I start most days with a cup of coffee and the daily reading from Scripture Union's Encounter with God. The text for yesterday, March 28, was Luke 23:13-25.
Pontius Pilate, governor of the province of Judea, says he doesn't think Jesus has done anything wrong and should be released. The crowd shouts that they want Barabbas released instead. It's a passage I've heard read at least once a year since I was able to read. The crowd wins. Barabbas is released. Jesus is taken to Golgotha.
The notes that accompany the daily reading are written by pastors and teachers around the globe. My husband, Whitney, is a regular writer, and met last week on Zoom with others from that team. Few of them are Americans. Most bring perspectives to the scripture that catch me off guard, or show unfamiliar angles to long-familiar texts. The notes on Luke 23 were written by Kar Yong Lim, an Anglican priest and teacher in Malaysia, far from the turmoil of the American Christian church.
For years now I've been grieving the allegiance many US Christians have given to former President Donald Trump. I wrote of my concern before the 2016 election, and again several month later. Many in my extended family voted for Trump, in 2016 and in 2020. Some are still furious that I did not. I have friends who have left church completely because they refuse to agree with former pro-Trump friends, and others convinced all Christians are white nationalists intent on civil war. I'm not angry, just sad, and mystified that people who have read the same texts as me somehow see in them rationale to support a man like Donald Trump.
In part I stopped blogging in 2021 because it felt like anything I said would make someone angry. There's too much anger in this world. I'd do anything to change that. If this post is making you angry, please stop reading. That's not my goal.
Here's the part of yesterday's note that set me thinking:
It is strange that the religious leaders and the crowd preferred to have Barabbas released instead of Jesus. Barabbas, also known as Jesus Barabbas, was a notorious prisoner who had taken part in insurrections and had committed murder (v. 19).2 He believed that God saved through violence and war, and he was prepared to fight and die for that belief. In this respect, the Roman authorities found him to be dangerous and imprisoned him. However, Jesus believed that God saves through self-sacrificing love and that he himself was the embodiment of that love. Because of this, the Jewish religious authorities found him dangerous and wanted to have him killed. In contrasting these two characters of Barabbas and Jesus, we could reflect on how we respond to the circumstances surrounding us today. In a world of heightened terrorist attacks, rising religious intolerance, and increasing repression of religious freedom, how could followers of Christ become agents of transformation?
I had never quite seen that the people choosing Barabbas believed he was the best route toward the kingdom God promised. No matter that he was violent. The violence was an essential part of the package. Barabbas was the way to push back on Rome, on the invading kingdoms of this world. The intent was good, a political manifestation of a narrow reading of earlier scriptures.
Seeing that, I can see how that choice translates to today. People desperate to DO something have put their trust in the latest Barabbas. No matter that he is the exact opposite of the Christ they claim to follow.
Yesterday's note ended:
Sometimes we hear the clamor, ‘Give us Barabbas,’ denoting a preference for a revolutionary option of political powers, military strength, and economic sanctions. The ethic that Jesus teaches is to love our enemies, pray for our persecutors, turn the other cheek, and to go the extra mile.
Whatever the earthly power we fear, the answer isn't hate, anger, or violence. Jesus told us that in every way he could, then showed it in his life and death. The answer to culture wars, immigration wars, whatever wars my loved ones fear, is not a blustering strongman, but the self-sacrificial love Jesus embodied on the cross.
I meant to share the song below on Palm Sunday. Listening again, I think it makes more sense as a Good Friday mediation. It ends abruptly, in that dark, quiet space between "It is done" and Sunday morning, a good place for reflection, repentance and prayer.
