crucifixion

We’re heading into the Easter weekend.

I’ve been reading Bread and Wine: Readings for Lent and Easter as a way of engaging with the story and reflecting. I’ve loved the Advent book by the same team, and so I bought the Lent / Easter book, and tried to read it a few years ago, but struggled. I find the Easter story harder to engage with than the Christmas story. Christmas calls out that God being born among us as the baby Jesus, and by God becoming human it lifts the dignity and worth of every human. Easter tells the story of Jesus being killed, made to suffer, abandoned and betrayed and scorned. And being killed, by us. Which is harder.

And I found it even harder to engage with, because one of the key religious beliefs I learned in school and church was usually something like “substitutionary atonement” – the idea that Jesus death was in our place, and that somehow, it was required to satisfy God’s sense of justice, to take away God’s anger at how lousy we were. Which to my taste, makes God seem like an aggressive person I’d rather avoid. I kind of saw where it was coming from, but it was nothing like the God I knew.

I knew enough to know this wasn’t the only way of looking at Jesus’ death on the cross and understanding its meaning. I bought an NT Wright book to try to explore that more, but never got through it.

This year, even though I still don’t really understand what to think about it, I feel like I’ve found value in putting this story, the suffering of Jesus, front and center.

And a Henry Nouwen reading from this book referenced this quote from a conversation Jesus had, and the imagery behind it:

Just as Moses lifted up the snake in the wilderness, so the Son of Man must be lifted up, that everyone who believes in Him may have eternal life.
John 3:14-15

I remember the first time my friend Justin pointed out the connection here to me. Before then I thought it was a pretty weird reference, but then, a lot of what Jesus says is pretty weird.

The “snake in the wilderness” story is from Numbers 21 in the Hebrew bible. The story is set years after the people had escaped from Egypt, but before they’d made it to Israel, they’re still wandering the desert living day-to-day from the special food God provided on the ground each morning (“manna”).

(Once again, this story is weird. Once again, it makes God seem angry and vindictive in a way that is just not my experience. But once you hear the story, Jesus’ comment about being lifted up like a snake suddenly becomes more interesting!)

Then the people of Israel set out from Mount Hor, taking the road to the Red Sea to go around the land of Edom. But the people grew impatient with the long journey, and they began to speak against God and Moses. “Why have you brought us out of Egypt to die here in the wilderness?” they complained. “There is nothing to eat here and nothing to drink. And we hate this horrible manna!”

So the Lord sent poisonous snakes among the people, and many were bitten and died. Then the people came to Moses and cried out, “We have sinned by speaking against the Lord and against you. Pray that the Lord will take away the snakes.” So Moses prayed for the people.

Then the LORD told him, “Make a replica of a poisonous snake and attach it to a pole. All who are bitten will live if they simply look at it!” So Moses made a snake out of bronze and attached it to a pole. Then anyone who was bitten by a snake could look at the bronze snake and be healed!
Numbers 21:4-9

So the people in the desert have done something wrong, and are suffering a curse – a plague of poisonous snakes that were biting them and killing them¹ ².

Then when Moses prays, and God wants to stop it, he makes Moses craft a replica of a snake³. A picture of the very curse they are suffering. And when people look at the curse, somehow, they are healed.

And this brings me back to Jesus’ conversation with Nicodemus, right at the start of his public life, several years before he was executed on a cross.

There was a man named Nicodemus, a Jewish religious leader who was a Pharisee. After dark one evening, he came to speak with Jesus. “Rabbi,” he said, “we all know that God has sent you to teach us. Your miraculous signs are evidence that God is with you.”

Jesus replied, “I tell you the truth, unless you are born again, you cannot see the Kingdom of God.”

“What do you mean?” exclaimed Nicodemus. “How can an old man go back into his mother’s womb and be born again?”

Jesus replied, “I assure you, no one can enter the Kingdom of God without being born of water and the Spirit. Humans can reproduce only human life, but the Holy Spirit gives birth to spiritual life. So don’t be surprised when I say, ‘You must be born again.’ The wind blows wherever it wants. Just as you can hear the wind but can’t tell where it comes from or where it is going, so you can’t explain how people are born of the Spirit.”

“How are these things possible?” Nicodemus asked.

Jesus replied, “You are a respected Jewish teacher, and yet you don’t understand these things? I assure you, we tell you what we know and have seen, and yet you won’t believe our testimony. But if you don’t believe me when I tell you about earthly things, how can you possibly believe if I tell you about heavenly things? No one has ever gone to heaven and returned. But the Son of Man has come down from heaven. And as Moses lifted up the bronze snake on a pole in the wilderness, so the Son of Man must be lifted up, so that everyone who believes in him will have eternal life.

“For this is how God loved the world: He gave his one and only Son, so that everyone who believes in him will not perish but have eternal life. God sent his Son into the world not to judge the world, but to save the world through him.

“There is no judgment against anyone who believes in him. But anyone who does not believe in him has already been judged for not believing in God’s one and only Son. And the judgment is based on this fact: God’s light came into the world, but people loved the darkness more than the light, for their actions were evil. All who do evil hate the light and refuse to go near it for fear their sins will be exposed. But those who do what is right come to the light so others can see that they are doing what God wants.”
John 3 (emphasis mine)

So in this rolling, imagery rich conversation Jesus is painting a picture of God wanting to save the world, because he loves the world. And part of how he does that, is by Jesus “being lifted up”, like the “snake in the wilderness”.

In that desert story, the people were suffering a curse, but when they fixed their eyes on the image of the snake, the picture of the curse, they found themselves healed.

And that’s what it’s like when Jesus is lifted, hanging from a cross at the top of a hill called Calvary.

He’s the image of all that we are cursed by.

There is all of his suffering. The death. The betrayal. The abandonment. The ridicule. The rejection from those he came to love. Unfair judgement. The feeling of abandonment from God. The shame. The helplessness.

And also there’s so many awful things in the picture that condemns us: the crowd that cheered for him a few days earlier and then turned on him. The mockery. The “I wash my hands of this” stance of Pilate while still being complicit. The absolute hypocrisy of the priests who have no problem paying blood money for his betrayal, but then have an issue with that money being in their treasury. The friends who couldn’t stay awake when he needed them. Who thought they would die for him, but then cowered in the moment.

Everything about the story is confronting – it makes us face the very worst in humanity. In the conversation Jesus pivots straight from this snake image to “God so loved the world” to talking about light and darkness, good and evil.

“All who do evil hate the light and refuse to go near it for fear their sins will be exposed.“

When we look at the cross, and we look at the curse, somehow all of this comes into perspective. The worst of us is exposed.

And I still don’t know what I think about theological frameworks for “substitutionary atonement” and the like, and I still feel like the old trope of an angry God needing a blood sacrifice just doesn’t fit what I’ve known of God.

Yet somehow, when I look at the cross, when I stare at the curse, I see clearly the worst of the world, and the best of God. And I understand that somehow, what Jesus did that day, is for our healing.

The weight of the world
Too much for the souls of man
But somehow you hold it all
Up on the cross

Calvary’s enough, calvary’s enough.
When I know nothing
When I know too much
What I choose to know right now is:
Calvary’s enough
Brooke Ligertwood “Calvary’s Enough”

I don’t really want to read this literally, the idea that God was angry at their ungratefulness and so killed a bunch of people… I’m leaving that as something to hold loosely for now, and I’ll stick to what my experience of God is like, and come back to for more study later. ↩︎
If you’re looking for lighter content about poisonous and non-poisonous snakes, this data visualisation project from my Di is a favourite: https://didoesdigital.com/project/snakes/ ↩︎
I wondered if the medical symbol was related to this story. Turns out it’s a similar sounding snake-on-a-stick from Greek mythology: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rod_of_Asclepius. Also while on this Wikipedia rabbit-hold, I found out there’s a story from much later in Jewish history about this snake Moses made being used in idol worship and then destroyed by Hezekiah. Clearly Snakes on Sticks was a whole thing in ancient religion https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nehushtan ↩︎

Lately I’ve been confused by the cross, and confused about why I’m confused. As I went through Easter this year I still was moved by the idea that God somehow loved us enough to die – but I couldn’t explain what it all means, and I couldn’t verbalise what it was about the traditional explanation that made me so uneasy.

So I watched a few lectures online, including this one by Tom Wright, and have picked up a copy of his book “The Day The Revolution Began” and started reading it, hoping to learn more.

I haven’t made it past the first chapter yet, but by setting apart time to think about this, I think I finally (subconsciously?) was able to piece together what I want to believe, in a way that draws contrast to my understanding growing up.

My understanding growing up:

God is love, and he loves you, but he’s also “just”, “righteous” or “perfect”, and can’t stomach your disobedience (sin), it’s because he’s perfect, and that perfection just doesn’t mix with sinfulness, and a blood sacrifice was needed to make things right for some reason. Animals weren’t enough. Jesus died so it didn’t have to be you. That was enough for God the Father. Now when he looks at you he doesn’t see sin, he’s just full of love again.

What I don’t like:

If Jesus is the image of the invisible God, then we should get a good idea of what God is like by looking at what Jesus is like. A person with uncontrollable anger problems that needs satiating when people don’t do what they want… is not at all the type of person we see in Jesus.

Most (admittedly not all) of the anger I see the bible describe God as having, is the same kind of thing you see Jesus get angry over: injustice, caused by some humans, that crushes other humans. This pattern seems to be well in place by the time you get to the prophets in the Hebrew Bible. The “lash out” kind of anger is admittedly seems to be more present in earlier books like Joshua, and occasionally in later places like Ananias and Sapphira… but it seems the overall thrust is that God’s anger / anguish is about humans hurting each other, rather than about us offending his righteousness.

What I finally realised I want to believe:

Jesus was killed by humans. It wasn’t God’s anger that put him there, it was ours. We have the human condition, a tendency to lash out, to scapegoat, to viciously attack anything that exposes our frailty, futility or hollowness. Jesus exposed how hollow the power structures of the day were, and showed very clearly how the actions of the religious powers and the actions of the political powers were not the actions of God – these people did not represent God. He exposed the leaders, and like most humans, they lashed out.

But rather than fighting back and perpetuating the sinful violence of humanity, he took it and did not return it, in fact, while they were still killing him, expressed forgiveness and love. To apply MLK’s famous truth: Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.

On a physical level, the power-structures of Rome and of 1st century religious leaders killed him, because he threatened them. On a sociological level, his non-violent response changed the game in a way where his followers continued to subvert the brutal power of Rome despite intense persecution.

What about theologically or spiritually? Is there any meaning to it?

If Jesus really is God-incarnate, God-as-a-regular-human-being, (which I should clarify I want to believe), then him suffering the same wrath of humans as the rest of us shows that that wrath is from humans, not from God. The angry and violent human condition that causes us to crush each other (which I feel sums up most of the concept of sin) is actually from us, not from an angry God.

In other words, what I want to believe: God was never angry that we’re not perfect. That anger was always ours, that violence was always ours. It took God himself suffering under that violence, as Jesus on the cross, for us to understand that the violence wasn’t coming from God. The anger was never his.

So in a bizarre way, the cross is a sign that God is not angry: it shows me that he always loved and was not the one who was angrily lashing out. And it is a sign that God is not leaving us to suffer alone: that God himself would suffer under our angry violence, it shows he knows our suffering and is not keeping his distance. And it is a sign that God is working at a rescue plan: that he overcame hatred with love, darkness with light. This is the butterfly effect – where one small act of love overcoming hatred is cascading and rippling outwards until hatred, violence and even death is overcome by love, and that the God of the universe is putting his full weight and power behind this plan.

And so, when I look at the cross, I do realise that God loves me and is not angry. And I do realise that he loves me enough to enter into that suffering. And I do realise that he has a plan for salvation, the rescue of the world – to transform this suffering through redemptive love.

Just because I want it doesn’t mean it’s true.

So that’s what I want to believe, I can finally articulate it.

But I’m looking forward to reading the rest of Tom Wright’s book, because admittedly: this is just the worldview that sits well with me, given what I’ve experienced and what I’ve learned and the cultural leanings that go with that.

Tom’s book looks like it will go through it in a more rigorous, systematic way: examining early evidence and early texts, examining the changing understanding of the crucifixion event by two millennia of theologians, and generally being a little more grounded than my “this is what I want to believe” write-up.

But, it’s good to be able to write down, as a product of my life and culture and upbringing and current understanding, what it is that I most want to believe about a loving God who had to die.

I’m looking forward to seeing where I land. If you’re wondering any of the same things, asking the same questions, or exploring the same topics – I would love to hear about it in the comments!