The Temptation of Redemptive Violence

Mark 8:31-38

Then he began to teach them that the Son of Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed, and after three days rise again. He said all this quite openly. And Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him. But turning and looking at his disciples, he rebuked Peter and said, “Get behind me, Satan! For you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.”

He called the crowd with his disciples, and said to them, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it. For what will it profit them to gain the whole world and forfeit their life? Indeed, what can they give in return for their life? Those who are ashamed of me and of my words in this adulterous and sinful generation, of them the Son of Man will also be ashamed when he comes in the glory of his Father with the holy angels.

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Two weeks ago we explored the story of Jesus transfigured on the mountain. If you recall, that message centered on the idea of cruciform discipleship. Today’s gospel story is the scene that unfolds immediately prior to the ascent up the mountain, making today’s message something of a prequel. 

The scene begins following Jesus’ question to the disciples, “Who do people say that I am?” To which Peter replied, “You are the Messiah.” 

Today’s gospel scene makes a pretty bold and startling claim about what being the Messiah actually means. Namely, it involves great suffering, rejection, and death. Resurrection, yes; but by the time that bit of good news gets to Peter’s ears, he has already stopped listening. And chances are, we have stopped listening also.

Peter rebukes Jesus for talking about suffering, rejection, and death; just as he will do again a few verses later on the mountain in the presence of the transfigured Christ. Peter suggests Jesus has it all wrong because that’s not how the story is supposed to go. Suffering? Rejection? Death? No, no, and no. Their ancestors already been there and done that for far too long.

The Messiah was to usher in a new age of peace and prosperity for God’s chosen people; an age of peace and prosperity that would come about once they have had the chance to engage in all the nasty, violent, angry, evil stuff against their enemies. The people who had endured generations of great suffering, rejection, and death were ready to dish it out in kind, teaching their enemies a lesson. Peace would follow, but only after more violence. It would only be fair and just.

It was an approach to peace-making modeled efficiently by millennia of occupiers; most recently, Rome. Caesar was Lord. Caesar promised and brought the good news of peace to the nations; albeit, a peace produced by the blade of a sword. All who threatened the peace were killed. This system had worked incredibly well for the Romans as their boundaries spread into multiple continents. The Hebrew people were simply awaiting their turn, when their Lord would come, lead them into battle, and vanquish all their enemies so they could finally enjoy the blood-stained peace for which they had fought.

There’s something tempting about the notion of repaying violence with violence. Something exciting, invigorating, alluring, and even instinctive. It’s a very human thing. Repaying an insult with an insult. Passing and cutting off a driver who cut you off. Wishing some degree of bad fortune on “those people.” Killing people who kill people. Repaying violence with violence…the examples are everywhere. 

Last week I went to the theater to watch a movie and most of the movie previews preceding the show were about a man who had something awful happen to him so he sets off to kill everyone who could have had a hand in it. There are so many movies that tell this same story because it is a fool-proof formula for profit. People are willing to pay to watch someone use violence to rectify the world and rid it of the violent people. It speaks to a very human part of our nature. And it is tempting to see this as an appropriate way to engage with the world. 

If there had been theaters instead of gladiator games for entertainment in these times, Peter would have wanted a Bruce Willis-type Messiah. After all Die Hard is a much better title for a movie about a Savior than Suffer, Be Rejected, and Die.

The desire to use violence to rid the world of violence is a human thing. Which is why Jesus rebukes Peter’s rebuke with the statement, "Get behind me, Satan! For you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.”

Revenge is a human thing; not a divine thing. The myth of redemptive violence (the idea that violence is an appropriate response to violence) is a human thing; not a divine thing. 

Notice, that Jesus refers to Peter as “Satan.” The first reference to Satan in Mark’s gospel was when Jesus went into the wilderness following his baptism, where he was tempted by Satan for 40 days and 40 nights. Satan is temptation personified. And the only things that tempt us are the things we crave but know that we should avoid. 

We confess Jesus was fully divine and fully human. In this exchange with Peter, Jesus’ full human-ness is on display. Peter tells him he should walk down the path of victory through violence. Jesus is tempted; otherwise he would have not have called Peter the name of temptation personified. For an instant he peers into that probable future of might, conquest, and revenge. But then he turns his back on the tempter. Jesus looks at his disciples and fully commits himself to the path that will lead to victory through suffering, rejection, and death. Not only does he commit to follow this path, but he instructs any who would follow him to pick up their cross and walk the same path.

There is much that needs to be said about the myth of redemptive violence – the idea that violence can be used as an instrument of good. I cannot adequately unpack this profound idea in a few minutes here, but I would like to point to the words of theologian Walter Wink, who writes, 

"The myth of redemptive violence is the simplest, laziest, most exciting, uncomplicated, irrational, and primitive depiction of evil the world has ever known…. By making violence pleasurable, fascinating and entertaining, the Powers are able to delude people into compliance with a system that is cheating them of their very lives."*

Violence begets violence; and violent actions are just as deadly for the perpetuator as the victim.

Jesus’ instruction to pick up crosses and follow him are not just prohibitions against violence. It is more an invitation to live a full life that exudes the divine force of peace throughout the world. 

Consider Jesus’ call as an invitation for you to notice when the tempting tunes of violence and revenge sing their siren songs. Notice when the voice in your head turns violent, insisting that either you yourself or those people over there deserve to be punished. Boldly proclaim the same mantra Jesus used when he was tempted, “Get behind me, Satan.”

Amen.

* Walter Wink. The Powers That Be: Theology for a New Millennium

A Prayer of Life

Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21

“Beware of practicing your piety before others in order to be seen by them; for then you have no reward from your Father in heaven.

“So whenever you give alms, do not sound a trumpet before you, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, so that they may be praised by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But when you give alms, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your alms may be done in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.

“And whenever you pray, do not be like the hypocrites; for they love to stand and pray in the synagogues and at the street corners, so that they may be seen by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But whenever you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.

“And whenever you fast, do not look dismal, like the hypocrites, for they disfigure their faces so as to show others that they are fasting. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward. But when you fast, put oil on your head and wash your face, so that your fasting may be seen not by others but by your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.

“Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust consume and where thieves break in and steal; but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust consumes and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.

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Once again we come together on this solemn day known as Ash Wednesday. As many of us have done so often through the years, we come to worship on a Winter Wednesday, prepared to receive ashes on our forehead and expecting to hear the same gospel story from Matthew, chapter 6.

If you have worshiped on Ash Wednesday before, you’ve likely picked up on the ironic juxtaposition of the worship service and the assigned gospel text. The gospel warns us of the dangers of making public displays of our piety. But each one of us will leave here with a large cross of ashes smeared on our foreheads; which is, I dare say, a public display of our piety! Perhaps some of you get around this by going straight home after worship and trying your best to avoid letting others see your ashen forehead. But that’s certainly not the point, either.

Jesus does not want us to use our faith to make public spectacles of ourselves, nor does he want us to so privatize our faith that it becomes imperceptible to others. As is usually the case, the truth of scripture lies somewhere between the two extreme interpretations. The core message of this gospel text is that our faith should always be evident but in a way that deflects attention from ourselves and back to God. There are, after all, hidden blessings of the private part of our faith.

To illustrate this idea, allow me to set a scene. You are in an unlit, damp, concrete room measuring roughly 6’ x 7’. “There are no windows, no ventilation. You've got nothing, you don't get outside, maybe see the sun 20 seconds a day if you're lucky; you've got an overflowing bucket for a toilet, you've got a mat that you sleep on, and you're subject to very harsh treatment."* You are alone in this room. You’ve been alone in this room for 3 ½ years. 

You know there are others….others in rooms the same as yours. You yearn to communicate; but you dare not speak to them. So, you tap on the wall using a system of communication designed for such an occasion. You form thoughts and expressions silently in your head and you quietly tap them out in code on the wall that separates you from someone else who is suffering.

This horrible reality is the one described by Retired Major General of the US Air Force John Borling – a fighter pilot who was shot down over North Vietnam in 1966 and imprisoned in the infamous Hanoi Hilton for over 6 1/2 years.

Monday marked the 45th anniversary of the release of more than 140 American prisoners of war from Vietnam. Among them was John Borling.

Major General Boling spent his 6 ½ years in the Hanoi Hilton trying to stay alive. One way that he sustained life was by composing poetry. He would create the poems in his head and tap them out on the walls in what is known as “tap code” in order to share them with his fellow POWs. He said, 

“It was ... our lifeline. It was how we kept a chain of command, which was verboten, how we passed information that would keep us all going, mentally. Here’s a bunch of fighter pilots, but a fragment of poetry — some remembered lines, however abbreviated — would be useful.”

— John Borling

In his attempts to stay alive and keep others alive, he was, for all intents and purposes, praying. 

Perhaps this image can help you reframe Jesus’ instruction to go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father in secret. Imagine prayer as an exercise in which you are stripped of all your possessions and illusions of security. All you have are the thoughts in your head. You are unable to write the thoughts down, so you write them on your heart. Your prayer becomes the most authentic and honest part about you. And this fills you with a burning desire to share your prayer with others in any way you can. You think maybe, just maybe, the thing you have to share with others could help keep them alive and encouraged also.

It may not be prudent to shout these poems and prayers for all the world to hear. After all, you don’t want to draw attention to yourself. But you cannot keep your poems and prayers inside…especially knowing that they could help keep others alive. So, you tap them out on the walls. It’s a long and laborious process. But it’s the only thing you can possibly do, so you tap out the poem and the prayer letter by letter.

At great personal risk, every night before you go to sleep you tap out the same letters the POWs used to sign off each night: G–B–U. The message spreads from one concrete cell to another until everyone has heard the message “G–B–U” (“God Bless You”). 

The poems from the Hanoi Hilton have much to teach us about our prayers in Hancock County. Pray in private, pray in public, pray in the church, on the street corners, in restaurants. Wherever you are called to pray, pray not to bring attention to yourself, but rather, pray because God has filled you with something authentic and honest that you have to share…especially knowing that it could help keep others alive.

We pray, not in a secret code, but rather in the way that honors our unique faith, emotions, personality, and experiences. 

To rephrase the words of Major General Borling, “May the prayers on our hearts become our lifeline – how we keep a chain of connection, how we pass thoughts and insights that will keep us all going, spiritually. Here's a bunch of sinners, but a fragment of prayer — some remembered lines, however abbreviated — would be useful."

That’s the message we embrace on this solemn Ash Wednesday. There is life in death. There is freedom in our imprisonment. There is beauty born in our suffering. There are prayers in our pain.

To conclude, I invite you to listen now to two poems composed by John Borling in his prison cell and secretly shared by taps on the wall.

Amen.

* https://www.npr.org/2013/02/12/170657765/in-a-north-vietnamese-prison-sharing-poems-with-taps-on-the-walls