Who Killed Jesus?

St. Andrew's Episcopal Church has long been a beacon of hope and support in the community, actively engaging in various social justice initiatives. These efforts not only reflect the church's commitment to its faith but also demonstrate a profound dedication to addressing the pressing issues that affect marginalized populations. This blog post will explore the various initiatives undertaken by St. Andrew's Episcopal Church, highlighting their impact and the community's response.

Woah.  I know.  It’s Holy Week as I write, and much as I want to look away, I also want to draw near to this terrible story that reflects the darkness in life, because there is Truth in it and because it helps me make sense of the senseless. 

“The Jews” didn’t kill Jesus.  That’s just dumb and it doesn’t merit any argument.

It’s not “the Jews,” it’s The People, the crowd, Jesus’ own community who demanded his death.  Rather than deflecting the blame (“look over there!  They did it!”), we Christians could benefit from reading the story as an invitation to look in the mirror.  Not convincing ourselves of our own righteousness by blaming someone else, but acknowledging our own capacity to scapegoat people who belong to us.  And not out of a “woke” impulse to blame everything on White American Christians, either.  The story of how Jesus was betrayed, condemned, and killed by a whole community—his own community—is an invitation to all Christians to examine ourselves and how we behave in community.  This becomes real every time we read the Passion narrative in church.  At St Andrew’s, like many churches, members of the congregation read different parts; someone reads Peter, someone reads Jesus, etc.  But the whole congregation reads the parts for “The Crowd.”  I shout, along with everyone in the sanctuary, “Crucify him!” and it feels disconcertingly plausible.  Because I’ve been part of an angry crowd.  Because it’s easier to condemn another than to do honest self-reflection.  Because I get it wrong sometimes.  So, this Holy Week, I am pausing to reflect: are there some within our own community whom we feel compelled to exclude?  Perhaps we tell ourselves that the exclusion of some is necessary to protect the group?  Are there some we would betray?  Are there some we would punish?  How is it that we see these others as different from ourselves?  What do we gain from pushing them out?  Can we acknowledge our impulse to crucify Christ again?  The question becomes not: who killed Christ?  But who is Christ among us disguised as someone we want to kill? 

I would end there, but I need to say that The Church—too many among us—is betraying, scapegoating, and exiling queer people today.  LGBTQIA2S+ folks in Christian communities are being treated as Christ was by his own people--rejected.  This remains shockingly common.  There are a couple of things I want to note about this: first, obviously, The Church has a whole lot of self-reflection, repentance, and reparation to do.  Let’s get to work.  Second, it is the very people—kicked out and treated as undeserving of God’s grace—who so often turn and offer that grace to The Church that betrayed them.  I meet queer people who come to church seeking the God they’ve been told doesn’t want them.  I meet queer people who care for elderly parents, sacrificing their comfort so their parent can remain connected to the same congregation, in some instances, that rejected them.  What kind of church makes a parent choose between their kid and their faith?  Anyway.  I meet queer people who give The Church a patient pass, accepting without much judgment that it’s a religion’s prerogative to preach hate.  You guys.  This is where Christ is—outside the church looking in.  Being pushed away and not returning the insult.  Offering second chances and understanding where it hasn’t been earned.  Let those who have ears hear.