The Way of Spartacus, the Way of bar Kokhba, or the Way of Jesus

100 years before Jesus, Spartacus (c. 103–71 BC) who was a slave and gladiator, led a slave revolt against the

Kirk Douglas in the 1960 movie, 'Spartacus'

Roman Republic. After several stunning military successes, Spartacus and his army were defeated. 6,000 of the defeated rebel slaves were crucified. Spartacus' body was never identified, so it is unclear if he was among those crucified (though he was in the classic Kirk Douglas movie). If only he had borne our sins on the cross taking up the cross might mean something different and walking in his footsteps would be the way of holiness.

100 years after Jesus, Simeon bar Kokhba (died, 135) led a Jewish revolt against the Roman Empire. He also won several battles against the Roman legions and won independence for his people – for a few years. He was identified by some as the Messiah. Like Spartacus, bar Kokhba was eventually defeated and died fighting the Romans. If only he had risen from the grave and breathed his spirit upon us so we could be sure that living by his spirit was the way into the heart of God.

If either Spartacus or Simon bar Kokhba had been "the Messiah, the Son of the living God" (see Matthew 16:13-20), we could embrace our every fantasy of "good" violence.

Instead we have Jesus, the Prince of Peace, the Slaughtered Lamb. "When he was abused, he did not return abuse; when he suffered, he did not threaten; but he entrusted himself to the one who judges justly" (1 Peter 2:23), "leaving you an example, so that you should follow in his steps" (1 Peter 2:21).

Over against human wisdom and the pattern of this world (see Romans 12), the pattern of the cross, which is the wisdom of God, will always seem foolish (1Corinthians 1:22-25). And even many Christians will prefer the way of Spartacus or bar Kokhba to the way of Jesus.

If Jesus is Lord, we who follow him will walk in his way will:

Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse them. Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep. Live in harmony with one another; do not be haughty, but associate with the lowly; do not claim to be wiser than you are. Do not repay anyone evil for evil, but take thought for what is noble in the sight of all. If it is possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all. Beloved, never avenge yourselves, but leave room for the wrath of God; for it is written, ‘Vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord.’ No, ‘if your enemies are hungry, feed them; if they are thirsty, give them something to drink; for by doing this you will heap burning coals on their heads.’ Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good. (Romans 12:14-21)

If Jesus is our Lord and Teacher, we will follow his example:

After he had washed their feet, had put on his robe, and had returned to the table, he said to them, ‘Do you know what I have done to you? You call me Teacher and Lord—and you are right, for that is what I am. So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet. For I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you. Very truly, I tell you, servants are not greater than their master, nor are messengers greater than the one who sent them. If you know these things, you are blessed if you do them. (John 13:12-17)

Ethiopian Icon of Jesus Washing the Feet of the Disciples

See also:

Guns, Myths, Redemption & Conversion

Gun Violence. Again . . .

Gun Violence, Sin, and Regulation: A Teaching for the Church

Taking Up The Cross In A Time Of War

Sermon for Lent 2, Year B, 3/16/03 (Three days before the invasion of Iraq)

St. Barnabas Episcopal Church, Glen Ellyn, Illinois

Genesis 22:1-14, Psalm 16:5-11, Romans 8:31-39, Mark 8:31-38

In the year 390, Ambrose, Bishop of Milan, sent a letter to one of his parishioners. Ambrose was convinced that this parishioner had committed a grievous and public sin. In his letter, Ambrose told the parishioner that until he repented publicly he would not be allowed to receive Communion.  Ambrose had excommunicated him. But this was no ordinary church member. It was Theodosius, emperor of the Roman Empire. It seems one of Theodosius’ officials had been murdered in the Greek city of Thessalonica. The exact circumstances are unclear. Perhaps it was a tax revolt.  Perhaps it was a random terrorist attack. In any event, Theodosius had done what emperors always do. He sent in the army to teach the people of Thessalonica, and by extension the rest of the empire, a lesson. Some 7,000 people – men, women, and children – were killed, the vast majority of whom had had nothing to do with the death of the official. Ambrose was not a pacifist, but he knew that the emperor’s actions needed to be condemned even if it meant the very real possibility of being sent to prison or killed.  Emperors don’t usually like to be challenged. Against all odds, Emperor Theodosius repented and publicly sought absolution from his bishop.

I’ve been thinking a lot about Ambrose and Theodosius lately. What would Ambrose say about the looming invasion of Iraq?  Would it make any difference? Christian leaders around the world and the leaders of nearly every Christian denomination in America have stated that this war does not meet the standards of a just war. The Pope has declared the same. But it does not seem to matter.

Some of these leaders can perhaps be written off as the religious lackeys of the left – people who would reflexively oppose any use of force by America. But, not all of them. The current Pope has never been accused of being a liberal lackey. Nor is Miroslav Volf, an evangelical theologian on the faculty of Yale. There are others who cannot be so easily written off.

There are some theologians who have argued that a preemptive war on Iraq is justifiable. One has to wonder though if the religious lackeys of the left don’t have their parallel among some conservatives who have never seen a war waged by their own country that they could not justify. Did Theodosius have any theologians around to reassure him that his use of force was necessary and justified for the good order of the Empire?  “You can’t run an empire after all without a little collateral damage.” One problem I have with the just war theory is that in practice it is too elastic. It can be stretched, and has been, to support every war this nation and others have waged. Too often, the just war theory has become merely the “excuse war theory.”

I have referred in passing to the pending war in sermons a couple times recently but have been hesitant to address it directly. On reason for that hesitancy is that the texts have not seemed to naturally lend themselves to addressing the issue of Iraq. I do not want to do violence to the scriptures just so I can preach against violence. Another reason for my hesitancy is that I, like you have heard too many sermons where the pulpit was used as a platform for the preacher’s political prejudices rather than a proclamation of the gospel.  I am wary of doing the same. I have also been hesitant because I am all too aware that I am no Ambrose. And you are not Theodosius.  None of us here this morning has any control over the decision to attack Iraq.  And, to be perfectly honest, I have been hesitant to address the topic directly because I don’t particularly like controversy. But this morning’s text and the urgency of the situation lead me to wade into the thicket. 

Jesus said: “If any want to be my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.” I want to explore with you this question, what does it mean to take up the cross in a time of war?

There has been lots of public talk about God recently; some of it by the president, some of it by those who oppose him. But talk about God is cheap and all too often self-serving. I am convinced that any talk about God without the cross tends to be either insipid or dangerous. There have been plenty of examples of both lately.

What does it mean to take up the cross in a time of war? I have said before that I am persuaded that the way of the cross means a commitment to peace. It is harder to get around Jesus’ nonviolence and that of his earliest followers than some want to suggest. But, any talk of peace must not avoid the reality of sin and death. Talk of peace that implies that if we are just nice to others they will be nice to us is not the way of the cross. It is simply naïve. Any serious talk of nonviolence must recognize that it is a call to martyrdom. My own, certainly, but more problematically, the martyrdom of others who I might otherwise intervene to help. Being resolutely nonviolent does not mean doing nothing, but to totally avoid having blood on my hands in a world of violence, sin and death means being prepared to stand by while others bleed. That is not an easy way. But, I am not convinced that it is not the way of the cross.

There is no avoiding the hard fact that, whether we commit to nonviolence or to the “judicious” use of violence, we are all stretched out between the catastrophe we have made of the world and the promise of God’s good creation and his kingdom.

But what if nonviolence is not the only faithful posture for Christians? I am catholic enough to recognize that the majority wisdom of the Church has believed that it is not. I take that seriously.  But even then we must ask, what does it mean to take up the cross in a time of war? Another problem with the just war approach as it is usually presented is that it does not ask this question seriously enough. I have serious reservations about a moral system in which the particulars of Jesus’ teaching, life, and cross are essentially irrelevant. Hindus, Moslems, and agnostics could all support the classic just war approach. What does it have to do with Jesus and the cross?

If we decide that sometimes we cannot avoid participating in violence, we still have to make that decision in light of the cross and of Jesus. What does the way of the cross look like then? This way must also be understood as a way of martyrdom, but not first and foremost in the obvious sense that some are going to die in a war. That is true, but we must accept the way of the cross as first of all dying to ourselves and following Jesus. Among other things that means:

1) Taking up the cross in a time of war means getting our loyalties straight. I saw a woman wearing a t-shirt last summer that I found very troubling and very telling. It was a white t-shirt that had JESUSAVES written across the front. I believe he does. But that was not the only message on the shirt. It actually looked more like this: JESUSAVES. All the letters were blue except for those in the middle – USA – which were red. It was a telling icon of the confused syncretism of many Christians in America. Who saves?  Jesus? The USA? Or, are the two so entwined that we can’t tell the difference? We cannot begin to discern whether war in general or this war in particular is justifiable until we can tell the difference between the way of Jesus and the way of the United States. The way of the cross means dying to, and being suspect of, all other loyalties. If talk of just war just means that it is OK for Christians to kill when their government says so, it is not the way of the cross.

2) Taking up the cross in a time of war means the way of humility. It means being prepared to entertain the possibility that we are wrong. It means asking, why does most of the rest of the world disagree with us? Even those governments that support the United States’ invasion of Iraq do so against the will of the overwhelming majority of their people. Most of those closest to Iraq do not agree with us.  Right and wrong are not determined by majority vote. But, it is arrogant to presume that everyone else is automatically wrong because they don’t see it our way.

If it is America’s fate to be the de facto empire of the world, it will make a big difference how we live that out. The way of the cross means we cannot lord it over others. We have not been doing a very good job of it lately. Because the United States has been seen as lording it over others, we have remarkably managed to loose a public relations contest with a thug and tyrant like Saddam Hussein and alienated much of the world. Humility means listening to those who disagree with us, not derisively dismissing them so we can ignore their concerns.

We might not need U.N. approval to go to war. The just war approach allows that any nation has the right, on its own authority, to defend itself when attacked. But, Iraq has not attacked us and it is not clear that it is able to. If, however, we are going to war to enforce U.N. resolutions, it would seem the proper authority resides in the body that passed the resolutions. What does it mean to enforce the will of others against their will? What if Egypt and Syria decide on their own to enforce the U.N.’s resolutions condemning Israeli settlements on the West Bank? I do not think we would find that to our liking. We apparently haven’t run out of patience there.  Humility means we must be careful of the precedents we set just because we can.

3) Taking up the cross in a time of war means we must recognize our own sin. It is a Lenten theme.  It is a Christian theme. Much of the rest of the world looks to America as an example, a beacon of hope, liberty, and prosperity. But it is also suspect of our power and of our motives. We need to deny ourselves the indulgence of self-justification and recognize that this is neither accidental nor simply a matter of colossal misunderstanding. There are reasons many in the world do not trust us.  I am very concerned that as a result of this war and our behavior leading up to it we will be living with the deep resentment of much of the rest of the world for a long time. And we will only be less safe and secure for it.

Recognizing our sin means we need to be suspicious of our own motives. Can it be that every country that opposes war with Iraq has mixed motives, but the United States does not? Do we really believe that we are the only ones who are realistic about the dangers of the world? Do we really believe that we the only ones who have courage? We need to take the reality and pervasiveness of sin more seriously than that.

4) Taking up the cross in a time of war means repentance. We need be prepared to repent of sins we commit as individuals and as a nation. And if sometimes we decide we must resort to violence, we need to repent for that violence. Some have suggested that the classic just war approach does not presume that violence is wrong. I do not know if that is true. If it is the just war theory needs to be rethought in light of Jesus and the cross. Killing some people for the sake of other people is always a devil’s bargain – even if we decide it is the only bargain we can make. St. Basil of Caesarea who was a contemporary of Ambrose said that though the church had decided that sometimes we must resort to war, when we do so we should repent and those who participate should do penance, enduring a time of exclusion from the sacrament. That is the position still of the Eastern Orthodox Church which is not pacifist, but has never accepted the theory that for Christians war can be just or pleasing to God.

Lent is about taking up the cross, denying ourselves, and following Jesus. It includes denying our tendency toward self-justification – as individuals, as a church, and as a nation.  It means dying to other loyalties.  It means humility. It means acknowledging our own sinfulness.  It means repentance. It is a way of martyrdom. If any want to be my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow.

I can’t say whether, if he were here, Ambrose would oppose war with Iraq. What disturbs me more is that for many Christians in America – it wouldn’t matter.

Guns, Myths, Redemption & Conversion

 

Statue of Mars, Hotel National des Invalides, Paris

Those who say America does not have a gun problem, but a sin problem are actually onto something. We do have a sin problem. We have a sinful imagination problem. A sinful myth problem. What those who say we have a sin problem, not a gun problem miss is that guns and our infatuation with guns designed for killing people and the potential violence they represent are a manifestation of the Sin at the heart our imagination/mythology. We are in the thrall of the notion of redemptive violence, i.e., violence is normal,  good, and necessary to “save the day.” Violence is redemptive and salvific. It presumes that some people who resort to violence are simply “good.” Most of our fictional heroes, from Westerns to superheroes, resort to it and we glory in it. We recount it in our history. It pervades our entertainment. It excuses vigilantism. I admit that I, too, am fascinated by aspects of the mythology of the warrior. I have a sin problem.

I am referring to “myth” here not as something that some people believe which is untrue, though that is certainly the case for much that is part of the myth of redemptive violence. What I mean by myth is a narrative or set of narratives, some more or less historical, some fictional, that are are told and retold to make sense of our lives and the world in which we live. More than just stories, myths are symbolic. They give our lives meaning and shape our imaginations and our sense of right and wrong. Through our myth(s) we understand who we are and how the world works. This is partly what C. S. Lewis and J. R. R. Tolkien meant when they referred to Christianity as the “true myth.”

The myth of redemptive violence is not the true myth. It is but a continuation of the old pagan myth of the violent warrior hero who slays the enemy. It is a bloody redemption. But not the blood of the cross. The myth of redemptive violence is at odds with the true myth of redemptive sacrifice and redemptive love we see in Jesus. But it remains compelling. It continues to shape our imaginations – even of Christians. We might go to church. We give thanks that Jesus died so we don't have to go to Hell. But in our heart of hearts we often still worship the quite different god whose name is Ares, Mars, Tyr, etc. Do we really want a savior who looks like Jesus or would we prefer one like Beowulf or John Wayne or Dirty Harry or Batman? Do we imagine ourselves as martyrs in the self-sacrificial, peaceable way of Jesus or as warriors in the way of self-justifying violent pagan mythology? The pagan myth of redemptive violence shapes our imagination and how we engage the world. And it persists.

This is partly due to a bad or at least an incomplete theology of the cross and redemption—Jesus lived and died only to deliver us from Hell, from God's vengeance. That theology is too narrow to account for the fullness of the witness of scripture and tradition. It also leaves the myth of redemptive violence unchallenged. It misses the point that in the death and resurrection of Jesus Death itself is defeated and with it the fear of Death. If Death itself is defeated in the death of Christ, then protecting ourselves from Death, whether our ultimate physical death or all the little deaths along the way, is unnecessary. Even more, it is an unfaithful witness to what Christ has accomplished. It reveals a lack of trust in the resurrection. Because Death is defeated, we are free from fear and free to imitate Christ, free to turn from evil and do good; seek peace and pursue it (Psalm 34:14) with non-defensive, non-retaliative patience, gentleness, generosity, hospitality, forgiveness, etc. That is where Christian conversion takes us. It is a reordering of our myths, our imagination, our values, our behavior. Otherwise, our conversion is incomplete.

We have a sin problem. But another problem with the myth of redemptive violence is that it does not take sin seriously enough. In fact, it mostly denies that the one exercising redemptive violence on our behalf is all that much of a sinner in any radical sense. In our fantasies, that includes ourselves potentially being the violent savior hero. Either way the hero, however flawed, is the good guy and the enemy is clearly the bad guy. Christianity, though, asserts that even if we get our theology right and are as close to Jesus as we can be and rejoice in whatever healing and forgiveness we have experienced, we will still be infected with sin. This is true even if we are as sure as we can be that our cause is just. Our hearts are still prone to selfishness, greed, deceit (not least, self-deceit), and violence. Our hearts. My heart. Your heart. Not just the “bad” guys. Not just those who lack maturity, self-control, or emotional stability. If we believe in sin at all, we believe it is pervasive and universal. There are no simply “good” guys with a gun. Even the best of us is prone to being a bad guy at crunch time. We all need be aware of our own susceptibility to sin and violence. If we really believe in our own sinfulness, we might be more uncertain of our own ability to play the good guy. We all need redemption. We all need conversion. 

And so, the myth of redemptive violence makes it hard to see the need for repentance and conversion. It allows us to presume that our violence is good and our cause is always just, simply because they are ours. It makes it easy to assume that our own security or freedom are all that matters. It excuses—even celebrates—vengeance. It allows us to pretend that we do not belong to one another—including our enemies. It creates a social environment in which violence is acceptable, to be expected even. It allows us to presume our own innocence. It minimizes or ignores the awesome gravity of the taking of any human life—the very image of God. It minimizes or ignores the savagery, suffering, and trauma inherent in all violence and experienced on all sides. It excuses or pardons whatever “excesses” of violence are committed by our hero(s). Or denies them. It suggests that some people's suffering and trauma don't matter as much. Or even that they don't really count as people on the same level as us.

And that is where it really gets hard for us. Because the myth of redemptive violence is often interwoven into the way we like to imagine our nation's history. And we are resistant to acknowledge sin and the need of repentance there. But there is nothing redemptive about the violent taking of the land and decimation of native peoples. Or the violence of slavery and racism. Or the violence against minorities and new immigrants. And given the pervasiveness of sin it would be hard to argue, from Christian perspective, that every war any country – including America – has fought has qualified as a just war. Or that, even in a just war, our soldiers never commit war crimes and need not be held accountable. Fundamental to Christianity is self-reflection, confession, and repentance. Such things are anathema to the pagan myth of redemptive violence.

The mainstream of the Christian tradition has allowed that, given our broken and sinful humanity, under certain prescribed and circumscribed circumstances, a degree of violence as a last resort is necessary and therefore just. But in that tradition, violence is reserved for those trained and authorized to exercise it under the law and with discipline and dispassion (there are reasons the rest of us are called civilians). We are grateful for their service. Even so, that use of violence is a concession to tragic human reality shaped by Sin and not something – for Christians, anyway – to bless, revel in, or glorify.

Still, we are enchanted by the mythology/theology of redemptive violence and vengeance. That myth won't just go away. Myths die hard because they give meaning. Attacking them head on might not be the most effective strategy. We need to advocate for reform of our gun laws and ensure that weapons are in fact “well regulated.” But the problem that needs addressing is much deeper. It goes to the heart of what makes so many think that the idea that sinful unregulated civilians should possess weapons designed to kill humans is a good one. We have a sin problem. Our hearts and imaginations need healing. The myth of redemptive violence needs to be addressed. We need to address our implicit adoration of  pagan gods and their way of violence. And we need to help each other as we wean ourselves from it. It is about conversion.

See also 

Gun Violence. Again . . .

The Way of Spartacus, the Way of bar Kokhba, or the Way of Jesus

Gun Violence. Again . . .

 

Melancholy Sculpture by Albert György in Lake Geneva, Switzerland

On a January morning in 1989, I was with my students in the school library at Franklin High School in Stockton, CA. The librarian came to me looking distressed, her face pale. What school do you daughters attend? she asked in a hushed voice. I told her. She looked relieved. I asked her why? Because there had been a shooting at one of the other elementary schools in town. Eventually we learned that a shooter had killed five schoolchildren and wounded 31 other children and one teacher. The students were mostly of Southeast Asian descent. The killer killed himself as well. My initial relief that it was not my daughters’ school did not alter my outrage and grief in response to this senseless and horrific act. It seemed almost unprecedented at the time. Unimaginable. Sadly, scandalously, it no longer does. I was reminded of that awful day again yesterday with the news of yet another school shooting, this time in Uvalde, Texas. Again. After being reminded of it again, and again, and again in the years since. And again.

I am heartbroken and outraged at yet another mass murder in this country, this time at an elementary school in Uvalde, Texas. So far, we know 19 children and two adults were killed. And this just two weeks after the mass killing of people at a grocery store in Buffalo. And it is not just mass shootings. Gun violence in our major cities and elsewhere is epidemic. All of this is tragic. It points to a disease infecting our society. And our own hearts.

We pray for those who were killed and those who mourn. We know that Jesus, who entered into the heart of our violent world on the cross, is present in the heart of this horror. We also know that Jesus calls us to something different.

At the very beginning of the Gospel story, in Luke 1:79 and 2:14, we hear that Jesus, and the way of Jesus, are about peace. At his death on the cross, he prayed forgiveness for his killers (Luke 23:34). Between these bookends, Jesus, in his words and actions, demonstrates a consistent pattern of peace (while being anything but passive). He declared that his peace is different from this world’s (John 14:27). From the beginning to the end and in-between Jesus demonstrated a consistent pattern of peace and rejection of violence.

For Jesus and his followers, it is not just about the weapons; it is about the heart and the imagination. It is about reorienting our hearts and imaginations away from a fascination with violence and from violent solutions to violence. The way of Jesus is a pattern at odds with the pattern of this world with its violence and vengeance and self/group-preservation along with selfishness, fear, deceit, and greed which are not unrelated. This is the pattern of the world the Apostle Paul warns us not to conform to in Romans 12. He goes on to outline the same pattern as Jesus. Those who would be his disciples must embrace a peace different from this world’s – in their hearts and imaginations, in their words and actions.

The Church has decided that this does not mean absolute pacifism. But it does mean cultivating a bias for nonviolence. It means being more suspicious of the use of violence than is the worldly mindset. It means a determination to be peacemakers. It means it is not consistent with the pattern of Jesus to endorse the easy proliferation of firearms, especially those designed specifically for war. Society has a stake in assuring that weapons, especially weapons of war, are “well regulated”.

As someone who has hunted with a gun, even since becoming a bishop, I am not interested in banning all guns But, I am a member of Bishops Against Gun Violence. With my fellow bishops, I endorse common sense gun safety measures which polls consistently show enjoy the support of gun owners and non-gun owners alike, such as

·       Handgun purchaser licensing

·       Background checks on all gun purchasers

·       Restrictions on gun ownership by domestic abusers

·       Classification of gun trafficking as a federal crime

·       Encouragement for the development of “smart gun” technology

·       Federal funding for research into gun violence prevention strategies

·       Safe storage of firearms

We need to find a different way. Christians are in fact called to a different way, the way of Jesus with its pattern of peace and peacemaking. Let’s be about that way. Let’s advocate for those things that address our disease and make for a healthier, less violent society. We can reduce the number of mass shootings and gun violence generally. If we really want to, we will, with God’s help.