I was speaking at a Christian college, where in the course of my talk I asked, "Why was Jesus killed?" A long pause followed, indicating that the question was one that had not been thought about much before. Finally an answer came, "To save us from our sins."
True enough as to the result of Jesus' death, but I was asking about the cause. Why was Jesus killed?
It is, of course, quite doubtful that the chief priests who collaborated with Pontius Pilate to accomplish the execution were conscious of their part in salvation history. What they were conscious of was that Jesus was a threat to their power and authority.
Jesus frequently had confrontations with these rulers of the people, treating them with disdain and scorn (Luke 13:31-33, and 20:9-19). He spared no words in his criticism of the rich and powerful (Luke 6:24-25, 16:14,15,19-31, 18:24-25, 20:46-47), and on one occasion he specifically condemned the kings of the Gentiles, who sought power and dominated their subjects while calling themselves "benefactors."
He contrasted his own approach to power with that of the secular rulers and called upon his disciples to imitate, not them, but his own servant style of leadership (Luke 22:24-27, Mark 10:35-45). Jesus, in fact, told his disciples to expect persecution from political authorities on his account, and he instructed them in how to bear witness when they are "brought before kings and governors for my name's sake" (Luke 21:12-25).
Jesus' cleansing of the temple was a flagrant act of civil disobedience aimed at the religious, economic, and political power center of the established order. The temple symbolized the power of the ruling authorities. Jesus acted directly against their authority by accusing them of corrupting the worship of the temple and by challenging their economic base: "My house shall be a house of prayer; but you have made it a den of robbers" (Luke 20:45-46).
Jesus' anger is clear in the scene's description. He took direct public action, and his behavior was bold and startling to all those around. Jesus' action was deeply political and a fundamental challenge to the economy of the temple. The temple authorities recognized a frontal assault on the religious and political establishment and demanded that Jesus explain what his authority was for doing such a thing. Jesus, using the image of the temple itself, pointed to his own resurrection as his authority. That temple action sparked a chain of events which led to his crucifixion.
At his trials before the Sanhedrin, Herod, and Pilate, Jesus showed little respect and no deference toward the instituted authority. Rather, he risked antagonizing them in his answers to their questions and with his lack of cooperation.
But Jesus not only confronted the reigning authorities directly, he initiated a whole new way of living which undermined the entire system upon which their rule was based. This new order, which relied on the power of suffering and servanthood rather than violence and domination, represented a profound threat to leaders of the establishment. It was such a threat, in fact, that they killed him.
Jesus' clash with the ruling religious and political authorities of his day surely has a message for us this Easter season. Yet the idea that the gospel lives in conflict with the ruling axioms and authorities of the American nation still sends tremors through a church that has fought so hard to achieve majority status. We still want to make the gospel compatible with our cultural desires and loyalties. But we can't.
Most of us have yet to fully realize the enormous distance between the culture to which we are so tied and the gospel we espouse. We have greatly underestimated the disruption and struggle that genuine conversion will occasion in our lives.
A recent gathering of 60 people from Christian communities across the country graphically illustrated the point. Over the past five years a close relationship between a broadly ecumenical circle of communities has developed; this was our winter meeting.
Here were people who were more than "just interested" in the gospel. Those assembled had already made some serious choices. They had given up lucrative jobs and promising careers, relinquished rights to houses and property, and were living on the edge of economic insecurity. They had moved in to share life closely with other people, opened their families to the needs of others, relocated to live among the poor, become involved in the struggles of those around them, and begun a labor for justice and peace which was leading to inevitable confrontation with political authorities. They had set their feet on a new path, and it was costing them a lot. Many changes had taken place in their lives. All those present had begun to establish new patterns of living more faithful to the gospel in their personal, family, economic, vocational, and political lives. For most of the 11 communities represented, it had been a year of struggle and real pain.
They had seriously set about to live the gospel and had run into a common experience--the taste of suffering. And they knew it had just begun. These community leaders had radically altered the more normal course their lives might otherwise have taken. The result was often insecurity and loneliness.
From the first day of the meeting, the sharing of suffering and pain became the common and unifying experience. The choices we had made caused us all to feel vulnerable and exposed--to our weakness and sin, to each other, and to the hostility of a culture completely set against the course of life we have chosen in the gospel.
During the days together, we were given the grace to share our broken places with one another. Never have I experienced a clearer demonstration of strength coming out of weakness, faith coming out of struggle, joy coming out of suffering. There was little need for long explanations of why things had been so hard. Everyone knew.
We were hungry for teaching, for fellowship, and especially for worship. We held a service of intercession for one another one evening that lasted long into the night. We wanted to be together; we needed to be together.
Out of that time came a deep renewal of faith. Our prayers erupted into joyous dancing and singing at 1:30 in the morning. The taste of suffering had made us hungry, and we were deeply fed. The clear word that came during the last Eucharist was "stay hungry."
The experience brought to mind both the history of the early Christians, who spent many hours together in prayer and intimate worship, and the stories of Third World Christians today who gather all night in their churches and homes when crisis is threatening.
Returning home after the conference brought new reports of the U.S. government stepping up its intervention in El Salvador on the side of a murderous military government. Friends in a Norristown, Pennsylvania courtroom were convicted of serious legal charges for doing what they believed they had to do in opposition to the growing prospect of nuclear war.
Yet from the poor Christians of El Salvador and the Plowshares Eight in Pennsylvania, reports of hope and faith continue to come in.
The message is the same in each case. Suffering is the natural consequence of living the gospel; joy and strength are the fruits of suffering for the sake of Christ. Perhaps the most grievous thing about the American churches today is the absence of suffering and struggle. It is in fact our fear of suffering that has extinguished the possibility of real joy.
It is a great mystery, this relationship between suffering and joy, weakness and strength. But to those who have known it, it has been the deepest of all human experiences.
Such is the rhythm of Lent, Holy Week, and Easter. We are invited to follow after Jesus as he heads toward Jerusalem, to enter into his sufferings and to feel the power of his resurrection. It has never made sense. But the truth of it has been confirmed in the experience of Christians since the beginning who have been willing to take the risk. A faith refined by fire is the testimony of all Christians who now suffer for the sake of the gospel.
Entering the sufferings of Christ in our own situation offers the American church its only real future. The time is rapidly approaching when we will no longer be able to avoid this reality. To avoid the path of suffering is to remain ignorant of Jesus; to embrace it is to learn intimacy with Christ.
Our security has taken away our appetite for the gospel. May we seek the grace to enter into insecurity and become hungry again.
Jim Wallis was editor-in-chief of Sojourners when this article appeared.
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