| Theological musings
Easter Hope in a Good Friday World
by Paul E. Capetz
[5-28-07]
Dr. Paul E. Capetz is joining Douglas
Ottati in the writing of "Theological Musing," a regular column for
Network News. He is Associate Professor of Historical
Theology at United Theological Seminary of the Twin Cities.
In this personal reflection on the
events we recently remembered and celebrated in Holy Week, he suggests
that the heart of the story is not the cheering story of Easter, but the
painfully real story of Good Friday. He writes:
"It is not the doctrine [of
atonement], but the story of Jesus’ crucifixion that is essential. The
gospel is, after all, a story about a messiah whose victory does not
look very messianic. It is the story of a faithful Jew, whose fidelity
led him to the cross and who calls us to the same fidelity even if it
might also lead us to the cross. To illustrate what such fidelity means
for modern people we only need remember Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Martin
Luther King, Jr., and Oscar Romero. The story is as timely today as it
was in ancient Palestine."
Theological musings
Easter Hope in a Good Friday World
by Paul E. Capetz
We welcome Dr. Paul E. Capetz, who is
joining Douglas Ottati in the writing of this regular column for
Network News.
Capetz is Associate Professor of
Historical Theology at United Theological Seminary of the Twin Cities. A
member of the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.), he was ordained as a
minister but voluntarily set aside his ordination in protest against the
church's exclusion of GLBT persons. He is the author of (among other
books and articles) God: A Brief History (Minneapolis: Fortress
Press, 2003).
Doug Ottati will be moving this fall
from Union Seminary/PSCE to teach at Davidson College, as the Craig
Family Distinguished Professor in Reformed Theology and Justice
Ministry.
Today is Easter Sunday. At church this morning we sang the triumphant
Hallelujah Chorus from Handel’s Messiah. And then we gathered
around the table to eat the traditional ham dinner, with a hefty dose of
chocolate Easter eggs afterwards. All in all, it’s been a fine day. Yet
as I sit down to write this column, my mind keeps going back to the more
troubling events celebrated this past week: Maundy Thursday and
especially Good Friday.
Somehow I have the nagging suspicion
that we Christians impatiently wait for those days of the church
calendar to be over as quickly as possible so that we can once again
assure ourselves that "God’s in his heaven - All’s right with the world"
(Robert Browning). Oh, how we do want to believe that is true! Speaking
for myself, however, I have to confess that the Easter celebration has
never spoken as deeply to me as have Maundy Thursday and Good Friday.
Not only have I had my doubts about what really happened on the first
Easter Sunday, but I have even wondered whether the resurrection of one
person really changes much of anything. I often think that Good Friday
may be a more truthful depiction of the world we live in than is Easter.
It has occurred to me that there may be a perfectly good
psychological explanation for these sentiments. I first learned about
Jesus’ crucifixion when I was in the third grade. My family went to see
George Stevens’ star-studded film The Greatest Story Ever Told
which had just been released. As if it were only yesterday I can still
recall the shock and disbelief with which I watched Jesus being nailed
to the cross in vivid Technicolor. It is no exaggeration to say that I
was completely traumatized by it. I had to leave the auditorium and sit
in the lobby of the theater on account of my hysterical sobbing. I could
not understand why anyone would do such a cruel thing to the best person
in the world.
My father, hoping that I might be
consoled, gently led me by the hand back into the auditorium so that I
could witness Jesus’ resurrection. But it left me cold. Nothing could
undo the horror of what I had just experienced. Unable to eat dinner, I
cried myself to sleep. It is this experience, no doubt, that for me has
always lent an aura of realism to the old hymn, "Were you there when
they crucified my Lord?" I can honestly say, "Yes, I was there." I saw
it as though at first hand and I was just as unprepared for it as were
Jesus’ first disciples. I was one of those "before whose eyes Jesus
Christ was publicly portrayed as crucified" (Gal. 3:1, RSV).
We live in a time when there has been
much doctrinal debate about the salvific significance of Jesus’ death.
Among the many doctrinal reasons for challenging the upcoming ordination
of Damayanthi Niles, a professor at Eden Theological Seminary, members
of her presbytery have charged her with denying the necessity of "blood
atonement." I, too, have been similarly accused. In an editorial printed
in The Layman ("Theology Professors say Atoning Death is
Outdated," November 11, 2002), John H. Adams attributes to me the
following statement: "What about atonement? We don’t need any more
crucifixions."
Given the reputation for journalistic
accuracy that The Presbyterian Layman has earned for itself, it
will come as no surprise to Witherspoon readers that I was misquoted to
the point of distortion. I never presented such a view as my own; I did,
however, attempt to explain the reasons given by the womanist theologian
Delores Williams who does advocate this position. She believes that the
traditional doctrine has conspired to delude oppressed persons into
believing that the violence they suffer should be accepted as a
religious duty. I share her concern if not her specific argument about
the place of the cross in Christian faith. Still, I doubt that many of
us today would subscribe to Anselm’s statement of the doctrine of the
atonement. In fact, there has never been a doctrinal formulation of the
atonement that commands the assent of all Christian churches. Probably
that is the way it should remain.
It is not the doctrine, but the story
of Jesus’ crucifixion that is essential. The gospel is, after all, a
story about a messiah whose victory does not look very messianic. It is
the story of a faithful Jew, whose fidelity led him to the cross and who
calls us to the same fidelity even if it might also lead us to the
cross. To illustrate what such fidelity means for modern people we only
need remember Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Martin Luther King, Jr., and Oscar
Romero. The story is as timely today as it was in ancient Palestine.
If I had preached the Good Friday
sermon this week, it would have focused on the issue of torture. The
German New Testament scholar Martin Hengel has written an exhaustive,
though concise, historical study of Roman crucifixion that should be
required reading of us all during Passion Week if we really want to come
to grips with what Jesus endured on that first Good Friday. Sadly,
throughout Christian history torture has been used to silence heretics
(those with whom we disagree). Even in our own Reformed tradition we
have to confess the sins of torture that our forerunners in the faith
employed to squelch theological dissent. Not only was Michael Servetus
burned at the stake in Calvin’s Geneva for refusing to subscribe to the
Nicene Creed, but also the Anabaptist Balthasar Hubmaier was tortured on
the rack in Zwingli’s Zurich for his denial of infant baptism.
As we Americans have recently learned, our government is not above
using torture as an instrument to secure itself against perceived
enemies. In this respect it is no different from ancient Rome. If there
is a hope this Easter Sunday, it is that the story of Jesus and those of
all the other victims of torture might lead us to repent and to the
resolve to abolish torture altogether. Indeed, the French philosopher
RenÈ Girard locates the real significance of Jesus’ passion in its
challenge to us that we break the cycle of violence in our world
forever.
I do believe in hope, even if it is
not as grandiose as some of our Easter celebrations imply. Still, the
modest hopes I have on this Easter Sunday are tempered by the
recollection of Good Friday which I cannot forget. Instead of hunting
for Easter eggs and making merry this afternoon, I prefer to listen to
Bach’s St. Matthew Passion or to watch the most realistic and
beautiful film about Jesus ever made, The Gospel according to St.
Matthew by Pier Paulo Pasolini (who, by the way, was an atheist, a
communist, and a homosexual). I am not without hope; but my hopes are
tempered by realism. This is nothing other than to say that we must not
let Easter be our opiate for the world’s pain. Now that Easter and Holy
Week are behind us, let us, as the members of Christ’s broken body, go
into the world with the good news that the cycle of violence can be
broken.
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