Beyond Scapegoat Theology
Mt 26:14-27:66
Who can we blame for Jesus’ death?
Can we blame Judas, who betrayed the Son of Man with a kiss?
Can we blame Peter, who insisted to Jesus’ face that he would die before denying him, and behind his back swore “I do not know the man?” Or should we instead blame the bigoted bystanders, who assumed Peter was a criminal because he had a suspicious foreign accent that sounded like the accent of the accused?
Can we blame the disciples, who fell asleep when they were supposed to be keeping watch, who were supposed to alert Jesus if, for example, “a large crowd with swords and clubs” should approach?
Can we blame Caiaphas and the other chief priests, who spat in his face?
Can we blame the crowds, who gathered because they needed someone to hate, who were so charged by the electricity of their collective delicious rage that they demanded the blood of an innocent person, a nonviolent protestor? The crowds who desired that his blood cover them and their children?
Can we blame Pilate, who ignored his wife’s prophetic advice and his own better judgment, and thought that by washing his hands he could absolve himself of guilt for abdicating his duty to serve the public good?
Can we blame the soldiers, who decided it wasn’t enough that Jesus die an excruciating death, but that they should add insult to injury by mocking him?
Can we blame the other revolutionaries who, as they hung on their own crosses next to Jesus, chose to expend their last precious breaths on earth insulting the Son of God?
Can we blame the Jews, as Christians have done for centuries, as did John the Evangelist, as did Spanish Inquisitors, as did German Nazis?
Can we blame the oppressive Roman Empire, for whom Jesus’ challenges to imperial sovereignty represented a seditious threat, and who needed to make an example of him?
Can we blame Jesus, either for being too foolish to realize that speaking truth to power always means putting your body in danger of destruction; or can we blame him for knowing this but journeying into the lion’s den anyway, so thoroughly seduced by the messianic narrative that he had created around himself that he was unable to think clearly; or can we blame him, as did the bystanders while they watched him die, for not using his super powers to save himself?
Or are we to blame God, who created this whole mess to begin with, who set Adam and Eve up by planting a seductive snake in their garden, who is our supposedly all-knowing and all-powerful Creator, and who therefore logically must be responsible for planting the seed of hatred into the heart of every murderer and rapist from Cain to Nero to Genghis Khan to Pope Urban II to Napoleon to Andrew Jackson to Eichmann to Rios Montt to David Duke?
Are we to blame God, who tested Abraham’s faith by commanding him to bind up his son and stab him to death, and who finished the job with Jesus, this God who, according to John the Evangelist “so loved the world that he gave his only Son?”
I’m tired of scapegoat theology and scapegoat living. Everyone in this story has blood on their hands. Since I began speaking, twenty-four children have died of malnutrition. And it’s awfully tempting to want to point the finger at somebody; it would sure help me sleep better at night if I could do that. But as we see in the gospel story today, there is so much blame to go around. Just about everybody in the story acts and reacts out of rage, jealousy, cowardice, bitterness, meanness, emptiness, or downright evil. Where in the world does that come from? It’s useless to just point fingers. Instead, I want to look inside myself, and listen to see if I can pinpoint the source of our obsession with casting blame.
Do any of you ever feel inadequate? I do. Sometimes, I feel that I am just not quite good enough; I wish my homilies were just a little more eloquent, that I could play the keys a little better, that I was the husband and father my family deserves, that I was a better cook, that I earned just a little more money and prestige at work, that my body was more vigorous and attractive. On the inside, I am often worried people don’t like me, I second-guess myself, I suspect that I am just not worth very much. And I see a world overflowing with misery and I feel unable to do anything about it; or at least, I am constantly reminding myself that what I am doing is not nearly enough.
And so, what do I do? How do I keep all of that doubt and self-loathing and insecurity from eating me up inside? Easy: I find a scapegoat. I find someone to blame. You know, it’s so hypocritical: I scapegoat people for scapegoating others. I blame Donald Trump; I blame those ignorant, hateful, despicable bigots who attend his rallies; I blame people who watch and actually believe the garbage that passes for journalism on Fox News; I blame other white straight cis men who are blind to their active participation in structural oppression. I take it a step further: I look on Facebook and I see “liberals” posting about how racist Donald Trump is, and I blame them for using a cheap Facebook post to make themselves feel superior to the lowest class of human beings and to let themselves off the hook from doing actual justice work because, at least they aren’t as bad as the overt racists. In blaming them I am feeding the hatred that haunts our world. A lot of good all that judging does. Since I last checked, 16 more children have died from malnutrition.
I am constantly looking for someone to crucify, to hang up there on that cross, I need somebody to hang up there on that cross for me, because I am too afraid to face my own brokenness. Well, not today. Today I want to let that death wish go.
Today, when I hear this story read, I just feel sad. I feel sad because Jesus was a good person, and he didn’t have to die. His death makes no sense and requires no theological justification or rationalization. It was terrible and unnecessary and I am not going to crucify him all over again by thirsting for more blood. This is Palm Sunday, and it is a time to mourn. We cannot heal until we realize that this broken world is a mirror of our broken selves. Jesus stays in that tomb, and we and our world stay broken, as long as we do not dare believe that we are fearfully and wonderfully made (Ps. 139:14) and worthy of love.