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Having seen Mel
Gibson’s The Passion of the Christ, it’s pretty clear to me that
listening to the reading of the Passion doesn’t possess quite the power
of watching the movie. Listening requires allowing the words of the
text to focus our thoughts and to challenge our imaginative powers to
see clearly with our mind’s eye all of what is transpiring. In
contrast, watching the movie doesn’t require much of either us or our
minds. The visual images on the big screen do cause us to emote,
however—we react to the gruesome way Jesus was treated—because the
visual images possess the power to grab our attention and, in turn, to
horrify our better sensibilities.
In all of his
preaching, Jesus called the people to repent. But, the specific type of
repentance Jesus called for was a “change of mind” (metanoia)
not a “change of heart” (metakardia). Jesus taught his
disciples to change how they thought about things and, in particular,
how they thought about sinners, not to change how they felt about things
and, in particular, sinners. This was an audacious teaching because it
is much easier, isn’t it, to change how we feel about sinners than it is
to change how we think about them?
For the Jews, God
was the Author of the Law. Obedience to the Law characterized
fidelity. To be a “bar mitzvah” or a “bat mitzvah” was to
be a son or daughter of God’s law by applying it to all aspects of
everyday life. And, when Jews weren’t faithful to the Law, infidelity
to the Torah gave faithful Jews the right to condemn these people as
“sinners.”
Yet, two Sunday’s
ago, Jesus told us a parable about the father who gave his two sons
their share of the inheritance. One of the sons squandered his portion
in dissolute living. For doing so, were we in the father’s shoes, we
would feel angry and righteous firm in our belief that the father had
every right never to speak to that lousy son of his again.
In last Sunday’s
gospel, we heard the story of a woman caught in adultery and how the
Jewish religious leaders and leading townspeople were standing there
ready to stone the woman to death because she had violated the sixth
commandment. This is what they knew and saw in the woman. And, the Law
was explicit: they had every right to take her life. Were we in their
shoes, we’d also feel indignation and righteous firm in our belief that
they had every right to persecute that woman to the fullest extent
allowed by the Law.
Then, in today’s
reading of the Passion, we just heard how the people sought to have
Jesus put to death for a variety of reasons. The chief priests, the
rulers, and indeed the whole people accused Jesus of civil and religious
crimes which merited the death penalty. That is what they demanded
because that is what they saw, namely, a man guilty of misleading the
people, of opposing the payment of taxes to Caesar, and for asserting
that he is the Christ, a king. For the chief priests, the rulers, and
indeed the whole people, the law was clear. The penalty had to be
imposed to ensure that others would follow Jesus’ example. Were we in
their shoes, we’d also be filled with glee for hounding Jesus, for
bringing him before the authorities, and for condemning him to death.
Whether its
dissolute sons (and daughters!), nefarious adulterers, or those who
expose us for our hypocrisy, it’s so easy to look upon and to judge
these people based solely upon what we see. Furthermore, and because of
they are guilty beyond a shadow of any doubt whatsoever, we feel it our
duty—if not our obligation—to impose the required sentence upon
them—well, maybe not a death sentence but, at a minimum, a sentence
exiling them from our homes and our lives. After all, we don’t want
sinners besmirching us. So, we say: “Look at what you did. Away with
you! Get out of my life and, furthermore, don’t let the door bang you
on your behind on the way out the door!” Then, with these people gone
from our lives, we’re satisfied because we’ve done our part to rid our
little part of the world of sinners. And, we move on firm in our belief
that God will bless us for judging, condemning, and exiling all of those
sinful people. “That’ll teach ’em!” we think in
self-congratulating terms.
As righteous as this
picture seems and as prevalent as it may be in many of our lives, Jesus
taught his disciples otherwise. He taught them not to look upon sinners
as “sinners” but to look upon them with God’s eyes. Didn’t the father
welcome back the son who had squandered his inheritance upon dissolute
living? (“What?” we think. “How can that be?”) To the woman caught in
adultery, Jesus said, “Where are they? Has no one condemned you? Then,
neither do I. Go and sin no more.” (“What?” we think. “Is there no
justice?) And, in today’s reading of the Passion, we heard: “When they
came to the place called the Skull, they crucified him and the criminals
there, one on his right, the other on his left. Then Jesus said,
‘Father, forgive them, they know not what they do.’ ” (“What could
you possibly mean?” we think. “They knew all along exactly what they
were doing!”
Can you imagine
people accusing you of all sorts of treachery and evil even though you
hadn’t done any of these things? Can you imagine people judging you so
nefarious a human being that you deserve execution? But, even more so,
with family members, friends, townsfolk, and religious leaders all
having roundly condemned you to death by crucifixion, can you imagine
yourself praying that God forgive all of these people because “they know
not what they are doing”?
If holiness were
solely a matter of the heart, perhaps it would be possible to muster up
the compassion to have pity on those who seek our execution. And, I’ve
heard many preachers discuss this idea over the decades. But,
Jesus taught that holiness is primarily a matter of the mind not of the
heart and, in particular, of changing how we think not how we feel…even
about those who have judged us guilty and sought to have us executed.
What did Jesus mean
when he said, “they know not what they do?”
Sin—disobedience to
God’s law—changes how we think. It directs how we look upon others, not
using God’s eyes to look at them but using human eyes to judge and
sentences them. That’s why we look upon others not as the forgiving
father looked upon his dissolute son or as Jesus looked upon the woman
caught in adultery. Neither condemned the “sinner.” Instead, we
look upon the son who “played the game right” and the self-righteous
Pharisees, scribes, and people, who used the law to justify their
judgments and condemnation as being righteous.
To “turn away from
sin” means to “change how we think.” It isn’t “they” alone who have
sinned. No, it is “we” who also sin by assuming that all of these
sinners knew what they were doing. After all, who in his right mind
would choose to sin? Only someone with a perverse mind could possibly
do so. And, were that the case, don’t they deserve mercy for they
really don’t know what they are doing?
It was from the
Cross that Jesus taught exactly what it means to change how we think.
We are not to think that sinners “know” what they are doing; instead, we
are to think that sinners don’t “know” what they are doing. Sin has
changed how they think. They think wrong is right and right is wrong.
That’s what they know. And, they’re convinced of their righteousness.
What would it mean
were we to change how we think about those whom we have judged and
condemned because they did not know what they were doing? It could be
an adulterous spouse who has tried to break up a marriage. It could be
a drug- or alcohol- addicted parent whose verbal and psychological or
even physical abuse has destroyed the formative years of our lives. It
could be a miscreant child whose behavior has destroyed a family.
Instead of judging these people guilty for what they did—and indeed what
they did wrong, there’s no doubt about it—the question Jesus presents
his disciples from the Cross is: What would it require if we were to
change how we think because all of these people did not know what they
were doing?
Simply put: it would
require praying from the Cross of pain upon which they have crucified us
that God forgive them. And, as we “do this in memory of me,” our
attitude—not the way we feel about sinners but the way we think about
them—becomes that of Christ.
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HOMILY
