Redemption

I’m a self-labeled data enthusiast. Numbers feel very grounding to me. Separate from the quantitative aspect of framing a narrative with contextual evidence there’s also a unique more art-like aspect of stumbling upon numerical patterns. While anyone can force seemingly arbitrary numbers into some sequence, when it feels naturally occurring, the coincidence, for me at least, is intriguing. My favorite number is three. It’s a special number for many reasons (I’m the third of my name, was scroller #3 on line, etc.) and a recent occurrence of its significance gave space for some introspective thought. 

I created somewhat of a tradition this year by watching The Passion of the Christ, a film depicting the final hours of the life of Jesus the Nazarene. This was my third time seeing the film; the first time was when it was released in 2004 and the second was on Holy Saturday (the Saturday before Easter) last year. 2020 for me was a year in which I pushed myself to be present, to have a mindfulness, and acute awareness of the here and now. Too often I found myself playing with my boys or spending time with my wife aimlessly while scrolling through a mental to do list fixated on some future point in time. 

I’m religious, consider myself Christian, and wanted to approach Easter last year, what I believe is the most important and defining event of the Christian faith, with a focus on trying to truly feel the gravity of those final moments in the life of Jesus—to be intentional in experiencing this holiday. Arguably the film is the closest depiction of the events of that day, with an intense cinematic display of the heinous and grotesque torture and execution methods Rome was known for in antiquity, as well as the anguish and agonizing pain of a seemingly powerless mortal man who claimed to be the son of God. Saying the images are hard to watch is an understatement. For me however, they set the mood and tone of what Holy Saturday, the melancholy lull of despair between Jesus’ death and believed resurrection, must have remotely felt like—a frame of mind that I had never really grasped experiencing Holy Week the previous 32 years of my life. 

Which brings me to this year and my third viewing of the film. I mentioned before that I consider watching the film somewhat of a tradition now because watching it this year was happenstance. In a conversation with my mom on Saturday she mentioned she had watched it and I thought, why not do it again? It wasn’t until after the week concluded post Easter Sunday service that it donned on me—my third viewing came in the year I turned 33 (my birthday happened to be the Thursday before Good Friday). Interestingly enough, historians believe Jesus started his ministry at the age of 30 which lasted for three years until his execution by crucifixion at the age of 33. There are other aspects of the story surrounding the number three (rooster crowing three times, Jesus was crucified at the third hour, three hours of darkness during midday, etc.), but what felt very real to me was that this man had walked the earth for the same amount of time I now have. I’ve always, including last year, viewed this story from my own perspective. That is, given what Jesus has done what are the implications for humanity? For the first time though I attempted to view it from his perspective. Given what humanity had done, what were the implications for Jesus?

 And this, I believe is a unique perspective of the story because the fact of whether or not Jesus’ messianic claim to be the incarnate son of God is true can be suspended for the purposes of analyzing the events of his death. While the most detailed accounts come from the New Testament of the Christian biblical canon, unbiased historical accounts corroborate the events as well (see Josephus, Tacitus). This man, being guilty of no crime, endured unimaginable humiliation, torture, and death on a cross all for a professed love for humankind. A love so genuine that he used his last breaths to pray for and ask for forgiveness of the very people from whose hands he was suffering. He not only loved every individual, but in seeing them as human also saw their capacity and potential for good—no matter what they had done. Look no further in the story than the examples of Dismas, the thief crucified next to Jesus who sought penance or Stephaton, the Roman soldier who seemingly in a change of heart offers dying Jesus something to drink. The events of that day, or rather what humanity had done, didn’t change the implications for Jesus—an unswerving duty to hold to the absolute truth of his purpose to love unconditionally. It was through the lens of love that he could find good in all. No one is beyond redemption. 

Attempting to be present during 2020 proved to be a challenge personally. The constant barrage of tragedy from the pandemic, racial unrest, political animosity, and the like underscored numerous conversations and occupied an overwhelming amount of mind space. What manifested for me personally was a deep polarization from the “other”. Those seemingly out of touch individuals from the other side of the political aisle, of a different phenotype, from a different background, or of a morality base that is deeply flawed and broken. These individuals have no concept of a love for humanity, further adding to or at a minimum maintaining the atrocities of society and systemic injustices prevalent in our world. 

Thinking about the events of Jesus’ story from a new perspective however left a begging question: So what? Does my seemingly transcendent moral view make me any better? If my accusations are correct, does that absolve me from extending my love to the “other” as I so freely profess to extend to the oppressed? That love sounds conditional. That love sounds self-seeking. That love seems absent in the Nazarene’s actions 2000 years ago. If I truly desired what’s best for humanity, then I should recognize failing to see the good in all people and thus failing to believe in the possibility of redemption is a fatal flaw. By eliminating such an opportunity, I only amplify the staying power and effect of evil actions. This doesn’t mean we should negate immoral behaviors or suspend justice, but rather that in the absence of redemption there is no reconciliation. My toils for a societal utopia are futile. Doomed from the onset. So, for what am I angling? If I genuinely want to see a more fair and just society, a society in which my two boys who I love unconditionally can grow and flourish without malice, I should extend that same love to all participants of that very same society. A society made of humans who, just like my two boys, will make mistakes, miss the mark, and inflict grave injustices, but who, also like my boys I believe, have the capacity for good. It really is about my actions, the solace in understanding the impact, whether big or small, tapping into the good or evil present within myself contributes to this world. Others may succumb to their evil pretenses and never redeem themselves, but that is ultimately not in my control. I’d be naïve to think I myself couldn’t suffer the same fate, in particular unconsciously blinded by my own self-righteous motives, but somehow, I believe striving to see the good in others and believing in the power of redemption rooted in genuine love stacks the odds in my favor and… humbly… our favor. 

Just my three cents. 

Trae