Along with thousands of other movie-goers, I have now seen The Passion of Christ. And along with thousands of other movie-goers, I remained pinned to my chair until the rolling of the closing credits gave me implicit permission to move--and even then, re-entering the world of twenty-first century Columbia, MO was a step made slowly and with reluctance.
I could use this space to analyze Mel Gibsons technique, use of violence, profits, etc. concerning this controversial film, but what a waste of time and energy that would be. The whole point of the movie was Christ: I have no doubt that Mr. Gibson's highest intent regarding his offering was to take viewers' focus off of the world, off of Hollywood, and place it squarely on the shoulders of the wounded One carrying a cumbersome cross.
Several thoughts darted through my mind as I shuddered and winced my way through the two plus hours of gruesome scene after gruesome scene. But the one that kept returning was a question: why would He do such a thing? He took every lash, every joke, every thorn, and every nail voluntarily and without complaintand this is not even mentioning the suffocating weight of our sin, the fumes of which must have choked him more than the chains around His neck. Why did He choose to suffer so much? A Sunday school answer pops immediately into my head: love. Trite, yes, but Sunday school answers are so often cited because they are so often right. He loves us. And that is the most amazing, most humbling part of the film and the story--that the flogged and bloody protagonist is not helpless, not cowed, and not a victim. Indeed, quite the opposite: He is God, and He is enduring the spitting and jeering of His creation voluntarily. Rather than detract from it, the suffering only increases His glory. He is all powerful, but there is more to Him than power. He is all knowing, but knowing the hatred of His persecutors, He loves them anyway. He is Life itself, but He allows death to shadow Him, if only for a time. By these things we know that He is God, for angels do not understand such love, and man has not the capacity to act upon it.
Those who have feared that this production would inspire hate have clearly not seen the film. The viewer is too exhausted, too awed for hate. And any hostility against, say, Caiaphas or the insanely cruel Roman soldiers is checked by the awareness that the One Who has every reason to hate them chooses instead to forgive them. And if He can find it in His great heart to do so, perhaps He can give us the power to follow His lead. After all, it is our sin--past, present, and future--that put Him on the cross in the first place, not some Jewish or Roman judiciary.
Two more thoughts, before I wrap up this pseudo-review. Many have expressed dismay over the amount of violence in the film and I, a person who habitually looks away at the head-crushing scene in Braveheart, have shared this concern. But if any episode in history merits a violent depiction, it is this one: the nature of the subject excludes gratuitous violence, because He took every lash and cut in our place. Surely we who believe in His sacrifice can stand up to watching Him take what we deserve. Surely those who do not believe in Him can appreciate that, whoever He was, this Man suffered selflessly in the belief that He was saving mankind.
Yet the story does not end there. What an exercise in tragedy it would be if this poor Galilean underwent such brutal torture and death, only to slip the bonds of earth and never return! But there is Yeshua again, whole and triumphant, as He knew He would be. He has crushed the twin serpents of death and Satan, and the stone rolls away, not before a bloody and half-alive victim, but before the Victor Himself.
Is this all a fantasy? The mental flights of some sun-burnt fishermen and their rag-tag followers? If that is the case, then the Jews are the greatest story-tellers in history. But one does not walk out of The Passion with the same step that one would walk out of Star Wars. It's not the unreality but the reality of the film that is troubling. This guy actually lived, He actually died, and He actually. . .well, there are only two ways to finish the sentence. The conclusion you choose will decide whether you leave The Passion moved simply by the death of an innocent Man, or stirred to your core by the Triumph of the Christ.