His Vigorous Heart

It’s that time of year again: the time I least like being a Christian. Because when it comes to Easter, I really think we’ve gotten the story wrong. (Which is bad, because if we get *this* story wrong, then we’re bound to get a lot of other things about our faith wrong, as well). I saw a quote the other day that went something like this: “What sort of predicament are we in that we should require the crucifixion of the son of God [to save us]?” (The quote then goes on to describe how horrible the suffering of crucifixion is, and how it was designed to make the victim subhuman, etc etc. The point being—I assume—that humans must be truly depraved and wicked if it required a sacrifice of that level to redeem us. The magnitude of a crucifixion sentence should make us somberly consider the ramifications of our depth of evil. We must be well and truly effed on an existential level if this is our only way out). But that assumes there’s a punishment mindset behind this whole story. That assume...

Easter. When I was a kid, I was fascinated by the colorful candy, the whimsy of dyed eggs, the thrill of the hunt. As I grew older, I learned the story of the God who became man, who loved us so much that he died in our place. They call it the most beautiful story ever told. But as I got older still, I began to question that narrative. Because no matter how I tried to contort my brain, I couldn’t get that to align with the rest of the Bible story. When I read the teachings of Jesus, I saw him proclaiming a God who had been completely misunderstood by humans. “You have heard it said this...” he would say, and then he would flip the common understanding completely upside down. Jesus taught about forgiveness, non-violence, peace, love, mercy, and grace, and then said that “if you have seen me, you have seen the Father.” (And frankly, it was precisely this subversive teaching that made the religious people conspire to kill him.) And so when Christian churches tell the Easter story, I cring...