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I imagine many of you will have seen Mel Gibson’s no-holds-barred portrayal of the events that Mark refers to here. Unlike the evangelists, whose references to the scourging are brief, The Passion of the Christ takes a very different approach in which the physical assault on Jesus is placed centre-stage. The film courted controversy on its release, with criticism made of (amongst other things) alleged biblical inaccuracies and anti-Semitism. Scholars, film critics and religious groups queued up to give their opinions. It would seem that Gibson had set out to provoke a reaction.
The cinema-going public was, and remains, divided on the subject. While the film was acclaimed by many for its depiction of the brutal realities of the punishment meted out by the authorities to condemned criminals, it was deplored by as many more for the very same reasons. Setting questions of biblical and historical accuracy aside, the stated aim of provocation seemed to have been achieved in spades. One doesn’t have to look far to see why. In spite of all the talk about how desensitised society has become to violence in the media, the realities of scourging, or flogging, is still not something that we in the so-called “modern” world are terribly familiar with. It’s something that these days most civilised countries have outlawed as cruel and inhumane. Thankfully, this means that most of us are able to go about our daily lives safe from the fear that such suffering will ever be inflicted on us or our loved ones. I am certainly grateful that neither I nor my family are likely to go through anything like this level of physical abuse. The security of this knowledge means that I, and perhaps many other people are able to avoid having to think about the realities of what it must be like to suffer in this way. But, if you have not already, try for a moment to imagine what it must have been like to be in Jesus’ place.
To have a whip of leather thongs, studded with sharp pieces of bone, repeatedly hurled against your tired, battered body.
Some people have argued, as they did when The Passion of the Christ was released, that the depiction of such extreme and gratuitous violence is unnecessary: that those like Mel Gibson are simply out to shock people for their own gain, be it publicity, money or both. Often we shrink away from such things, just as the disciples fled following Jesus’ arrest. But I would suggest that as Christians with a calling, as Paul says, to be imitators of Christ, we ought not to shy away from going where Christ went. We should seek to model our lives day by day into the pattern of our calling, that is Christ. This means entering into his sufferings, frightening and abhorrent as they might seem to us. Perhaps this is an unnatural thing to do: the shock-value of films like The Passion of the Christ would be much poorer if it were otherwise. But in taking the decision to follow Christ, to seek to become imitators of him rather than of the other celebrity icons of our age is already to make a rather counter-cultural statement. Are we prepared to follow this to its natural conclusion?
Christ’s suffering is not merely counter-cultural, but transformative. His self-offering in freely giving himself over to be tortured in this way, turns the actions of those who scourge him on their heads. The confrontation of extreme evil with passionate, divine love changes the rules of the game. Jesus knew that whatever happened to him, he was not alone. Alluding to the great sufferings he has endured in the course of his ministry, Paul teaches that whatever comes our way, there is cause for hope: “we are afflicted in every way, but not crushed” (2Cor. 4:8), he says. Paul held onto the example of Jesus, identifying with him rather than resorting to anger, self-pity or blaming others.
I don’t think that this means that we need to seek out opportunities for physical suffering. It might simply mean accepting, as Basil Hume suggests, whatever comes our way as our share in whatever Christ wants us to accept and endure for his sake, and to “fear nothing”. Often the burdens we bear do not leave physical scars, yet they can be just as painful as those which do. In accepting suffering in obedience to Christ’s example, as Paul did, it is possible to draw closer to Christ and deepen our fellowship with him. Just as in sharing Christ’s body and blood, broken and shed for us in his great sacrifice, so through the breaking of our own bodies and shedding of our own blood, physically or otherwise, we are formed into his likeness.
However we suffer – be it physically, emotionally, even spiritually – by entering into it as part of the reality of discipleship, we also enter into the mystery of the incarnation. When we see Christ suffering, whether on the cinema screen or in the afflictions of those around us, we know that we have fellowship with God, through him. And nothing God has made is ever worthless or incomplete. Just as the agony of Good Friday was followed by Easter Day, so there is hope of renewal for us in turn.
In trusting that we have nothing to fear, in knowing, like Jesus did, that God is with us and for us, even in the midst of the darkest times of our lives, we are reminded that we are never alone. We are held. We are loved. And nothing anyone can do to us can change this.
