I think it’s probably a bit of both. History isn’t my strong suit, though, so please bear with me. From what I’ve seen of human nature, people have a strong tendency to hate that which is different, and even try to eliminate it. Jews had different customs from Christians, ate different foods, and worshipped on a different day of the week. Judaism also, I believe, forbids charging interest to Jews, and Christians didn’t charge interest to Christians, but Jews were allowed charge interest on money loaned to Christians, making them very roughly equivalent to today’s credit card industry (see The Merchant of Venice). They were different; they didn’t want to become like us; worse yet, they made money off of us! Throw in the way Matthew is written and Passion Plays depicting the death of Christ and you get, I’m afraid, the Holocaust. That still saddens and shames me.
When I learned about World War II in high school and college, one of the things which stuck in my mind is up until the 1940s, on Good Friday, the day Christians commemorate Christ’s crucifiction, people would come out of church and beat gay people up. I gather many, many people believed that some traditional passover foods required the blood of Christians. Passover is one of the most sacred of holidays for Jews and it roughly coincides with Christianity’s Easter because Easter came out of Christ’s celebrating Passover. After a service which wallows in guilt, outrage, and anger, here you have a nice, secretive, set apart group of people who can be blamed for the events which have left you guilty, outraged, and angry. I know firsthand what people in small towns can do to people who are different. It’s not pretty. I also know what it’s like to sit in a church in a small town on Good Friday while a carpenter pounds nails into a wooden cross reminding us of Christ’s suffering. Even knowing it would come, I flinched. We all know people who believe they can do know wrong. I would think it would be easy for such a person to turn that guilt on to another target, especially one he thinks his priest has told him it’s ok to hate.
I like the part about keeping witnessing out of IMHO, and I’m trying to provide contrast, not witness, but what I’m about to write could be taken as such, so I’ll put it in a spoiler box. One of the things I like about my Episcopal Church is wha we do on Palm Sunday, the Sunday before Easter, when we commemorate and re-enact Christ’s entry into Jerusalem, trial, and crucifixion. During the trial, when Pilate is asking the crowd what they want to do with Jesus of Nazareth, the reply is “Crucify him!” Instead of having someone representing “the Jews” do this, the congregation as a whole shouts this, more than once if I recall. At the beginning of the service, we sang loudly, lustily, and proudly, “All glory, laud, and honor/To Thee, Redeemer, King!/ To whom the lips of children/made sweet hosannas ring!” Now, we, not some third party who we can blame the troubles of the world on, but we, good Christians standing in church on a spring Sunday morning, call for the death of the very person we claim to worship.
I’m told Lent, the season of repentence which precedes Easter, isn’t much acknowledged in some forms of Christianity, but even for those who haven’t spent the past 6 weeks reminding themselves of their sinfulness, the events of Holy Week, the week before Easter are powerful, and the emotions they produce are unpleasant. How does one admit to complicity in the destruction of all that one calls “holy”? For some people, unfortunately, the answer seems to be, “You don’t. You find someone else to blame.” Good Friday, I think, is supposed to be thought-provoking and troubling. I am a Christian. Therefore, I have no claim to righteousness.
One other thing I’ll point out lest it get lost in the shuffle. Painful though the crucifxion was, it is a necessary and essential part of the Christian faith. If Christ had not died, he would have been just another wandering rabbi. Had he not risen, he would be, at best, what the Muslims call him, a Prophet, and at worst what some atheists call him – a dead nutcase. My possibly irrational belief says something else. It also says the despair he knew and what he suffered at our hands, at my hands, was necessary, not so much for him, but for us.
CJ