A: Ah, yes. Another straightforward question with a lengthy, complicated historical answer. So, for once, I’ll cut right to the chase and speak from the heart.
When this post drops, we will be right in the middle of Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, which begins a ten-day-long period of fasting and repentance, ending with Yom Kippur, the Jewish day of atonement. I find this significant, because this year was one of the rare years where all three religious holy weeks aligned, for the second year in a row:
This alignment of Passover, Ramadan, and Easter only happens about once a generation (roughly every thirty years). For it to happen twice in ours ought to have been a call to brotherhood and peace.
Instead, this happened:
Honestly, this is nothing new. No one should be shocked. No one should be surprised.
…but it breaks my heart. It absolutely crushes me.
The thing is… we are the only monotheistic traditions on the planet. We invented it. And we can’t get along. We have thousands of years of strife, bloodshed, betrayal, and mistreatment that keep getting in our way. It’s the world’s longest, biggest, worst family feud ever.
It really is. We’re all brothers, arguing over our relationship with the Father and coming to blows over which one of us the Father favors and loves more.
It’s not a good look, guys. It convinces no one.
And I realize I haven’t said anything new, yet, but bear with me for a little bit more, because there’s something that needs saying.
To get there, I want to rewind two thousand years to the time of Christ, and the eve of His crucifixion during Passover week. As I do this, though, I want to make something very clear: I am not about to open old wounds and point fingers. That’s not my aim.
I want reconciliation. I want my family reunited. I want my brothers back. That’s what I want.
So stay with me, as we jump back in time.
Innocent Man on Death Row
In that Passover week two thousand years ago, Israel was a nation on edge. The Romans were occupying them and forcing their presence on the people, and tensions were boiling over. There were those who wanted to fight (Zealots), those who wanted to passively resist (Pharisees), pragmatic survivalists (Sadducees), and those who were escaping into esoteric spiritual practices (Essenes). Each of them had their own idea of what the Messiah would be and what that Messianic deliverance would look like.
Jesus walked into the middle of that and delivered none of the above. Instead, what He did was create a portable Judaism that could survive the imminent destruction of the Temple and the Diaspora of the Jews, so that worship of the one true God would continue. He did it by stripping Judaism back to its core and focusing on each individual’s personal relationship with the Father.
…but tensions being what they were, the Jewish authorities were too afraid that His efforts would look like sedition against Caesar and bring the full weight of Imperial Rome down on them. Plus the Pharisees just couldn’t abide how much Jesus discarded, in stripping the traditions back.
We know how that turned out. Before this goes any further though, I want to clarify something.
Nobody else would have made any different choices, had they been in the Jewish leadership’s shoes. Nobody. Not you. Not me. No one.
Jesus had to die. He had to. There was no avoiding it. My sins put him there. Yours did. We would’ve chosen to execute Him, because “The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.”
Did you know that’s literally the justification the Sanhedrin used?
So. I would’ve put Jesus to death. You would’ve done it. Anyone would’ve done it, to avoid a genocidal massacre.
The point is that the Jews do not deserve the blame for crucifying Jesus. They never did. It was unavoidable.
He. Had. To die. It’s the whole point of why He came.
…but, let’s consider something.
What if the Jewish authorities had repented, after the destruction of the Temple in 70 A.D.? What if that was their wake-up call?
What if they’d said, “Man, Jesus tried to warn us. Our first prophet in 400 years, and once again, we didn’t listen.”
What if they’d then turned to Rome and said, “Hey, those followers of The Way? The ‘Chrestians‘? They’re actually ours. They’re following a prophet in the tradition of Isaiah, Jeremiah, and Zechariah. They’re a fifth branch of Judaism, but they didn’t and don’t have anything to do with the Zealots. They deserve the protection of the Roman Empire, just like our Pharisees and Sadducees.”
Consider that for a moment. Assuming that Rome believed them, how might that have changed things?
For starters, it would’ve meant that the Roman Persecution of the Early Church wouldn’t have happened. It would’ve also meant that there would’ve been no animosity between Diaspora Jews and Christians.
…but there’s something else.
Covenant Theology
When you get right down to it, doctrinally, what Jews, Christians, and Muslims all argue over, more than anything else, is a branch of theology called Soteriology. That is, we all disagree on what you have to do to be “saved”.
Kids, arguing over Daddy’s favor.
…but here’s the thing: God works in covenants, or contracts. And something that’s made clear in the Christian New Testament is that the Jewish covenant is the root (original) covenant that Christians are grafted into. If God’s covenant with the Jews is not valid, then neither is the Christians’.
So… if the Jews had claimed the Christians, before Rome, they would have been recognizing that grafting. This would have set a precedent.
It would have made a difference when, six hundred years later, an illiterate merchant-turned-poet from the tribes of Ishmael turned up and spoke to Jewish and Christian leadership, claiming to be yet another new grafting in that same covenant. We would have listened, because this had happened before.
Then, we may have even said, “Wait… you can’t read? You learned all this by listening? Would you like to learn how to read, so we can show you where those stories you overheard came from?”
Instead, we mocked him. We ridiculed Mohammed, his reaction to this became enshrined in the Qur’An, and he changed the Holy City in his faith from Jerusalem to Mecca.
How much conflict could have been avoided, had it gone the other way?
At the very least? Charles Martel, The Crusades, The Ottoman Empire, The Holocaust, The Six Days’ War, and even the bombing of Nagasaki would probably not have happened, for one very simple reason:
The three brothers of the Abrahamic faiths stood united in solidarity.
I want to be clear about what I’m talking about, here. I’m not talking about Ecumenism. I’m not suggesting that we would all be one faith. Rather, that we each recognized that we have our own vertical relationship with God, and we trust and respect that.
Specifically, the Jews and Christians would trust that Mohammed was a prophet to the descendants of Ishmael, brokering a covenant of the one true God to them. Muslims and Jews would trust that Jesus did the same to Gentiles. And Christians and Muslims would recognize that all of these are grafted into the root covenant God made with the Jews through Moses.
The covenants do not have to be identical. Mine doesn’t have to look like yours. Yours doesn’t have to look like mine. Nor does either of ours replace the other. But we trust that it’s there, that we each want to serve the one true God, and trust Him to work out the points where we differ.
How would that change our attitude towards each other?
Repentance and Atonement
Rosh Hashanah is a time of repentance. Repentance is not only sorrow, but also mourning. Mourning for what is broken, damaged, or lost.
I was made keenly aware of the magnitude of what has been lost, when I happened upon this 1987 quote by Emil Fackenheim:
On the part of Christians, how can there be an honest dialogue with Jews so long as they are sure in advance that the Jewish truth about to be heard has already been heard and superseded? […] There simply can be no dialogue worthy of the name unless Christians accept—nay, treasure—the fact that Jews through the two millennia of Christianity have had an agenda of their own. There can be no Jewish-Christian dialogue worthy of the name unless one Christian activity is abandoned, missions to the Jews. It must be abandoned, moreover, not as a temporary strategy but in principle, as a bimillennial theological mistake. The cost of that mistake in Christian love and Jewish blood one hesitates to contemplate.
Indeed. It is terrible to think about.
I mourn for the broken relationship between the three brothers of our faiths. I mourn for all that could have been, and weep for two millennia of strife, bloodshed, and violence between us.
We have done terrible things to each other. When does it stop?
When do we look around and ask ourselves if this is the legacy and world we want to leave to our children and grandchildren?
When do we lay down arms and say, “Enough; the cycle stops with me”?
We don’t have to keep fighting each other.
…but to make it stick, we all have to do it together. We all have to repent. We all have to mourn. We all have to beg each other’s forgiveness.
Imagine what we could have, if we did. Imagine a Palestine that was safe to visit. Imagine the numbers of travelers that would come to knowledge of our God through any of three pathways.
Imagine the three Abrahamic faiths joining hands, bent on the work of strengthening the community of humankind by changing hearts and repairing the world.
Imagine that, instead of this year’s strife, this was instead the norm:
Maybe if we work on it in our lifetimes, then the next time Ramadan, Passover, and Easter overlap, our children will be able to worship together, under one roof.
That would be real atonement. It’s worth working towards, don’t you think?
‘Til next time.