Forgive them, Father - they know not what they do

Being of an income bracket where renting films is not usually possible, I borrow what I can from a local library (though the selection is not the widest.) It seemed a good week for the 1963 "King of Kings." From either the literary or theological standpoint, there are deficiencies in that film that could fill pages - for example, Jesus seems to have little notion of what he is doing, yet his mother knows before he does (witness the ominous 'the chair will never be mended!') Still, despite all this, and my having viewed the film many times, there still is one moment which leaves me deeply moved. When the Roman Lucius, with obvious disgust at Pilate's action, is releasing Barabbas, the line he speaks is, "Go! Look at him who is dying for you!" (I just had a chill typing that!)

I have read much speculation (and some intense scholarship) regarding to whom Jesus was referring when he asked the Father's forgiveness at the cross. I certainly hope that he was referring to every one of us. :) My cynical side, nonetheless, tells me that, more often than not, we are all too aware of what we are doing.

I do not believe that Jesus's crucifixion (unlike the Incarnation, resurrection, and ascension) resulted from the direct will of God. Jesus, in his humanity, accepted the vocation of proclaiming the kingdom. The outcome was man's doing.

During my university years (first time around), many scholars, and quite correctly, were decrying the idea of 'corporate guilt' in relation to the crucifixion, specifically the deplorable past idea that the Jewish nation had been guilty of deicide. In my current university years, I need to be careful to remember that another sort of corporate guilt (where, forgive me Lord for the sarcasm, our own sins do not matter, but we somehow are to be blamed for what happened long before we were born, or for things in which we had not part) is favoured by some theologians. I have seen writings which see the 'corporate guilt' business as a heightened, and therefore to be esteemed, sense of sin and call to amendment.

I am no fan of Andrew Greeley's, yet I well remember one quotation of his which deserves mention. He was speaking of how some religious are so pre-occupied with speaking of oppression in third world nations where they can do nothing that they cannot see the needs of, or wrongs done to, those in the next pew. This is not to minimise the sufferings of those in the third world, of course! Yet, were I to do penance not for my own failings, but take refuge in, perhaps, feeling guilty because I have running water and decent housing, what good does my fretting do for anyone, including myself?

The 1970s (less so than today - but it probably was the dawn of the attitude) was a wonderful time for self-esteem. (Ahem!) All of us were sinless individually. Any admission of weakness or sinfulness was 'putting oneself down,' and, indeed, as a Roman Catholic at the time, I can testify that the rare attempt to make sacramental confession would often lead to the response of 'nothing you are telling me is a sin.' Now, much as I should like to believe that I was sinless for ten years, I should think that rather unlikely.

I do not want to rant about the bizarre 'self-help' culture today - I have little patience with people who cast themselves as victims, and who become fascinated with their own 'journey,' through their playing at being mentally ill! (Note that I am not speaking here of legitimate medical treatment of true mental illness!) Certainly, I can see where introspection can play a part in repentance - if one is inclined towards a particular sin, it can be very important to see what is behind one's repeatedly failing in this fashion. Yet that does not seem to be the favoured approach. If one sees that 'this' is the reason one does 'that,' it hardly means 'I therefore am guiltless.' It was my childhood - my parents - my rejection - my needs... it was the woman... no, it was the serpent...

I'm smiling, remembering my very favourite "scriptural epic," and this one a masterpiece: Franco Zeffirelli's "Jesus of Nazareth." I'll spare my readers a review here, but shall recall that there were a few delicious 'inside jokes' in the action. I'm thinking of when Barabbas and the two other criminals to be executed are awaiting their crucifixions. One of the thieves thinks it is best just to get it over with - and the other shouts (and forgive the error in grammar, which is in the original) "It was him that did the murder, not me!"