4 March 2012
Mark 8:31-38
“Then he began to teach them that the Son of Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed, and after three days rise again.”
I have been reading The Cross and the Lynching Tree by James Cone, the distinguished professor of theology at Union Seminary in New York. James Cone, you could say, is the father of Black liberation theology, a great man, and a great voice of the church and to the church. I found the book on a table at Barnes & Noble, and I was intrigued because, frankly, I have a problem with the cross. Honestly. After all these years of study and prayer and life in the church, I find the common theology of the cross incredible, as in unbelievable, and the substitutionary theory of atonement inexcusable.
Now, let me go back to what I learned about the substitutionary theory of atonement in college, in the simplest language possible. The first point of the theory is that God is great—God is so great, so perfect, so righteous. The second point is that people are sinful—people are so sinful, so foul, so irredeemable. Therefore, the third point, people cannot be at one with God, people cannot be in the presence of God unless some sort of sacrifice is made for their sins, to cancel out their sins in the balance of things. But, the problem is because people are so foul they are incapable of providing a sacrifice equal to the task. So God, according to this theory, being great and also good, created a son, his one and only son, completely perfect, without a flaw, so that this flawless son of God could be killed as a blood sacrifice for people’s sins.
How messed up is that? A story of divine child abuse, and human sacrifice, to wipe away the sins of the people. The substitutionary sacrifice theory of atonement is more pagan than Christian. It follows from a theory of god who has more in common with the Titans or the Norse god Odin than with the God Jesus knew.
I agree with John Dominic Crossan, that Jesus was killed because of sin; but that doesn’t mean he was killed for our sin. Jesus was killed because in this imperfect world, when someone comes along and speaks the truth to power, they will be killed. That’s what power does when it is threatened. Christ’s death was not a ritual sacrifice to appease and angry god. It was murder by a mob, with the complicity of the state.
I think the substitutionary theory of atonement is bad theology which has been used badly to venerate violence. We keep spilling blood over and over again in war, in execution. We even use the term sacrifice to describe those who are killed in the course of war. Why do we keep spilling blood as if that will save us? As if the smell of blood were somehow pleasing to an angry god. Our God, the God we know through the scriptures, takes no delight in sacrifice. “But God has shown you, O people, what is good, and what does God require of you but to do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with your God.” (Micah 6:8)
What we are doing here today is deconstructing the old, common, theology of the cross—the substitutionary atonement theory—and we are going to see if we can build a new one. If we are going to have a theology of the cross it has to make sense, it has to follow from our understanding of the God whom Jesus knew.
I believe that we are created in God’s image, as the scripture says; I believe that God is merciful and God forgives, as the scripture says, both the Hebrew and the Greek, the Old and the New Testaments. I believe that Jesus’ life is more significant than his death, and his resurrection is a declaration that death, no matter how violent or how shameful, does not win over life.
So, in preparation for the season of Lent, I was mulling over the problem of the cross and the substitutionary theory of atonement which underlies and has inspired much of our traditional liturgy and our hymns, especially the hymns for Lent. And on one of those days before Lent, I walked into a Barnes and Noble for a coffee and I saw this book, The Cross and the Lynching Tree, and I knew, I knew I needed this. I need this book, I thought to myself, because if James Cone can find something redemptive in the cross from the Black American liberation perspective, then there must be something to it.
And there is, But it isn’t easy to read about, and it is even more difficult to talk about, and this isn’t going to be easy to hear. In this book, James Cone makes a personal testimony which invites us to walk around in his shoes. He shares some of his own story of growing up in Arkansas in the 50’s and 60’s; he invites us to imagine what it was like to live every day in fear, knowing that you, your brother, your father, your uncle, your best friend could be killed by a white mob and nobody would be able to do anything about it.
Lynching was no secret. It was a public spectacle. The dates, times and places where a lynching was to take place were sometimes even published in the newspaper. It mattered not greatly who was to be lynched, if the supposed transgressor could not be found, any black man would do. (Talk about your substitutionary sacrifice.)
Lynching is distinguished from hanging, you understand: Execution by hanging was a sentence carried out under the law after a trial by a jury of peers. Lynching was mob violence. And, blacks weren’t the only victims of lynching in America. We have our own horrible history of a lynching that took place in Brainerd in the summer of 1872, by The Last Turn Saloon. Two Ojibwe brothers were hung together from the tall pine tree that stood across the street from the Last Turn.
The brothers had been arrested and jailed in the disappearance of a white girl in Crow Wing, but before evidence could be presented in the case, a mob of white citizens took them from the jail, marched them to the tree, and hung them there one at a time, until they were nearly dead. Then someone grew impatient and a shot rang out. When the bodies were removed from the tree the next day, they were riddled with fifty bullets. Inquiries were made, as inquiries are, but no one could be found who was present at the lynching, except, as the newspaper put it, one person who offered up a prayer for “the poor devils” before they were hung.
The cross has power for victims of violence because crucifixion was the Roman way of lynching. It was the most shameful, most degrading, most torturous death imaginable; a form of killing reserved for the most despised and rejected people. And despised and rejected people get it. They get it that God takes no delight n the blood of the innocent, but that God is with the man who hangs on the tree. Despised and rejected people get it, that the man who hangs on the tree emulates Jesus. And they get the tragic irony that the crowds, who think they are doing “God’s work” by lynching the black man, have more in common with the Romans and the religious and civil authorities who thought they were in the right when they crucified Jesus. But, in fact, those Christians who did nothing to prevent the deaths of innocent men and women were crucifying Christ all over again.
So, here is where we begin to create a new theology of the cross. We should bear the shame of the cross, not because we crucified Jesus all those years ago in Jerusalem, but because we continue to crucify Jesus, or we stand complicit while others crucify him.
We should see Jesus on the lynching tree by The Last Turn, and Jesus in the face of Matthew Shepherd, left for dead on a fence post outside of Laramie. And we should see Jesus in prison in Guantanamo, and Jesus wherever and whenever people are despised and rejected by scribes and elders and statesmen. If we can begin to see Jesus crucified wherever and whenever people suffer violence unjustly, than we can, perhaps, redeem the theology of the cross.
The cross is worthy of reverence when it shows us where we should stand while we live. What are we willing to live for? What are we willing to live and perhaps even die for? What are we willing to live until we die for?
Let us consider what the Spirit is saying to the church, through the image of the cross and the lynching tree.
About the lynching: The story is told on brainerdhistory.com., a reprint of an article from the St. Paul Pioneer Press. The original publication explains that the author, H.L. Bridgman, was commissioned by President Grant to inspect the first section of the Northern Pacific Railroad in 1872.
Mr. Bridgman supposed that “The Last Turn Saloon” was named for the lynching tree. Local sources suggest that the establishment’s name predates the lynching, that the saloon was the last on a long block full of drinking establishments (not much has changed) and it was therefore, the last turn before you left town.
