The Passion of the Christ

I have been waiting to see Mel Gibson’s new movie, “The Passion of the Christ” ever since I heard he was making it. Finally, someone took it upon themselves to film an accurate representation of the last day of Christ’s earthly life. It’s about time.
Now I have been reading where certain groups don’t want the film shown or want it edited. Jewish leaders have publicly accused Mr. Gibson of being an anti-Semite because he included the scene where the Jewish leaders lead the crowd in accepting the responsibility for Christ’s death. Sorry, but that is the way the Bible tells the story:
22“What shall I do, then, with Jesus who is called Christ?” Pilate asked.
They all answered, “Crucify him!”
23“Why? What crime has he committed?” asked Pilate.
But they shouted all the louder, “Crucify him!”
24When Pilate saw that he was getting nowhere, but that instead an uproar was starting, he took water and washed his hands in front of the crowd. “I am innocent of this man’s blood,” he said. “It is your responsibility!”
25All the people answered, “Let his blood be on us and on our children!” (Matthew 27:22-25 NIV)
Now, this passage does not encourage anti-Semitism. It does point out, however, that the Jews were willing to accept the blame for Christ’s death in order for Him to be crucified. If you use this passage or this movie to go out and do something horrible to a Jewish person or a synagogue then you are a moron, not a Christian. William Buckley points out that in all of his writings, Hitler never pointed to the crucifixion of Christ as a rationale for his persecution of the Jews.
Christians need to remember that the Jews are God’s chosen people. If we persecute them or ridicule them, we are persecuting and ridiculing our Heavenly Father’s chosen folks. Not a good idea!
I am looking forward to the accurate portrayal of Christ’s suffering for our sins. Yes, it will be brutal, yes it will be gory. The truth of the crucifixion is brutal and gory. So be it. I have been on a one man crusade to get rid of all the paintings and pictures that show Jesus with a few stripes on His back. Nothing could be further from the truth. A historian of Christ’s time said that Jesus was “reduced to human rubble.”
Before Jesus ever made it to the cross he was scourged. The scourge was a brutal instrument. The wooden handle had leather strips attached that were soaked in calf or sheep’s blood. Then the strips were rolled around in bits of broken glass and pottery. Bits of metal could be tied into the strips as well.
Roman law said that a man could be beaten “forty save one.” Thirty-nine times a Roman Centurion raised that scourge and let it fly toward Christ’s back. Jesus had his hands tied and stretched above His head. The tongues of the scourge would wrap around Jesus as they hit Him. Then the Centurion would give a slight tug on the handle, making sure that the sharp edges of pottery and metal bit into the skin of Jesus. Then the Centurion would pull back violently. People standing around the beating would be splashed with blood and bits of flesh as the scourge returned. After this beating, Christ raised the wood of His cross onto His back and carried it to the place of His crucifixion.
I can remember being a student at Southern California College lying across my dorm bed and weeping as I read Dr. Pierre Barbet’s book, “A Doctor At Calvary.” Dr. Barbet explained in painstaking detail what Jesus went through on the cross. To think that Jesus suffered for me, for us. The pain was, and still is, almost too much to bear. He died for me because I was powerless to save myself. Jesus died on the cross, but He did it willingly. He died for all of us, so that we could have a way to inherit life in Heaven, not the eternal judgment that we deserve.
Sorry, I think we need to leave the “Passion of Christ” just the way it is. Don’t cheapen an incredible story of one man’s triumph over death, hell and the grave by bowing to the pressure of people who don’t like how the history reads.
Far more important to me than the history of the crucifixion is the meaning of it. We can argue specifics, but one thing is certain: Christ died for us, and if we will just accept His forgiveness and love, we will get a chance to talk to Him in heaven one day. Then He can fill us in on all of the details the movies have missed.
Remembering the greatest act of love ever… Jerry

Peter's Story

My Lord is gone, arrested by soldiers, and I watched it happen.
Jesus warned us that this was coming. He asked us to watch and pray in the garden with him. Why didn’t I? Why couldn’t I do this one thing for the Man who has given me everything?
I tried to help Him. When that pig Malchus put his hand on Jesus I drew my sword and cut off his ear. His ear! I wanted to kill him, and instead all I did was maim him. Big deal.
I can hear a crowd chanting and screaming, so I head in their direction. There is fear and anger in these people. A rough hand grabs my cloak, “Hey, you’re one of His followers, aren’t you?”
I pull away from him, “I don’t know what you are talking about.”
As I move through the crowd, a smelly woman begins shouting at the top of her lungs, “This man is one of His followers, grab him.” I shout in her wizened face, “Leave me alone woman, I don’t even know the man.” I slip quietly away with her shrill voice ringing in my ears.
As I get to the outer edge of the crowd, I spy a fire ring near a gate. A small crowd is huddled around the fire for warmth. I look around the courtyard at the growing crowd. Is this where they have taken Jesus? I see a young girl looking at me, her eyes wet with tears. She stands and walks closer to me. She whispers to me, “You are one of Jesus’ followers. You’re the one who had the sword in Gethsemane. You cut off my Uncle Malchus’ ear.” Panic rises in me, and I look around for an escape route. Then her hand reaches out to hold mine. “It’s okay, though. Jesus healed him, put his ear right back. You are one of His followers aren’t you?” I curse loudly, saying things about this poor young girl that are not fit for the ears of a rough man, let alone a small child. “I never knew Him. He is nothing to me. Leave me alone!”
It is then that I notice that the crowd has gone silent. The gate has opened, and there stands Jesus, surrounded by guards. As the sun begins to peek over the hills, a rooster begins to crow. Jesus looks right at me, and I remember the words He spoke at our last dinner. “Peter, before the rooster crows you will deny me three times.” One of the soldiers smacks Jesus in the back with the broad side of his sword and Jesus is roughly pulled and pushed through the crowd.
His words reverberate through my whole being. I gasp in horror, falling to my knees. Grief such as I have never known overtakes me. I run through the crowd, doing my best to get away from this place of my shame, my betrayal, my denial.
He changed my name to Peter. The rock. He said He would build his church on me. Well so much for that. You can’t build your church on a liar and a coward. As I stand on the hillside alone, I try to feel His warmth, His love once again. All I feel is cold. All that surrounds me now is dread and despair.
I have never felt so alone in my life…
That crazy woman is yelling and banging on the door. Shut up, you will get us all killed! John runs back to me, “Jesus isn’t in the tomb, His body is gone.”
We ran like madmen through the streets and out to the burial tombs. There is a huge stone rolled away from the entrance to Jesus’ tomb. There is no way one, or even three men could move that thing. John and I look step into the tomb, expecting the smell of decaying flesh. There is nothing in this room but a wadded up mass of grave clothes! We look at each other and words begin to flash through our minds. “I will rebuild the temple in three days…” “I go to prepare a place for you…”
He’s alive! John and I embrace, screaming like madmen! Suddenly, it all makes sense. Of course the soldiers couldn’t keep Him down. What is death to the Son of God? I watched Him raise people from the dead, of course He would rise again. We are REALLY going to do some great things now!
As we walk back to tell the others, I remember my defeat at the hands of a young girl, and begin to weep. That’s okay, I tell myself, Jesus is alive, and I will find a way to make it up to Him…
Happy Resurrection Day! Jerry

The Roman Soldier

“Who’s up first today, Artemis?”
“Some Jew,” I answered. “Man, am I tired of these guys with their strange laws and their goofy ideas. This one says he’s the king of the Jews!” My head tilted back in laughter at this ludicrous thought. How could the Jews have a King? After all, weren’t they our prisoners? Captives in their own land, that could never happen to us Romans. King indeed. Ha!
Allow me to introduce myself. I am Artemis, chief of the guard in Jerusalem. It is my job to keep the Jews and everyone else in line. There are many legionnaires here in Jerusalem, and they all answer to me.
Today I will discipline this Jesus of Nazareth. Already my cat of nine tails is soaking in a vat of goat’s blood. When the leather thongs are nice and soaked I will roll the strips in bits of broken glass and pottery, then set the scourge in the sun to dry. Already bits of sharp metal have been imbedded in the strips. There is no greater weapon of punishment than my scourge, except maybe the cross.
Ah, the cross. What a great method of torturing a man until he dies. There really is no finer instrument to humiliate and degrade a man before his death. Well, at least this Jesus will just have to be flogged, he won’t have to undergo the cross. Lucky him.
Well, it’s time. I walk out onto the Court of the Pavements. There in the middle of the court is a tall pole with a ring on top. Jesus’ hands will be tied together, then the rope will be pulled through the ring on top of the pole. He will hang there, with his feet just barely touching the ground. Then I will take over.
I really do enjoy this part of my job. I hate these Jews. I hate their land, I hate their food, I hate everything about them. If this guy really is their king, I’ll show him exactly how I feel about his kingdom.
I raise the cat of nine tails and let it fly toward Jesus’ exposed back. The leather strips wrap all the way around his body and the bits of metal and pottery begin to bite into his flesh. Many inexperienced men will just pull the whip back at this point. I have done this often enough to know that if I tug a bit first, I get more of his flesh on every lash. I tug, then pull the whip back. Bits of Jesus’ flesh fly off the leather as it returns to me. His blood splashes on my face and I am elated. A good shot! I look around the crowd and see grown men retching as they see the torment I have inflicted.
Again and again I raise the whip and let it fly. Unfortunately, I can only hit him thirty-nine times. It’s the law. That’s okay, long before I get to thirty-nine we’ll have to turn Jesus around so I can concentrate on the front of him. There won’t be enough sound flesh left to beat on his back.
After I am done, we cover him with a purple robe. After all, he is royalty, isn’t he? The robe will sink into his wounds and soak up his blood. When they take the robe off later his wounds will reopen. Most men die at that point. But this Jesus seems to be a pretty strong man. Maybe he’ll survive. In the meantime, I need dinner and a nap. I wonder if that pretty barmaid is busy tonight...
What is all the ruckus going on outside? I must have fallen asleep. Oh well, the barmaid will be there tomorrow, too. I head outside to the shouts of “Kill Jesus, give us Barabas!” Barabas, these people want Barabas instead of Jesus? Barabas is a traitor to the Romans and the Jews, why would they want him?
“Come on, Artemis! We’ve been called back to duty. We’re going to crucify that Jesus guy!”
That’s not right. We whipped him, he’s supposed to go free. Like I said, this is a crazy country.
We place the cross on Jesus’ back and he starts off down the steepest street in Jerusalem. Obviously, some of my friends have had a little fun with Jesus. He has a crown of thorns stuck on top of his head. He has lost a lot of blood. His face is so bruised and swollen that if I didn’t know who he was, I wouldn’t recognize him. He’s pretty well a walking corpse by now.
He stumbles and one of my men grab a black man from the crowd and make him carry Jesus’ cross the rest of the way to Calvary.
Calvary, “the place of the skull.” It’s a pretty creepy place, I must admit. Maybe that’s why they chose it for crucifixions.
Jesus is thrown to the ground and I take an eight inch spike and drive it through his right wrist. Right through the middle of those two bones in his forearm. The pain is excruciating for the victim. For me, the thrill is amazing!
I pound a spike in his left wrist then grab his feet. I place one foot over the other and drive a twelve inch spike right through the tops of his feet. We pick the cross up and drop it down into a four foot deep hole. Jesus is well on his way to death now.
Some of my buddies are gambling for his cloak. I don’t want it. I don’t need any souvenirs from this rotten place. I just want to go home.
Jesus raises himself up on the spikes in his feet and asks one of his followers to take care of his mother. That’s a touching sentiment. Most men are just consumed with dying at this point.
He’s looking right at me now. That’s right, king, die!
“Father, forgive them. They don’t know what they are doing,” he says.
I’ve had men shout curses at me from the cross. Heard them cry out to God for help. I even saw a man cry like a baby until he died. But I’ve never had a man forgive me for killing him. His eyes are still staring at me. Eyes full of compassion for me, like he feels sorry for me. Why should he feel sorry for me, he’s the one who is dying, and I did it.
He lifts his head once more and says in a loud voice, “It is finished! Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.”
His head drops to his chest and he is dead.
Suddenly, the earth begins to shake, the sky grows dark, and people begin wailing. I realize right at that moment, in an instant, that this Jesus really was the king of the Jews. He really was the Son of God. What have I done? I have killed God’s Son. What kind of fool am I? What now? Surely God is going to avenge His Son’s death!
“Surely this man was the Son of God...” I whisper.
I will carry the guilt of what I have done forever. But I will also remember that before he died, Jesus forgave me. I will worship Him and follow his teachings. I wish had learned of my mistake earlier...

Remembering Christ’s death, and rejoicing in His resurrection... Jerry

The Onlooker In the Crowd, Easter 2008

My palm fronds from last week are still lying on the floor of my house. I can’t believe I was such a fool. I spent all last Sunday shouting about this Jesus guy and welcoming him as the Messiah.
I guess I got caught up in all the excitement. The crowd was buzzing. We laughed and shouted and had a great time. Then, when it was all over, we talked about what we knew about Jesus. Not much, really. A couple of guys at work had been there when he fed five thousand people with a few loves of bread and a couple of fish. My neighbor says that she saw Jesus raise a guy from the dead! I guess they could be telling the truth. All week we talked about what would happen if Jesus really was the Messiah! We could finally kick the stinking Romans our of our country! But people have been going around all week warning us. What if we put all our eggs in his basket and we are wrong? Can you imagine how bad things will be if we let this guy lead us and find out he is nothing more than a charismatic guy with some good lines? We can’t take that chance.
Now here I am, standing on the same road, waiting for the same guy. This time I won’t have any palm fronds, though. Early this morning my same group of friends stood in the courtyard and watched Pilate condemn Jesus to death. We shouted for his blood! The Chief Priests were whipping the crowd into a frenzy, ripping their tunics and crying out about heresy and blasphemy. I heard that a few people were threatened. Either way, we have too much to risk to follow Jesus. Our lives may not be great, but they are better than they could be…
The crowd down the road begins to get louder and louder. The shouting starts and I can see the first of the soldiers trying to part the crowd so they can get through. They are drawing their swords and shoving people out of the way… Whoa, that man just got stabbed! These guys mean business.
Jesus is in the midst of this big pack of soldiers, he’s got a huge wood beam across his soldiers. Man, is he bleeding! Someone put a crown made out of thorns around his head. That’s hilarious! He said he was a king, and a king needs a crown, right? Jesus falls to the ground and the soldiers whip him. The crowd yells out at him, a couple of people even spit on him. Yuck. He is lying there in a puddle of his own blood. He struggles to get up, then falters again. The soldiers grab Jesus by the shoulders and drag him down the street to Golgotha.
I open my mouth to scream at him, but words won’t come out. I stand there, mute, with my mouth open. There is something in his eyes. Even though we did a brutal turnaround in less than a week, he still looks at us like he cares about us. As he passes me his eyes bore holes into my soul. Something is wrong here, very wrong. Why are they killing this guy? What did he do wrong? What is going on here?
I walk home with my head drooping low. I got caught up in the crowd and missed the Messiah. What have I done… what have I done…
This Easter Sunday please don’t make the mistake of getting caught up in the crowd and missing Jesus. Head to church and find out the truth about Jesus and the life he has for you. You’ll be glad you did…
Thanking Jeremiah Vik for the column idea… Jerry

The Chief Priest, Easter 2009

Muttering under my breath, my feet scurrying across cobblestones as fast as my stubby, aged legs will allow, I hurried to a disaster scene. “How could this have happened? We took all the necessary precautions. I’m telling you, heads will roll for this!”
I climbed the last hill, huffing and puffing, begging for air to breathe. As I crested the hill I saw the scene of my worst nightmare. Soldiers were lying on the ground, looking like dead men.
I began shouting at the captain of the guard, “What happened here? Did the guards fall asleep? This is most distressing! Can’t you Romans handle a simple thing like guarding a dead man?”
The Centurion looked at me and spit, “They didn’t fall asleep, there was an earthquake and a blinding light. They fell right where you see them. They’re lucky they’re not dead. Now get out of my way old man, or you WILL be dead!”
As I approached the tomb where they had laid Jesus of Nazareth’s body, his words began filtering through my thoughts. “If you tear down this temple I will rebuild it in three days.” Is this what he meant? Surely this lunatic wasn’t really the Messiah…
Or was he? He certainly healed people. His teaching was unlike any I had ever heard. But he had no regard for our traditions, he wanted religion to be accessible by regular people. God wouldn’t want that, would he? Religion was to be left to the upper class, the best of everyone, not to the rabble that made up these crowds. God wouldn’t want everyone to be able to converse directly with Him, would he? Certainly not! No, Jesus was just a great teacher. He couldn’t have been the Messiah.
Making my way through the crowds I could hear them murmuring amongst themselves. “He rose! His body is gone.” “Somebody said the disciples saw Jesus! They say Thomas even touched him, right in his wounds!” These lot anger me to no end. I shout to the crowd, “Jesus was not the Messiah! Somebody stole his body, that’s all. Get him out of your minds. HE’S DEAD!” I realize that the crowd is looking at me, staring, wondering what’s wrong with me. A little old woman looks at me and says, “Chief Priest, if he’s not the Messiah like you said, and he’s dead like you said, what are you so upset about?” I glare at her and hurry off. I must think, I must get with other religious leaders. We have to find a way to combat the coming storm from this.
We can say that his body was stolen by the Romans. Tell people that the Romans wanted there to be unrest amongst us, so they are perpetrating this idea that he rose again. No, that won’t work. The Romans will tell everyone they didn’t do it. We can just ignore it, eventually his followers will shut up about this, won’t they? I mean he’s not the Messiah, so he didn’t really beat death. Right? And what if he was the Messiah? What does that mean? Did I stir up the crowd against God’s own anointed one? Surely not. Right? I look to the heavens, asking God, “Father of Abraham, surely you did not send us this peace loving, gentle man as a Messiah! You are sending a warrior, a mighty man. Not some teacher who tells us to carry a cloak two miles. Please, please tell me that I haven’t helped crucify your son!”
The ceiling is flat and dark and its silence mocks me. Did God hear my prayers? What have I done…
Rejoicing that Jesus is indeed risen… Jerry