull, they crucified Jesus there with the criminals, one on his right and one on his left. Then Jesus said, "Father forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing."

All dressed in his imperial splendor, the Roman governor, Pontius Pilate sits in judgment of Jesus. Surrounding Pilate is a group of Jesus' accusers. It would seem that the governor doesn’t know what to make of Jesus. He appears to be just some kind of religious teacher, but as he listens to the charges he begins to see Jesus in a different light. Maybe this Jewish teacher is really a threat to the stability of his province. If the charges are true, then he will need to take the threat seriously, and that means condemning his prisoner to die on a cross. He comes to this decision after a night of debate and his decision is final; there will be no appeal. It's interesting that Pilate tries to wash his hands of this sordid affair. Isn't that the way it is with the rich and the powerful? They don't like to get their hands dirty.

It is strange to watch Jesus stand before this seat of judgment. Only a few days earlier he'd been acclaimed by the crowds as a deliverer; now he's being sentenced to die a criminal's death on a cross. From our reading of the Gospels, Jesus doesn’t seem to be the type, and yet maybe there is more to the story than meets the eye. Since executions were always public spectacles, the soldiers would have led the prisoners, including Jesus of Nazareth, through the streets of Jerusalem, toward the place of execution. It's a place known to Luke simply as The Skull. Exhausted by the previous night's ordeal, Jesus falls under the weight of the crossbeam. Being in a hurry to finish the job, the soldiers force a pilgrim from Cyrene, a man named Simon, to carry the beam the rest of the way up the hill. That's the way it was in Roman times. The soldiers could force you into labor whenever necessary. Jesus had even commented on this: "If anyone forces you to go one mile, go also the second mile" (Matthew 5:41).

Once they arrive at the execution site, the soldiers lay Jesus out on the cross and nail his body to the posts. They hoist him up into the air so that he would die a slow, humiliating, and painful death. The Romans used this method of execution because they believed that it was a deterrent to rebellion. Watching such a cruel death must have given any potential rebel cause to think twice about engaging the Romans. Jesus may have been deemed "deserving" of this special treatment, but he is not alone in his death. In the words of Isaiah, he "was numbered with the transgressors; yet he bore the sin of many, and made intercession for the transgressors" (Isaiah 53:12). He dies in the company of two others, Isaiah's transgressors. We never learn the nature of their crimes, but perhaps they had been partners with Barabbas, the one released by Pilate, at the request of the people. It's quite likely that these two men had been arrested for stirring up trouble in Jerusalem, just like Barabbas. Maybe they'd killed a soldier of occupation. Theirs was an insurgency designed to run out an oppressive foreign invader. It was for persons like them that the Romans devised this horrific form of execution, and Jesus has been caught in the web. So here between the insurgents, hangs the prince of peace.

As Jesus hung there on the cross, a crown of thorns sat uncomfortably on his head. The crown has symbolic value, but it's also designed to inflict pain. As the thorns dig into his forehead, the blood trickles down his face. His back bleeding from the flogging he had endured during the night adds to his agony. But it was the crush of his weight that forced him to struggle with ever more difficulty to remain upright, which caused him the most physical distress. Still, there he hung, God's suffering servant, the one of whom Isaiah spoke. This one who poured himself out in death "was numbered with the transgressors." (Isaiah. 53:12). Yes, he took his place among us and was counted as one of us, counted as a sinner, and he suffered with us, but for what?

At the foot of the cross one could find a few followers, most of whom were women. Covering their eyes and weeping, they might have moaned out loud, "Oh, how could this happen?" But others jeered at him, both Roman soldier and collaborator from the Jewish establishment. Maybe there were also a few former admirers and some disappointed revolutionaries in this crowd, each voice adding further insult to his humiliation.

Now, as he struggles to catch his breath, Jesus utters his first word from the cross:

"Father forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing."

Do you hear these words with a sense of disbelief? How can he say this? How can he forgive his tormentors? Yes, how can anyone forgive the ones who have participated in such an evil deed? But, while we recoil from such a thought, Jesus reaches out to his tormentors and offers them words of forgiveness. As we listen to these strange words, we discover that we are included in them. We too are recipients of Jesus' offer of forgiveness.

The recipients of this gracious offer of forgiveness are many, but Jesus begins with the most obvious offenders, the soldiers sitting at the foot of his cross. These are the ones who have just followed orders and have nailed him to this cross. In truth, they probably didn't understand the consequences of what they were doing. They were just doing their jobs. They'd rather be doing something else, but here they were standing guard over some local rebels. Yes, Jesus was just one more rebel who needed to be taught a lesson. They probably weren't even listening as Jesus offered them forgiveness. Even if they were listening, they probably didn't understand Jesus. As he cries out offering them forgiveness, they are busy dispensing with his clothes. It's possible that these soldiers would periodically look up at him and shout insults at him. But then again, they are simply following orders from on high.

There might have been a few Jewish leaders in the crowd as well. These were the collaborators, the one's granted power, not by the people, but by the occupying forces. They saw themselves as protectors of Israel, and they believed that their act of conspiring with the Roman officials was a defense of their nation. Collaboration helped preserve the status quo, but it also kept the nation alive. Did they know what they were doing? The destruction of Jerusalem just a few decades later would seem to support their position. If Jesus was in fact a rebel, then they would be correct in their actions. But Jesus offers them forgiveness.

Finally, there are the seemingly fickle crowds. According to the gospels, the crowd had at first acclaimed him the messiah. But things changed when he didn’t prove to be the hoped for deliverer. So, disillusioned with him they turned on him and when given a choice by Pilate they chose Barabbas instead of Jesus. Which one would you have chosen? I don't know who I would have picked. I'd probably have picked Barabbas too! After all, he seemed to have more potential as a rebel leader. Surely Barabbas would free his people from Roman domination.

To each of these conspirators Jesus offers a word of forgiveness. From the cross he asks God to wipe the slate clean.

Oh yes, there's one last group that needs to be considered. This final group is much larger than the crowd gathered at the foot of the cross. Its numbers exceed calculation and extend into eternity, for in truth, we're all numbered among those standing there calling for his head. We're like a herd of cattle that’s easily stampeded. We act first and think later. We don't think things through because it's safer to go along with the crowd than it is to act independently. It's by our deeds and even by our omission of deeds that we're led to join in crucifying the Son of God.

Our involvement in this act of violence isn't a matter of Jesus serving as our sacrifice designed to placate an angry God -- as Jonathan Edwards would have us believe. Nor does he die to satisfy God's honor, as Anselm believed. Still, we find ourselves in the judge's chamber crying for his head. We do this whenever we hate our brother or sister, or when we push others aside to take our place at the head of the table. It can happen when we refuse to help the hungry and the thirsty among us, because in saying no to our neighbor, we say no to Jesus. And when we say no, we place him on a cross in the hope that we might be done with him. We have no use for his offer of reconciliation, because we have no use for God. In our own sense of self-righteousness, we choose to nail the one who reveals God's love on a cross.

Jesus' offer is a generous one, even if we're not sure why we're included. We're puzzled with the offer he makes to his tormentors, but why would we be included? After all, how often have we said: "I didn't have anything to do with it. It's not my fault. No, I didn't do anything wrong!" The problem isn't with what I did, but with what I didn't do. Yes, my inaction and my neutrality require divine forgiveness. Perhaps we find these words troubling because they're not consistent with the way we deal with life. To our mind, forgiveness requires a recognition that wrong has been done, a recognition that should be followed by repentance and an apology. To our surprise Jesus seems to offer a blanket word of forgiveness -- a general amnesty. Now, while we might find Jesus' words to be strange, they do comport well with his life and with his teachings. He was a person who welcomed the sinner, the outcast, and the marginalized. Perhaps that's why it's so difficult to hear these words -- we don't put ourselves in the place of those needing forgiveness.

But maybe that's not really the issue that baffles us. Perhaps it's the excuse that Jesus makes for his oppressors that throws us off. It just seems too easy and implausible.

Father forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.

Surely they knew what they were doing. And yet, do we always know what we=re doing?

Theologian Karl Rahner gets it right: "Really they knew it all. But they did not want to know it!" We know what we're doing, but we don't want to face the consequences of our thoughts and actions. We have our excuses, but deep down we know that they're hollow. Nevertheless, Jesus reaches out to us and offers us forgiveness. It's as Isaiah says: he has "made intercession for the transgressors" (Isaiah.53: 12), on behalf of all those who would crucify him -- including me. And so, there, on the cross, Jesus acts as our high priest, interceding for us, the transgressors, and excusing us of our ignorance. He excuses us, however, of the ignorance we have often chosen for ourselves. Why, maybe it’s because we cannot grapple with the depths of our crimes.

If it were I, I don't think I could offer such a gracious word of forgiveness. I would want justice done, or at least I'd want to appeal to a higher authority. But Jesus didn't cry out for justice; instead, he offered gentle words of forgiveness. As we stand before the cross, we benefit from his compassionate words: "Father forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing."

Excerpted from A Cry from the Cross (CSS, 2008)

Newt Gingrich’s Comic Repentance -- Sightings

Generally, Martin Marty stays clear of politics, but Newt Gingrich's recent story of repentance simply had to be addressed.  Newt is going to run for President as a champion of family values, though his own family values are suspect.  He's on wife #3.  He says he's repented, and that he's forgiven (I have no problem with that), but his rationale for his bad behavior is rather bizarre -- Marty calls it comic.  I'm going to leave the rest to you to consider Marty's analysis (including his interaction with Psalm 51).

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Sightings 3/14/2011

Newt Gingrich’s Comic Repentance

-- Martin E. Marty

After a week of tsunamis, earthquakes, Libyan horrors, Philadelphia clerical sex scandal news, National Public Radio disasters, and National Football League lock-out threats, we the people look for some comic relief. Celebrity politician Newt Gingrich provided this as he gave the Christian Broadcasting Network audience a rationale for his having committed a plethora of adulteries with, evidently inter alia, three wives. “[P]artially driven by how passionately I felt about this country. . . . I worked far too hard and things happened in my life that were not appropriate,” he said. Things didn’t “happen,” everyone but Mr. Gingrich knows; he “happened” them. The rationale, people across the spectrum agree, related to Mr. Gingrich’s political efforts to gain support for a probable—or, at least, once probable—presidential nomination candidacy.

“I felt compelled to seek God’s forgiveness. Not God’s understanding, but God’s forgiveness,” Gingrich said. Had he been talking to God in private repentance, what he said would have been no one’s business except God’s and his. Since he was talking publicly to the media and to the evangelicals he was courting, it is legitimate to note the comic dimensions of what he said. Remember what showman George M. Cohan once observed: “Many a bum show has been saved by the flag.” Mr. Gingrich, in his bum show, reached for the flag and pleaded the patriot excuse.

“Talk about a forgiving God?” he asked, or said, as he shifted into biblical mode. The template for politically-motivated repentance is the story of King David of old, who felt “passionately about his country,” enough to have something “happen in his life that was not appropriate.” That was having his general Uriah killed so that David’s adultery with Mrs. Uriah could be covered up. Serious evangelicals, and there are millions of them, are rightfully offended by this ploy. They may see similarities in the plot of David’s and Newt’s careers. Chapter headings in Steven L. McKenzie’s King David: A Biography include “Holy Terrorist: David and His Outlaw Band,” “Assassin,” “Like Father, Like Son: The Bathsheba Affair and Absalom’s Revolt.” Yes, many things in David’s case, though on a lesser scale, had also happened and were not appropriate.

McKenzie summarizes the record, including: “One of David’s wives is his best friend’s sister and his enemy’s daughter. . . . Some of his brides were new widows whose husbands had very recently died under suspicious circumstances.” We read that he’d “sent for Bathsheba and ‘lay’ with her.” (II. Sam. 11:4. Nothing is said of her feelings.) The King, “feeling passionate about [his] country,” had “worked too hard,” as evidenced when he brought Uriah on the scene. “All David could think to do was ask general questions about the welfare of the army and the war,” questions whose answer he knew.

Evangelicals believe that Psalm 51, a classic, the classic, of repentance literature was later written by David. They take their cue from an ancient subtitle, Psalm 51: “A Psalm of David, when the prophet Nathan came to him, after he had gone in to Bathsheba.” The climactic Psalm line, to God: “Against you, you alone, have I sinned, and done what is evil in your sight.” The stakes were high, but no match for those today, when a possible candidate has to make his case before a more stern judge: a bloc of voters in an American election. That Mr. Gingrich tried to be forgiven while using the “patriotism” and “overworking” excuses is what leads many to see a usually serious act turning out to have been what we called “comic.” Now, back to the serious matters of the week.

References


Steven L. McKenzie, King David: A Biography (Oxford, 2000).

UPI, “Gingrich: Working Too ‘Hard’ Led to Affair,” March 9, 2011.

Maggie Haberman, “Newt Gingrich: ‘I Was Doing Things That Were Wrong',” Politico, March 8, 2011.

Matt Sullivan, “How Newt Gingrich Misplaced His Member,” Esquire, March 9, 2011.

Martin E. Marty's biography, current projects, publications, and contact information can be found at www.illuminos.com.

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This month’s Religion and Culture Web Forum is written by D. Max Moerman and entitled “The Death of the Dharma: Buddhist Sutra Burials in Early Medieval Japan.” In eleventh-century Japan, Buddhists fearing the arrival of the "Final Dharma"--an age of religious decline--began to bury sutras in sometimes-elaborate reliquaries. Why entomb a text, making it impossible for anyone to see or read it? And what do such practices teach us about the meaning and purpose of texts in Buddhism and other religions? Max Moerman of Barnard College takes up these questions with responses from Jeff Wilson (Renison University College), James W. Watts (Syracuse University) and Vincent Wimbush (Claremont Graduate University).

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Sightings comes from the Martin Marty Center at the University of Chicago Divinity School.