In seminary I once made a spreadsheet of all the different doctrines of atonement. I wanted to trace the history and development of the idea that Christ’s death on the cross atones for the sins we commit as baptized Christians. After spending a good deal of time studying this vast amount of theology, I must confess to you that I remain as confused and even skeptical about the “atoning sacrifice of Christ” as I did that day in seminary in 1997. For me the focus all seemed misdirected. Theologians want to ask what Christ’s sacrifice does for baptized Christians. I want to ask the opposite question: What are we going to do once we know about Christ’s sacrifice?
The Book of Acts records that the earliest followers of “The Way” (the original name for followers of Jesus) believed that Christ would come again within their lifetime. They pooled their money and possessions and lived in common with great anticipation of Christ’s second coming. The only problem was Christ did not return during their lifetime. This led to two schools of thought:
1. We’d better get serious about this Christian living business because it looks like we’re in it for the long haul.
2. Let’s just eat, drink, and be merry, for who knows when Christ will return to judge us.
The second behavior comes NOT from a sense of end-of-the-world fatalism but amazingly from a sense of outrage. One could argue that the crowd calling for Jesus’ crucifixion can be forgiven because they were ignorant. But I would argue that they called for his crucifixion NOT because they were ignorant, but they called for his crucifixion deliberately because they knew that this Jesus really was the Messiah. They had seen the miracles. They had heard his teaching. They knew friends who had witnessed signs. They were eager to welcome him into Jerusalem as their new king on Palm Sunday. Then on Friday that same welcoming group joined the all too human mob and called for his execution.
We are not very different. We know that Jesus is the Messiah and Lord of all, and yet we live our lives just like his killers. We stand with one foot in faith and one foot in our humanity. “HOW can there be a God who does not want us to suffer when God’s own son is tortured and executed?” “HOW can there be a God who does not want suffering in the world when in fact there IS so much suffering all around us?” “HOW, HOW, HOW?” we shout at the wind outraged by the silence.
How can we humans, as weak and vulnerable as we are, be expected to trust a God that seems to allow such suffering? The outrage at the inability of anyone to give a reasonable answer fuels the desire to just eat, drink, and be merry because there may be no tomorrow.
In the 1300s during the worst of the plagues in Europe, the people watched helplessly while 30 to 80% of their families and friends died horribly from the Black Death. They were understandably frightened and outraged. They blamed God. They lashed out. In some villages the priests were hanged, since if the villagers could not put God in the gallows, they could at least put his representatives there. Yes, outrage at God leads to violence.
But there is some odd irony in the crucifixion of Jesus and the two criminals. It is Passover, and by custom Pilate can release a prisoner from his sentence at the will of the crowd. “Whom do you want to crucify?” he asks. “Barabbas, or Jesus who is called the Messiah?”
Now this crowd wasn’t witness to the kind of unimaginable suffering of the European plague, but like us they did stand there with one foot in hope that what they saw in Jesus was real, and one foot in their squalid humanity. They acted like sheep in a thunderstorm, like any of us would act. They followed the mob rule of the crowd and they called out “Crucify him.”
Pilate wanted to get rid of the troublemaker Barabbas, but the crowd called to release him. Pilate could not find any charges to stick against Jesus, but the crowd called to crucify him. Barabbas did nothing to deserve his release; in fact he probably deserved the punishment set for him. But he got a free pass that day.
And so did we.