Sacrificial Lambs

I have always wanted to do a research paper on the slaughter of sons in the Bible. It is a pervasive theme. The first of course is the morally questionable command of God to Abraham to offer his son Isaac on the altar of sacrifice. It is an ethically suspicious story in many ways. The problem of a God who would demand that a father slit the throat of his beloved son is multiplied only by the father who would be willing to do so, no matter how heavy his heart. The message here is one of obedience, which was necessary I suspect for a people whose principle failing in Hebrew Scripture was faithlessness to a god with whom they were unaccustomed. The pre-Israelites were a polytheistic nomadic people who were being recruited to pledge allegiance to the God of Abraham. And it was quite difficult for them to turn their backs on the gods that they knew to worship a god who had not proven himself. Understood within this historical context, one can almost make sense of the drama of the story in conveying how crucial obedience and faithfulness would be. That God “tests” Abraham’s loyalty by insisting that he murder his son is made no less horrific by considering that God ultimately does not allow the deed to be done. That Abraham does not protest, indeed does not refuse to follow through, is an inversion of ethics in which obedience to a higher authority takes precedence over one’s own moral sensibilities, not to mention justice. Interesting too, how this theme of obedience is repeated in the narratives of Islam in which the same Abraham is commanded by Allah to slit the throat of his oldest son Ishmael. That the Biblical traditions contain not one, but two stories in which God asks Abraham to slaughter both sons and in which Abraham is a willing accomplice displays an emphasis on obedience which to me seems a little over the top. Unfortunately, the story is not typically told within this historical context. Rather, the story is told and obedience is lifted up as an intrinsic good, no matter the immorality of the command. I also suspect that a story which highlights the sacrificing of sons as the quintessential act of nobility, would also serve as a powerful tool for a culture that subsists within the context of a war mythology; of  war, which requires that mothers and fathers be willing to sacrifice their sons to some higher, nobler cause. Lift up the sacrifice of sons as virtuous and a society can amass an army in good conscience.

 

There is the story of the slaughter of the first born sons of the Egyptians, innocents sacrificed to the wrath of an angry God. From the perspective of the Israelites of course, whose sons are spared by the presence of blood on the doorposts, it is a saving act of God who acts on their behalf. But what of the Egyptians? Did they not love their sons as much? Did the mothers of these sons not wail in grief?

 

Then there is Herod who in the infancy narratives of Christian Scriptures threatens to murder all male sons under the age of three to protect himself from a rumored future throne thief.

 

But the pre-eminent Biblical story of a father who sacrifices a son emerged when Christianity interpreted the death of Jesus of Nazareth as the sacrificial lamb who walked willingly to the slaughter in the name of redemption. This theological interpretation of an historical moment is central to Christian understandings of the crucifixion. The death of Jesus of Nazareth is given meaning through religious language. No one raised within the context of the Christian tradition can escape this language which describes the life of Jesus as necessary so that his death could occur. God “sent his only Son” that he might die. Jesus is obedient to the Father’s plan of death. Jesus’ death is lifted up as the  cumulative moment of his life. The course of events is inverted. Jesus does not die because of the way he lived; Jesus lived so that he might die. When considering the historical circumstances surrounding the death of Jesus (admittedly portrayed only through the Gospels, a suspicious historical source) historical language is helpful in understanding this event. Jesus lived within Roman occupied Palestine. The Roman Empire was crumbling in the first century. Years of insurrection, riots, disorder and unrest threatened their continuing power and stability. Jesus of Nazareth (among others) emerged within the context of an historical setting in which to appear to be in opposition to Rome was in itself, a death sentence. Apparently, Jesus’ reputation preceded him when he arrived in Jerusalem for the Passover in the week of his Passion. Throughout his itinerant ministry of preaching and healing, he was heard to speak repeatedly of the “basileia,” or reign (kingdom) of God, which he insisted was imminent. He was socially radical, traipsing around the countryside with men and women, married, unmarried, social outcasts, sinners, unholy vagabonds. He entered into Jerusalem for the Passover holy days on an ass, the people hailing him with palms and shouting, “Alleluia! Alleluia! King of the Jews!”

 

Thousands of Jews would have made pilgrimage to Jerusalem, the city of the Temple in which all the lambs for the Passover meals must be ritually slaughtered. The streets were overflowing. The people were impatient, tired, hot. Pontius Pilate was nearby to ensure there was no trouble. And what did Jesus do? Indeed. He entered the Temple and took his famous fit. He turned over the money changers' tables, shouted about his father’s house becoming a den of thieves and through the eyes of the Romans, threatened to instigate revolt and rioting. Given this historical interpretation, the guy didn’t stand a chance. But if one can interpret this behavior on the part of Jesus (not only during Holy Week, but throughout his entire ministry) as exemplary of a commitment to an ethos, to a way of life that placed a seeking after justice and the alleviation of suffering as paramount to a virtuous life, Jesus can be understood in a whole new light. His obedience was to himself and to his own inner understanding of what it meant to be a human being living a noble and moral life.

 

Strange how, when I am covering this historical interpretation surrounding the death of Jesus in class, it always seems to take place during Holy Week. I suspect some students go to Good Friday services with a new perspective. And for once, I think it is a perspective that potentially enhances their faith, rather than causes doubt. To think of Jesus of Nazareth as a human being who refused to betray his own ethical imperatives brought me so much more admiration for him when I was introduced to this perspective in divinity school. I am far more impressed by Jesus the man, than Jesus the god. An emphasis on his commitment to justice, to the alleviation of suffering, to prophetic criticism against institutionalized hypocrisy, to standing in resistance against poverty, social ostracism and rejection is so much more active and courageous than the portrayal of Jesus as passive, willing Lamb who went to the slaughter in obedience to a God who would dare ask for it.