Jesus was publicly executed and his death was completely legal. You might think the brutality of his torture and execution would be the most interesting part of the passion narrative, but as I read through it this year, I am taken aback by how much detail all the Gospel writers go into about the process of his arrest and sentencing. Minor details differ depending on the author, but they are uniformly painstaking and deliberate in their description:
Jesus’ disciple Judas tips off the religious authorities as to how to find Jesus when he is not surrounded by crowds. The authorities see Jesus’ teachings as an ongoing protest – a critique of their delicately balanced status quo that undermines people’s trust in their leadership. The temple police, escorted by Judas, find Jesus in a garden praying privately and arrest him there.
He is brought before several people. There is the trial before the Judean religious authorities – this is for blasphemy. Jesus is found guilty. He is also brought before the local Roman governing authority. Here Jesus is tried for sedition. The Roman governor – Pontius Pilate – working in collusion with the Judean religious authorities, orders Jesus’ execution by crucifixion. The final pronouncement is done in full public view, and with considerable public support.
We may shake our heads with disgust and wonder at the injustice of this course of events, but we cannot pretend it was illicit. Even when they beat him, it was legal. His utter humiliation and dehumanization, legal. Those in civic authority operated under the perspective that if they did it, it was legal. And so it goes.
It is convenient simply to blame those in charge as they were, after all, in charge. But the storytellers make it clear that a significant number of the people are in full throated support of this cruel inhumanity. The authorities feel pressured to enact cruelty upon Jesus for the sake of appearing strong and decisive, for the preservation of their existing way of life, for the greatness of the empire. Seemingly out of nowhere, one innocent man becomes a barometer for the stability and cultural identity of a whole people.
There are multiple places in which people might have stood up in Jesus’ defense. He did, after all, have friends, disciples, and followers. It is clear in the narrative they are scared, overwhelmed, and feel powerless. What would any one of their voices even do? What would happen to them if they spoke up? Retaliation is real.
Maybe some people watched cautiously, assuming that the processes put in place would be enough to curb injustice and save Jesus’ life. After all, the Roman Empire was imperfect, but it had laws. And their own Judean authorities could not all be on the same page, right? Some would have the courage to stand up and demand fairness and integrity. The peace brokered between Rome and Israel included checks and balances, didn’t they? Why speak up when they could just let the system work.
Still, some would stay silent out of something between apathy and complicity. The status quo may not be great, but at least they knew how to navigate it. At least they had found a way to function within it. Sometimes there will be some injustice. Sometimes innocence is ignored or misunderstood. And anyway, is anyone really innocent? If Jesus hadn’t done anything wrong at all, what did he have to be scared of? The Roman governor Pilate made a show of washing his hands. Sure he did. We all know sometimes you’re going to get your hands dirty. Sometimes that’s the cost of greatness.
We are about to celebrate Easter, and of course we should. We need Easter. We need the reminder that love conquers death. There are times when the victory of evil appears inevitable. And maybe it is, but if so, it is also ephemeral. Evil’s victory is hollow and empty – a house of cards that catches our gaze from the wrong angle and convinces us falsely of its strength. For God is love. The One who made all things will not allow our story to conclude in sorrow and despair. We are destined for that love from which we sprang.
I need the hope of Easter. But I also need to remember why I need that hope. I need to remember just what I am capable of. I am capable of ignoring, misunderstanding, rejecting, hating the love for which I was made. I am capable of killing Jesus. I am capable of making it legal, making it acceptable, making myself believe it is necessary. The fact that death could not conquer God, that Jesus would be raised from the dead and draw us all into eternal life is so mighty and powerful a reality that it has the capacity to overshadow the truth: Jesus only needed to be raised from the dead because we killed him and called it good.
It is tempting to see Jesus’ resurrection as the moment of redemption, but I think it comes earlier. I think it comes when Jesus is still on the cross. There he hangs, battered and bleeding and naked as the day he was born – dying legally. Some onlookers try to talk themselves into believing he deserves it: “If he is who he says he is, why doesn’t he get himself down from there, get himself out of this whole thing?” But he doesn’t. And nobody else tries either. Some watch with greedy fascination, others in horror, still others thinking that in the last moment the powers that be will come to their senses and repent of this injustice before it’s too late.
Jesus has no such illusions. He is busy experiencing the fruits of human justice. But he is not too busy to love. His love emerges in the form of a simple prayer. “Forgive them, Father, for they know not what they do.” This, I believe, is our redemption. Jesus seeks forgiveness for those who kill him while they are still killing him.
Jesus says that the people who conspired to kill him for questioning their authority did not know what they were doing. The people who ordered his execution for the sake of seeming strong and maintaining the illusion of peace did not know what they were doing. The people who abducted him in the name of the law did not know what they were doing. The people who beat and whipped and spat upon him did not know what they were doing. The people who were too scared to stand up for him did not know what they were doing. The apathetic, complacent, or complicit did not know what they were doing.
We want to believe that those who perpetrate evil know what they are doing, as do those who allow it and benefit from it. Jesus says otherwise. Jesus says they could not possibly understand that they are rejecting their own salvation. How could they? Who would knowingly do that?
This does not make evil less evil. Jesus still died and it was still called good, great even. “Father forgive them” does not mean we are incapable of evil – it means we are incapable of escaping the empathy, compassion, and mercy of God. We are incapable of annihilating the love God has for us. And we are incapable of stopping God’s plan to bring real justice, healing, and reconciliation to all creation. That is where I find hope.
