Rowan Williams’ Christ on Trial is an illuminating commentary on the trial of Christ in each gospel. A trial, in general use, is the method we use to investigate truth and trustworthiness. Job, for instance, put God on trial begging the question why he suffered so, but was answered by God that there is no common language shared between Creator and created. Instead God has proven his faithfulness over time and does not need to use words to defend himself when silence is a more appropriate form of speech. The trial of Jesus before Pilate is an equally important event because Christ is once again asked to identify himself in defense of the accusations against him.
Christ’s trial in Mark plays like a rapid film with an intense sense of urgency to it, yet borders on the absurd leaving readers in the dark about what is fully happening or why. On trial in Mark, Jesus is reticent throughout until the very end. He does not attempt to compete on the same level of his accusers who are powerfully in control but let’s the world be and do its own thing. It is not until the world has decided his fate by sentencing him to death that Jesus identifies himself. Stripped of all traces of power, Jesus cannot be mistakenly identified with power. Jesus overturns our expectations by identifying himself as God when he is a prisoner awaiting death. He is neither impressive nor significant. Therefore we are forced to withdraw our projected standards and aspirations upon him. Perhaps this is the place where we might hear God most clearly. Jesus does not guarantee rescue, success, assurance, or results. Even in our faithfulness, we often make choices that make no difference in the world and have no effective outcome. The very things we wish to pair God with in order to make him look like good news to the world, such as security and success, are the very things that Jesus overturns. Jesus simply does not attempt to justify himself on the world’s terms but gives us only silence followed by a concluding “I Am”. Mark does not give us a coherent story so we are left trying to figure out how to respond. But we know that story ends with resurrection, not death, which Mark was well aware of. Even though Jesus does not invite domestication, there is hope in the resurrection.
Matthew identifies Jesus as the one who the prophets spoke of. Matthew is a coherent, orderly, large-picture story that makes connections for us that were always there but had just failed to see ourselves. What is particularly difficult about reading Matthew is that our personal stories do not align with God’s. Jesus, in his trial according to Matthew, holds the High Priest accountable to the history and Wisdom he had inherited from his forefathers and asked to judge for himself if it is God who stands before him on trial. The priest condemns Jesus, thereby choosing the power which excludes wisdom. The trial of Christ in Matthew therefore is not a pronouncement of suffering and destruction on those who are guilty of crucifying Christ, but on the clergy who are the guardians of faith. Often we work against God when we assume that we are working for him which means that we never fully sure whose side it is that we are on. Of course Christians can and should speak about Jesus through the articulation of faith, but this often leads to silence and stillness before him. We can never gain mastery or ownership of God’s Wisdom. It is often the guardians of the history of faith who are most guilty in assuming they have religion right and close themselves off from truth that might come from improbable sources. It is interesting that Matthew would begin his story with a genealogy of Jesus that includes insignificant and strange persons. God’s presence is scattered through all of creation, which God’s people are used to provide coherence to, but we are prone to exclude certain parts of creation in doing so; especially what and whom we consider insignificant. Jesus on trail teaches us that God’s Wisdom is found in a beggar. Matthew 25 further teaches us that Jesus is found quite literally in the “lesser of these”. This requires a proper letting go or dispossession of the language of faith often used as a weapon in order to coerce people into bending to our positions. This is why the crusaders, even though bearing the cross of Christ on their shields, could hardly be true to the cross. Christ’s trial teaches us to listen to the words and intelligence of victims who have been excluded by society rather than secure a place for ourselves within it. Taking solidarity with a victim challenges the very society that did the excluding.
The Gospel of Luke is written for those who are not Jews for the purpose of elucidating the boundary-less inclusivity of the Gospel. The main characters of the story therefore are outsiders such as shepherds and tax collectors. Through the narrative of Luke Jesus is continually coming into contact with these “insignificant” characters of society thereby relocating where the “center” of things is perceived to be located. By associating ourselves with the marginalized of society we join and become the unheard people of society. This of course has no “useful” outcome, but that is exactly the point. We correctly associate ourselves with the marginalized of society not because they are superior or morally pure, this would only flip right side up the upside down politics of Jesus, but because they represent that which we do not have control over or can “effect.” Rather than placing ourselves in liminal places, it is our constant temptation and anxiety to situate ourselves with the “insiders” of society and suspend present reconciliation. To be silent and listen to others on the other hand is to allow God to make the kind of connections we cannot make on our own. Listening to the stories of others is often an unsettling encounter since it is our desire to have others see eye-to-eye with us. By allowing strangers to remain “strange” rather than converting them to the same mind as us is to learn from the stranger, unsettling our sense of control. By creating boundaries of what God deems normal ethics we inevitably exclude others. Conversation beyond proselytizing is the opportunity given to us to listen to others and enlarge our world. This of course begs the question of whether or not we are in a place, literally, where we can listen to the outsider. The startling presence of the powerless reminds us that we do not live in a world that is nicely organized. Jesus is radical for us because he doesn’t compete in a competitive market, but becomes the outsider himself. As Christians, we not only seek solidarity with the excluded of society but also recognize the poverty and helplessness in ourselves that we fear and hide from others. To adhere to Jesus’ advice that we should become like children therefore might mean our need to recognize our own helplessness and lack of control.
John’s Gospel was written in condemnation of the Jews for having the right story but failing to recognize Jesus. Since those present at Jesus’ trial are those of the priestly caste the response Jesus gives when questioned about his identity is, “you should already know by now”. Contrary to the priests of power and security that Jesus was confronting, truth is a matter of receptivity and vulnerability that frees us from defending our own views when we share in Christ’s own persecution and death. Therefore, to fight for and defend Jesus is a contradiction in principle. We can never identify violence with God’s will (Williams adds a helpful qualifier to this statement, ala Augustine, noting that conflict may be inevitable in the world and a lesser of two evils in defending a right cause, but such action can never be identified with the message and life of Christ). There is a sense in which protecting Jesus makes “Jesus” untrue. If we are tempted to defend Jesus it is more likely that we are motivated by frustration and the desire to secure success for ourselves. In fact, we are not even guaranteed that we are in the will of God despite the risk and vulnerability we might put ourselves through in the attempt to represent Christ accurately. We instead find ourselves placed in the uncomfortable present of accepting the tragic nature of fallen creation and, still harder, the present unreformed church. Discipleship therefore begins by being at home with the disavowal of control. Our temptation is to remove ourselves from the present by distracting ourselves with fragments of information believing that by doing so we are making a difference. It is difficult to be with Christ in the present because being with Christ is less about knowing him and more about vulnerably letting him gaze into our lives and tells us who we are which disrupts our sense of self- security and confidence.
The Church shares stories between faith communities that testify to the embodiment of vulnerability and risk for Christ. Specifically, martyr records historically had the ability to draw scattered Christian communities together in solidarity by sharing in similar struggles. On average Christians appear to be good citizens based upon secular standards. This is not because we believe the laws of the world are intrinsically divine but because we adhere to a different order and are subject to a different king. Therefore at other times our actions look quite frantic and mad to the on looking world. The sort of alien allegiance that showed gratitude to Christ’s gift of life by obeying him to death was distorted in the early church when martyrdom and suffering became coinage for spiritual glory. This was further distorted through the exclusion of those who turned away from the faith when faced with persecution. The alternative to glorified suffering was the attitude of revenge that was sparked through persecution. Both approaches end up making God’s kingdom of this world. The temptation of all trials is to make Jesus out to be a competitor and user of power, control and glory after all. Comparing ourselves to martyrs can easily engender the sentiment that Christianity can never look anything like that in the relatively stable environment that we inhabit today unless we travel to a region of persecution or take the path of monasticism. This is the real trial: to stay content where you are and deal with the annoyance of the ordinary. We want the heroic life. We want a clear sense of good and evil and certainty in knowing that we are insiders, but Jesus blurs those lines repeatedly. We live in fear of being perceived as failures and insignificants in life, but Jesus frees us of this fear. This is not to say that Christians ignore the public, in fact the exact opposite. We are called to keep politics accountable to the wellbeing of all people and undergo the unpopular task of speaking truthfully to the world. In the face of tragic situations it is our temptation to take control in order to make God’s plan turn out alright, but the trial of Christ does not console us with power and security. Jesus’ crucifixion and resurrection teach us that we must travel through pain and suffering if we follow in his footsteps. Primarily, the trial of Jesus calls us to encounter our own vulnerability in meeting strangers; the outsiders and victims of society. These are not the kind of encounters we seek out, which is to revert to the dramatic, but instead meet in our quotidian lives.
Christ’s trial in Mark plays like a rapid film with an intense sense of urgency to it, yet borders on the absurd leaving readers in the dark about what is fully happening or why. On trial in Mark, Jesus is reticent throughout until the very end. He does not attempt to compete on the same level of his accusers who are powerfully in control but let’s the world be and do its own thing. It is not until the world has decided his fate by sentencing him to death that Jesus identifies himself. Stripped of all traces of power, Jesus cannot be mistakenly identified with power. Jesus overturns our expectations by identifying himself as God when he is a prisoner awaiting death. He is neither impressive nor significant. Therefore we are forced to withdraw our projected standards and aspirations upon him. Perhaps this is the place where we might hear God most clearly. Jesus does not guarantee rescue, success, assurance, or results. Even in our faithfulness, we often make choices that make no difference in the world and have no effective outcome. The very things we wish to pair God with in order to make him look like good news to the world, such as security and success, are the very things that Jesus overturns. Jesus simply does not attempt to justify himself on the world’s terms but gives us only silence followed by a concluding “I Am”. Mark does not give us a coherent story so we are left trying to figure out how to respond. But we know that story ends with resurrection, not death, which Mark was well aware of. Even though Jesus does not invite domestication, there is hope in the resurrection.
Matthew identifies Jesus as the one who the prophets spoke of. Matthew is a coherent, orderly, large-picture story that makes connections for us that were always there but had just failed to see ourselves. What is particularly difficult about reading Matthew is that our personal stories do not align with God’s. Jesus, in his trial according to Matthew, holds the High Priest accountable to the history and Wisdom he had inherited from his forefathers and asked to judge for himself if it is God who stands before him on trial. The priest condemns Jesus, thereby choosing the power which excludes wisdom. The trial of Christ in Matthew therefore is not a pronouncement of suffering and destruction on those who are guilty of crucifying Christ, but on the clergy who are the guardians of faith. Often we work against God when we assume that we are working for him which means that we never fully sure whose side it is that we are on. Of course Christians can and should speak about Jesus through the articulation of faith, but this often leads to silence and stillness before him. We can never gain mastery or ownership of God’s Wisdom. It is often the guardians of the history of faith who are most guilty in assuming they have religion right and close themselves off from truth that might come from improbable sources. It is interesting that Matthew would begin his story with a genealogy of Jesus that includes insignificant and strange persons. God’s presence is scattered through all of creation, which God’s people are used to provide coherence to, but we are prone to exclude certain parts of creation in doing so; especially what and whom we consider insignificant. Jesus on trail teaches us that God’s Wisdom is found in a beggar. Matthew 25 further teaches us that Jesus is found quite literally in the “lesser of these”. This requires a proper letting go or dispossession of the language of faith often used as a weapon in order to coerce people into bending to our positions. This is why the crusaders, even though bearing the cross of Christ on their shields, could hardly be true to the cross. Christ’s trial teaches us to listen to the words and intelligence of victims who have been excluded by society rather than secure a place for ourselves within it. Taking solidarity with a victim challenges the very society that did the excluding.
The Gospel of Luke is written for those who are not Jews for the purpose of elucidating the boundary-less inclusivity of the Gospel. The main characters of the story therefore are outsiders such as shepherds and tax collectors. Through the narrative of Luke Jesus is continually coming into contact with these “insignificant” characters of society thereby relocating where the “center” of things is perceived to be located. By associating ourselves with the marginalized of society we join and become the unheard people of society. This of course has no “useful” outcome, but that is exactly the point. We correctly associate ourselves with the marginalized of society not because they are superior or morally pure, this would only flip right side up the upside down politics of Jesus, but because they represent that which we do not have control over or can “effect.” Rather than placing ourselves in liminal places, it is our constant temptation and anxiety to situate ourselves with the “insiders” of society and suspend present reconciliation. To be silent and listen to others on the other hand is to allow God to make the kind of connections we cannot make on our own. Listening to the stories of others is often an unsettling encounter since it is our desire to have others see eye-to-eye with us. By allowing strangers to remain “strange” rather than converting them to the same mind as us is to learn from the stranger, unsettling our sense of control. By creating boundaries of what God deems normal ethics we inevitably exclude others. Conversation beyond proselytizing is the opportunity given to us to listen to others and enlarge our world. This of course begs the question of whether or not we are in a place, literally, where we can listen to the outsider. The startling presence of the powerless reminds us that we do not live in a world that is nicely organized. Jesus is radical for us because he doesn’t compete in a competitive market, but becomes the outsider himself. As Christians, we not only seek solidarity with the excluded of society but also recognize the poverty and helplessness in ourselves that we fear and hide from others. To adhere to Jesus’ advice that we should become like children therefore might mean our need to recognize our own helplessness and lack of control.
John’s Gospel was written in condemnation of the Jews for having the right story but failing to recognize Jesus. Since those present at Jesus’ trial are those of the priestly caste the response Jesus gives when questioned about his identity is, “you should already know by now”. Contrary to the priests of power and security that Jesus was confronting, truth is a matter of receptivity and vulnerability that frees us from defending our own views when we share in Christ’s own persecution and death. Therefore, to fight for and defend Jesus is a contradiction in principle. We can never identify violence with God’s will (Williams adds a helpful qualifier to this statement, ala Augustine, noting that conflict may be inevitable in the world and a lesser of two evils in defending a right cause, but such action can never be identified with the message and life of Christ). There is a sense in which protecting Jesus makes “Jesus” untrue. If we are tempted to defend Jesus it is more likely that we are motivated by frustration and the desire to secure success for ourselves. In fact, we are not even guaranteed that we are in the will of God despite the risk and vulnerability we might put ourselves through in the attempt to represent Christ accurately. We instead find ourselves placed in the uncomfortable present of accepting the tragic nature of fallen creation and, still harder, the present unreformed church. Discipleship therefore begins by being at home with the disavowal of control. Our temptation is to remove ourselves from the present by distracting ourselves with fragments of information believing that by doing so we are making a difference. It is difficult to be with Christ in the present because being with Christ is less about knowing him and more about vulnerably letting him gaze into our lives and tells us who we are which disrupts our sense of self- security and confidence.
The Church shares stories between faith communities that testify to the embodiment of vulnerability and risk for Christ. Specifically, martyr records historically had the ability to draw scattered Christian communities together in solidarity by sharing in similar struggles. On average Christians appear to be good citizens based upon secular standards. This is not because we believe the laws of the world are intrinsically divine but because we adhere to a different order and are subject to a different king. Therefore at other times our actions look quite frantic and mad to the on looking world. The sort of alien allegiance that showed gratitude to Christ’s gift of life by obeying him to death was distorted in the early church when martyrdom and suffering became coinage for spiritual glory. This was further distorted through the exclusion of those who turned away from the faith when faced with persecution. The alternative to glorified suffering was the attitude of revenge that was sparked through persecution. Both approaches end up making God’s kingdom of this world. The temptation of all trials is to make Jesus out to be a competitor and user of power, control and glory after all. Comparing ourselves to martyrs can easily engender the sentiment that Christianity can never look anything like that in the relatively stable environment that we inhabit today unless we travel to a region of persecution or take the path of monasticism. This is the real trial: to stay content where you are and deal with the annoyance of the ordinary. We want the heroic life. We want a clear sense of good and evil and certainty in knowing that we are insiders, but Jesus blurs those lines repeatedly. We live in fear of being perceived as failures and insignificants in life, but Jesus frees us of this fear. This is not to say that Christians ignore the public, in fact the exact opposite. We are called to keep politics accountable to the wellbeing of all people and undergo the unpopular task of speaking truthfully to the world. In the face of tragic situations it is our temptation to take control in order to make God’s plan turn out alright, but the trial of Christ does not console us with power and security. Jesus’ crucifixion and resurrection teach us that we must travel through pain and suffering if we follow in his footsteps. Primarily, the trial of Jesus calls us to encounter our own vulnerability in meeting strangers; the outsiders and victims of society. These are not the kind of encounters we seek out, which is to revert to the dramatic, but instead meet in our quotidian lives.
2 comments:
I liked it, Mattie. But it feels like the use of the word, "power," in your summary is used only to connote coercive power through position. I find it strange that we say that Jesus did not seek power or recognition or fame because while in one sense that may be true - he did not seek to make himself the ruler of Israel (read, "violent revolutionary") - in another sense he was very powerful and recognized and he was trying to form a society under his lordship. If there was no power or recognition accompanying Jesus, there would be no church today. He believed himself to have authority. He believed that he should be followed. And he was powerful in the sense that many did follow him and were willing to die for him. Do you have any clarifying thoughts from Williams on the matter? What do you think? (I wrote this fast, so I hope it makes sense... If not, let me know :o)
Sure. I think that's a good way of putting it. I guess Rowan Williams would be defining power as "bending others to our will using force"
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