Pentecost 24C
Luke 23:33-43
With his emphasis on Jesus’ innocence and virtuosity on the cross, Luke’s crucifixion scene is difficult to read. Jesus prays for his tormentors, “Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing.” The criminal hanging next to Jesus declaratively points to the Messiah’s innocence: “This man has done nothing wrong.” In verse 47, even the centurion on duty at the crucifixion declares, “Certainly this man was innocent.” Luke makes his point clear: crucifying Jesus is a betrayal of the highest order — a betrayal of God and of all that is humane.
I’ve been pondering the close association of “human” and “humane.” How often the meanings of these two words seem at odds with each other — that to be human is far from being humane, far from treating others with benevolence, compassion and care.
As I write this lectionary reflection, the violent attack on Paul Pelosi by a politically-motivated intruder is breaking news. Threats of violence against our political leaders and even our nonpartisan, volunteer poll workers are the new norm. The New York Times reviewed more than 75 indictments of people charged with threatening lawmakers since 2016. The review highlighted a sickening trend: more and more Americans have taken ideological disagreements to a new level, threatening violence against members of Congress. “The threats have come in almost every conceivable combination: Republicans threatening Democrats, Democrats threatening Republicans, Republicans threatening Republicans” (“One Menacing Call After Another: Threats Against Lawmakers Surge”). No matter your party affiliation or political inclination, no matter whether it is Nancy Pelosi, Chuck Schumer, Mitch McConnell or Donald Trump, this spike in violence and violent rhetoric is beyond disturbing — it is inhumane.
Serene Jones’ work on the theology of trauma is helpful as we contemplate these disturbing trends alongside the crucifixion scene from Luke. In her book Trauma and Grace, Jones writes that a trauma, or a “wound” inflicted by “a hostile external force that threatens to destroy you … [can] terrorize an entire community, even those to whom the violence doesn’t happen directly.” Secondary trauma is long-reaching, Jones adds, affecting those even witnessing the violence from afar. She cites the deadly attacks of 9/11 as an example of the long-reaching, terrorizing effects of secondary trauma.
The brutal violence of Roman crucifixion clearly traumatized entire communities, much like, as James Cone highlighted in his important book The Cross and the Lynching Tree, the lynchings that traumatized Black communities. These inhumane brutalities were meant to terrorize the people who watched and to not just kill, but humiliate, shame and destroy the person experiencing it. When we experience the possibility of annihilation, Jones explains, or witness the annihilation of another, our brains simply can’t process this violence. A space is created, Jones adds, that “holds horrendous things that affect people’s entire bodies, the way they move and exist in the world.” That entrenched bodily and psychological trauma is passed down from generation to generation. To bring this wound to “verbal expression and public awareness,” Jones writes, is the first step towards healing.
“What is the power of the cross?” Jones asks, then answers: trauma must be exposed and brought to light. “The power of the cross,” Jones states, “is not about valorizing trauma, which the church has too often done, but about exposing trauma.”
Jesus is fully traumatized by the crucifixion but resists the annihilation of his own humanity. He is humble even in the face of humiliation. He is loving and forgiving, even while being attacked by hate and vengeance. He is betrayed but refuses to betray in return. Somehow, from the violence of the cross, Jesus looks at humanity in the face of all our inhumanity and still sees us as worthy of love, still sees what is good and possible within us.
After this Sunday, we turn to Advent where we anticipate the birth of Christ. The story of Christ’s death on the cross is not the full story, thanks be to God. New life, and resurrection, will soon be celebrated. But the truth that surfaces on the cross, of our inhumanity and our trauma, must be acknowledged and brought to light. Then, something new may emerge, cycles of violence may be broken, and traumatic wounds healed. What is revealed on the cross is painful and disturbing, but also pregnant with the beginning of hope.
Questions for reflection:
- What thoughts, feelings, ideas or images arise as you read this text from Luke?
- Why would the liturgical calendar lead us to reflect on Christ’s crucifixion the Sunday before Advent?
- What pregnant moments of hope have you recently experienced?
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