‘I Want to Believe’

IN 1633, the Bavarian village of Oberammergau experienced a miracle. The villagers had promised God they would stage a reenactment of the passion of Christ if they were spared from the plague. They were spared. Nearly 400 years later, people continue to come from around the world to see these performances. But there’s a problem. Oberammergau’s passion play is one of the most antisemitic artworks in European history. Adolph Hitler viewed the play in 1930 and 1934 and recognized its propaganda value for his own plan of Jewish genocide.

Christians today may still perpetuate anti-Jewish racism throughout our passion narratives — particularly when the gospel of John forms the core of the lectionary. Unlike the others, John’s gospel frequently labels anyone opposing Christ as “the Jews.” Most of us realize that the writer is naming a subset of religious leaders. But when we repeat the phrase throughout Easter, we can subconsciously reproduce and amplify antisemitism found in the Christian theological imagination.

Recently, rather than ignoring the passion play’s antisemitism, the director worked with the American Jewish Committee to rid the play of anti-Jewish tropes. The 2022 Oberammergau passion play told a more complete Easter story. “The Jews” now include Jesus and his followers too. Jesus lifts a copy of the Torah to pray the Sh’ma Yisrael. Hebrew prayers were recited over the Last Supper. Mary is greeted as the “rabbi’s mother.” Significantly, the updated version calls Christians to repent for how we’ve failed our foundational sibling relationship.

April 2
A Mysterious Dream

Isaiah 50:4-9; Psalm 118:1-2,19-29; Philippians 2:5-11; Matthew 27:11-54

A DETAIL IN Matthew’s account of Jesus’ trial (Matthew 27:11-54) is not present in the other gospels. Just as Pilate is about to proffer judgment, his wife sends him a message: “Have nothing to do with that innocent man, for today I have suffered a great deal because of a dream about him” (verse 19).

Eastern Christian traditions revere Pilate’s wife for her wisdom in this moment. Western traditions often interpret the dream as the devil trying to halt the crucifixion and, therefore, Christ’s saving work. We can’t know what Pilate’s wife dreamed, but our guesses will have everything to do with what we think the crucifixion has accomplished.

Some theologians believe that St. Anselm interpreted the crucifixion correctly: that it paid the price for sin dishonoring God. Others trust Calvin, arguing that it is not God’s honor that requires appeasement, but God’s wrath. Still other theologians reject any substitutionary theory of atonement as too barbaric a model for understanding a loving God.

But whatever any of us think happened on the cross, none of us know — because the cross is a site of sacred mystery. All atonement theories both hit and miss the mark. We might need them all, even when they conflict, to hold open the sacred space of unknowing — which is the space where God’s grace finds us. What if this week we sat in the dream space of Pilate’s wife: not to know the glory of the cross but, rather, to dwell in it?

April 9
The Tomb Is Empty

Jeremiah 31:1-6; Psalm 118:1-2, 14-24; Colossians 3:1-4; John 20:1-18

I WAS OBSESSED with the empty tomb as a child (John 20:1-18). My friend Natasha and I even performed a play about it on the grand stage of my bedroom to the even grander audience of our mums. We draped two beach towels over chairs to replicate the images from our religious education class handouts. We took turns performing all the crucial roles: sleeping guards, angels, the women, and Peter. At one point, I even played the tomb. But neither of us ever played Jesus.

We contemplated putting him in the story, of course. It is his story after all. But like this week’s gospel reading, our story was more about Christ’s absence than his presence. It was about that terror-yet-also-wonder-filled moment of not knowing what has happened while also knowing something miraculous has.

Christians — me included — can grow too accustomed to Easter’s images, making it difficult to approach the resurrection with the wonder of its first witnesses. When I recall our childhood play, though, I can feel the anticipation of peeking inside the tomb for a miracle. I feel my desire to leave the tomb assembled while I slept so I could see it again upon waking. I remember how much we wanted our mums to hear us proclaim: The tomb is empty! Christ is risen! Hallelujah!

April 16
Mulder and Thomas

Acts 2:14, 22-32; Psalm 16; 1 Peter 1:3-9; John 20:19-31

AGENT FOX MULDER, investigator of the paranormal in the 1990s television show The X-Files, had a poster in his office of a UFO and the words, “I Want to Believe.” From the show’s pilot to the series finale, this poster gave insight into Mulder’s character. Against nearly insurmountable evidence, he wanted to believe. When forensic investigator Dana Scully — a voice of reasoned skepticism — arrives as Mulder’s partner, the show’s potent mix of faith, doubt, and denial is established.

This week’s gospel about “doubting Thomas” has a similar explosive mix. Yet Thomas’ doubt doesn’t tend toward Scully’s denial; rather, like Mulder’s, it springs from faith. Thomas is someone who wants to believe (this is really Jesus!) against the insurmountable evidence that he shouldn’t (dead people don’t come back to life!).

Thomas has always gotten a bad rap, but for me he is a hero of the faith. It’s not easy to be the lone voice expressing doubt among a confident crowd. In the end, I don’t think Thomas’ desire to see and touch the scars of his friend (verse 25) was a desire for “proof” — I think, instead, he was looking for connection.

April 23
Who’s Knocking?

Acts 2:14, 36-41; Psalm 116:1-19; 1 Peter 1:17-23; Luke 24:13-35

LIKE THOMAS, Jesus’ friends in this week’s gospel from Luke also need help to recognize him. Simply knowing intellectually that Christ is risen is not enough. What’s needed is an experience of encounter with him. Again, what’s required is connection.

These friends on the road to Emmaus show us how we recognize Christ through hospitality — not just hospitality to others (though, that’s important too) but through hospitality to Christ himself. In their confusion and grief, these two friends were present to a stranger for long enough to listen intently and let him tell them their own biblical stories. Then they invite him to break bread with them.

My days are so busy that I am not sure I’d have the time — let alone the open-heartedness — to accidentally invite the risen Christ into my home. If he expounded on the Word of God for more than two minutes, I’d start making obvious hinting glances at my watch. And yet, the one who wants us to knock at his door (Matthew 7:7) wants just as much for us to let him knock at ours. The question for me is, how will I answer?

April 30
Searching for Paradise

Acts 2:42-47; Psalm 23; 1 Peter 2:19-25; John 10:1-10

IN MARCH 2020, I picked up Rebecca Solnit’s book A Paradise Built in Hell to seek hope for what I thought would be the weeks — at worst, months — of pandemic ahead. Solnit tells stories about people responding to different mass crises by forming communities of solidarity and support. Like most of us that spring, though, I was isolating in place. This COVID-19 crisis felt different than those Solnit described. I never finished the book.

April came. Holy Week arrived. I felt the anticipatory fear of Palm Sunday, the looming betrayal of Maundy Thursday, the despair of Good Friday, and the empty terror of Holy Saturday. But my faith was not strong enough to believe in the hope of Easter Sunday.

Three years later, this April’s lectionary readings end with Jesus’ followers coming out of crisis to form a community of solidarity and support (Acts 2:42-47). They break bread, eat together “with glad and generous hearts” (verse 46) and praise God with goodwill. They build a paradise out of Christ’s descent into and return out of hell (as the Apostles’ Creed proclaims).

I thought of the Acts 2 community when I tried to read and then stopped reading Solnit’s book. In 2020, I couldn’t believe in either Solnit’s or scripture’s paradises. But how might I believe them now? It feels as if this COVID crisis will never end — yet I want to take to the streets to form community. The world feels increasingly divided — yet I want to find something to hold “in common” (verse 44). When all is said and done, this year I realize: I want to believe.