Wired Mesh

The Passion and the Jews

Growing up in a charismatic church, I came of age with Sunday night dramatic productions, the same way that Presbyterian children are weaned on catechisms and church splits. But I can only remember attending one Passion play, when I was about 13 years old. It was held in a dusty, three-stoplight Florida town called Wauchula, at sunset in the local rodeo arena. There were a lot of rednecks in the metal stands, the sort of people who tended to boo Judas with cheery vigor. As I watched an actor be tortured and crucified by an angry mob, while the stagehands created convincing lightning flashes, I felt the usual pentecostal emotions of guilt and gratitude. But I strongly remember allowing myself a brief fantasy as well. I imagined myself as a strong, silent disciple, one never named in gospel accounts, who fought against the bloodthirsty mob on behalf of the Savior. I saw myself attacking the Roman soldiers and Jewish rioters, kicking and punching dozens of them out of commission before finally being subdued by centurions. And, being 13 years old, I added for myself a brief scene of being chastely consoled by Mary Magdalene, who was (in my version of events) quite the looker. Then, being charismatic, I felt very guilty again and rededicated my life to Jesus.

I haven't seen a Passion play since then. But I will soon, as will a great many people who've never attended one before. Only this production is on celluloid. I've been avoiding posting anything on Mel Gibson's new film The Passion, because I suspect what I'm about to write will get me in more trouble than anything I've posted here before.

Movies portraying the life and death of Jesus almost always attract controversy (Last Temptation, anyone?), and this one will be no exception. In this case, the debate is whether the film is anti-Semetic, whether it portrays the Jewish people as bloodthirsty Christ-killers. Debate on the matter is already predictably rancorous. In this corner, you have conservative Christians nominating Gibson for immediate sainthood, and who say that "To take issue with this movie is, essentially, to take issue with the Gospels, to take issue with the Christian faith." The film is simply telling the story of the atonement, say the Gibsonites, and Jews who are concerned about how they are portrayed are really just offended by the Gospel. (And though no one's said it yet, there's an undertone obvious in this argument: I mean, after all, they did kill Jesus. They may as well deal with it.)

On the other side, you have a spate of critics in the ADL, scholarly circles and news magazines who fear that the film will perpetuate "the familiar puerile, stereotypical view of the evil Jew calling for Jesus' blood and the clueless Pilate begging him to reconsider." But these same critics counter the "it's in the Gospels" argument by flatly denying the historicity of Scriptural narratives: "Of the five discrepant biblical accounts of Jesus' trial, composed decades after his execution by men absent from his trial, none are very helpful, nor are the disciples very trustworthy sources."

Now let me say this: I have no clue whether The Passion has a single scene in which Jewish people do anything but smile benignly at Jesus. I haven't seen the movie. But coming from a Jewish background, it makes me a little nervous to hear rumors that a film is coming down the pike that will portray people of my ethnicity as uniquely guilty of deicide. But as a follower of Jesus, I'm unwilling to compromise the reliability of the Gospels, which say quite clearly that a Jewish fisherman and spiritual teacher was killed by his countrymen and their Roman authorities for saying a good many things that nobody wanted to hear.

I've been thinking about this issue for some time now, and the more I've considered it, the more I feel that both sides in this debate are missing an obvious point. The Passion is simply a traditional Passion play put on a screen. It meets all the requirements: it is a celebratory dramatization of Christ's death, designed to inspire love and respect in the faithful, and conviction and repentence in the previously unconvinced.

And Passion plays are, make no mistake, a fundamentally anti-Semetic medium, in a way that the Gospel records and the orthodox understanding of the crucifixion are not.

Here's why: Passion plays are an intrinsically distancing form of religious art. They do not invite audiences to participate in the story; instead, they push them away from it to become adoring viewers. A Passion play is designed to make the audience come to love and respect Jesus (usually by showing him caring for the sick and the children), then to be shocked, horrified and worshipful when they see him tortured to death. Because the audience is in a passive, "objective" vantage point, it is able to see Jesus as the hero of the story. Thus an audience identifies and, to put it crassly, roots for Jesus, and perhaps a few of the more upstanding disciples, like John. The audience does not identify with and root for the Jews and Romans who want to kill Jesus. Instead, I think the crowd has a reaction not unlike the one I had at 13, if less vulgar: They see themselves on Jesus' side. They see themselves as separate and distinct from those doing the crucifying: those people are killing Jesus; I worship him. Most Passion plays ask you to identify only with one sinner, Peter, whose betrayal is ultimately redeemed.

Now, I don't doubt that many people see Passion plays and feel sorrow for their role as those for whom Jesus had to die. But that guilt is abstract; the guilt of the Jews onstage or onscreen is concrete and immediate. Little wonder that a frequent reaction to Passion plays in Europe has been to go and burn down a Jewish village.

A Passion play can be more or less anti-Semetic by the amount of attention it pays to Christ's own Jewishness, to the role of the Romans, and to the anger and confusion experienced by the Sanhedrin. But no Passion play -- and I feel confident Gibson's film will be no exception -- will ever start from the perspective of those who hated Jesus.

But in the real world, that's the role we play. We were all enemies of Christ, not passive viewers who rooted for Him. None of us would have lifted a finger to prevent the crucifixion. The Gospels, written by Jews to Jews, assume this point. The Lord's Supper reminds us of it, confirms our active participation in the story -- and not as the good guys. But a Passion play, through a combination of its internal mechanics and centuries of nasty tradition, denies this central tenet of the faith and, ironically, looks for a scapegoat for the killing of the Scapegoat. The greatest danger the anti-Semitism of a Passion play poses isn't to Jews at all, but to the Christians who watch it and minimize their own involvement in the story.

And while the jury's still out on The Passion, I really can't imagine a way in which it will avoid this trap of distance and blame. The warnings of secular and Jewish commentators should be heeded, and not just to avoid hurting people's feelings. He who diggeth a pit, after all...

Posted by mesh at August 20, 2003 03:29 PM | TrackBack <br