The Death of a Hero…

The nineteenth-century Biblical scholar, Martin Kahler (1964), once famously described Mark's Gospel as "a passion story with an introduction" (80). While the story of the passion of Christ predominates in the overall content of the Gospel, the emphasis on suffering pervades the gospel from beginning to end. Mark's theology is fundamentally a theology of the cross. This tells us a great deal about Mark's Christology.

Mark's Jesus is a suffering Messiah and servant of God who moves relentlessly and rapidly to the cross. The preceding stories in the Gospel lead us inexorably to Calvary. As Donald Senior (1987: 15) puts it eloquently, in Mark's Gospel the shadow of the cross falls across the entire span of Jesus' ministry, which is characterised by controversy and conflict.

It is a powerful and evocative picture of Jesus, and no where is the tragic character of Jesus' suffering portrayed more clearly than in his trial and execution. Yet, Mark's description jars with our modern western sensibilities. Christ goes to his cross with mute acceptance, if not peace. For Mark, Jesus is a great tragic hero, whose final days testify to his true nature as a "son of God" as demonstrated by the comment of the centurion who stood at the foot of the cross (Mk 15:39; cf. 1:1; 3:11; 5:11).

The Death of Jesus…

Burton Mack, in A Myth of Innocence: Mark and Christian Origins (1988), makes the point that Mark exercises an incredible eye for detail; and nowhere is this more obvious than in his description of Christ's passion. The circumstances of Jesus' death as reported by Mark, however, pose challenging questions for modern Western readers of the Gospel.

In our culture, it seems incredible that an adult male would resign himself completely and quietly to the sort of imminent and painful death confronting Jesus, and to do so because such a trial was willed by his father

In our culture, it seems incredible that an adult male would resign himself completely and quietly to the sort of imminent and painful death confronting Jesus, and to do so because such a trial was willed by his father (Mk 14:36). Adding to this curiosity is the fact that this same adult male is physically scourged and beaten by his captors yet appears to suffer without complaint or protest. He remains completely silent throughout the whole ordeal (Mk 15:16-20). When finally he is nailed to the cross, he hangs in stillness from the third hour to the ninth hour; only crying out in anguish as he "breathed his last" (Mk 15:25, 33, 36-37).

Why did Jesus, who was an accomplished master of wordplay, apparently accept this oppressive suffering at the hands of others without offering a response? Why is it that in Mark, Jesus holds back from his expressing his pain until mere moments before his death?

One possible key to understanding Jesus' curious silence and acceptance may be offered to us by Mark in the person of the Roman centurion. This pagan soldier assigned to supervise and witness the execution is seemly impressed by the way Jesus died. As Mark puts it: "the centurion, who stood facing him, saw the way he breathed his last and said, 'Truly this man was a son of God!'" (Mk 15:39) What in Jesus' manner of death stirred the admiration of the centurion?

One interpretation of the centurion's comment is that Jesus died in a manly fashion befitting the cultural heroes of Greco-Roman myths. Accordingly, we might imagine that the title "son of god" might suggest something like "having the quality of a god"; that is, that the manner of Jesus' death demonstrated the sort of admirable "Herculean" resolve and strength that only the gods or the godlike could achieve, and to which the rest of common humanity could only aspire.

In modern parlance, and keeping with some of my more recent commentaries, one might say that Jesus died in a stoic manner that would have drawn the admiration of a good Klingon in Star Trek. Although, the analogy fails when one remembers the martial Klingon culture would never have countenanced the mute acceptance with which Jesus met his death. "Today is a good day to die!" was the battle cry of the Klingon warrior who threw himself against incredible odds in a hopeless battle that could only end in victory or death.

Still, there is a fatalism in the fictional Klingon culture that mirrors something of the fatalism of the ancient Mediterranean world, and probably also mirrors the attitude of any Roman centurion who might be forced to watch the deaths of many a criminal and insurrectionist.

From the perspective of the Roman centurion, a Judaean criminal or insurrectionist hanging on the cross would have been viewed with little more than contempt. Still, in the mind of the Roman soldier, that Judaean was as much in the hands of fate and fortune as he, and stoic acceptance of one's fate was admirable in and of itself. For the inhabitants of the ancient Mediterranean world, willing subordination to fate, nature and tragedy, rather than confident mastery of the difficulties of life, was the true mark of courage (Pilch, 1991). On this understanding, Mark's Jesus models stoicism in the face of insurmountable tragedy.

But I think there is a lot more going on here in Mark's passion narrative than this interpretation allows.

The Shame of the Cross…

Crucifixion was not only a very painful and prolonged death; it was a disgraceful way to meet one's end. Crucifixion in the Greco-Roman world was considered the most shameful experience possible. The Roman author and contemporary of Jesus, Valerius Maximus (2.7.12), informs us that crucifixion was a punishment originally reserved for slaves. This sounds a poignant echo of the early Christian hymn repeated by Paul in Philippians, "Although he was in the form of God … [he] emptied himself to assume the form of a slave" (2:6-7).

Another well-known Roman author, Cicero (Pro Rabinio 9-17), describes how the trial that preceded the execution was a public spectacle designed to bring shame and derision upon the accused. It is with good reason that popular opinion held that the honourable course was to do all one could to avoid going to court (Prov 20:3; Matt 5:26).

The Jewish historian, Josephus (Jewish War 5:449-450), who no doubt witnessed many crucifixions during the Jewish War, describes how those condemned to die were flogged and tortured. Special concern was taken to blind the eyes (Lk 22:63) and cause blood to flow (Mark 15:15, 17). According to the later reminiscences preserved in the Mishnah (Makkoth 3.12), the victim was scourged from front and back presumably while nude. Shock and pain caused the sphincters to relax. Loss of bowel control added further shame when the victim befouled himself with excrement and urine (3.14).

Nailing to the cross disfigured and brutalised the victim by constricting hands, arms, and feet. Mark (15:24) rightly details the fact that the clothes of the victim were confiscated (Mk 15:24) and, therefore, we must imagine that nudity piled still more shame on the crucified. Gradual loss of control over bodily functions and gross enlargement of the male organ made the victim a target of humiliating laughter. The slow and lingering death, more likely from suffocation than loss of blood, permitted a prolonged period of public ridicule and scorn (Mk 15:29-32). In Mark's story, Jesus not only dies in a stoic fashion, he dies as a figure of shame and dishonour (Senior, 1987).

The Centurion's Epiphany…

Given all that we have now canvassed regrading the shame of the cross, it seems incredible that the author of Mark would suggest that a pagan Roman soldier would look upon the crucified Jesus and see in his disfigured and tortured body some image of the divine. But that is precisely the point Mark wants to make! Mark is the master of irony; and this episode is meant to be ironic in the extreme.

As I noted last week, the plot of Mark is driven by tales of mighty works or miracles (Mark calls them "signs") and conflict, focusing on the identity of Jesus as the Messiah and Son of God (Mk 1:1; cf. 1:11; 8:27-33; 9:7; 15:2, 26, 39). The irony is that, despite performing many great "signs" of his special relationship with the divine, very few other characters in the story clearly "see" Jesus' true identity.

The local, Galilean Pharisees and even Jesus' own family, for whom he performed several "signs" (Mk 1:27-2:8), think he is either possessed by demons or simply gone insane, which in the ancient world was one and same thing (Mk 2:9-4:39). His own disciples can only partially comprehend his messianic vocation (Mk 8:29); but, then, they confuse Jesus vocation as Messiah with social status and elitism (cf. Mk 8:31-33; 9:33; 10:13-16; 23-24; 35-37).

Beyond his circle of acquaintances in the wider Jewish community, Jesus similarly remains an enigma. The Temple authorities perceive Jesus as a messianic pretender, but fear what his advent will mean for the stability of Judea (Mk 11:16-12:44). Even, the crowds, who have followed him, cheered his speeches and hailed his entry into Jerusalem, turn against him and jeer as he is tried and crucified.

Only a non-Jewish member of the occupying forces can see the truth. And, even more remarkably, this pagan soldier can only see the true identity of Jesus when Jesus is stripped of the vestiges of his social status, removed from all hope of a miraculous recovery, rendered impotent, jeered, shamed and dishonoured.

The soldier is not admiring Jesus' manly courage. He is marveling at the epiphany he has been granted — to be confronted with an image of the divine amidst the gore, blood, mud and spittle that accompany a typical criminal's debasement and execution.

Final Reflections…

There is here an incredible cultural subversion. The Markan myth of the death of the hero Jesus challenges and overturns all expectations of how a "son of a god" might act. Today we may not subscribe to the idea that Christianity is a subversive movement. Still we hold to the idea that Christians should be the leaven of society, giving it vitality and moral fibre, while in appearance being no different to others around them — and, especially, no different to the oppressed and marginalised.

In Mark's Gospel (4:30-32), Jesus can speak of the reign of God as a weed in a field that grows unnoticed until it reaches critical mass and takes over the entire territory. Paul is very big on this idea as well, even though he seldom uses the language of Jesus. It is, of course, fundamentally incarnational. God became human so that human society might be redeemed by the continuing ministry of Jesus in and through his Church.

The tension that remains, however, is always between the temptation to merely conform and live according to the laws and regulations or to embrace Jesus' radical call to live beyond all the social and elitist expectation based on legalities and notions of honour and shame (where such expectations hinder the proclamation of the Gospel). In Mark's hero myth we find our clearest mandate to live lives that are always open to those epiphanies that may surprise us amid the muck and the mundane.

Bibliography and Further Reading:
Kahler, M. (1964), The so-called historical Jesus and the historical biblical
Christ (Philadelphia: Fortress Press). This is an English translation of an 1869 German original.
Mack, B. (1988), A myth of innocence: Mark and Christian origins. (Philadelphia: Fortress Press).
Pilch, J. J. (1991), Introducing the cultural context of the Old Testament (New York and Mahwah: Paulist Press).
Senior, D. (1987), The passion of Jesus in the Gospel of Mark (Wilmington: Michael Glazier).

Photo Credits:
"St Mark" St Ignatius of Loyola, Cincinnati (2007)
URL: www.sainti.org/church/stainedglass/StMark.jpg
"Mark's Gospel" Coptic Codex Elforken.com (2007)
URL: www.coptic.net/pictures/Codex.StMark-Gospel.gif
"Cross Shadow" Roman Catholic Diocese of Las Vegas (2007)
URL: www.lasvegas-diocese.org/images/cross_shadow.jpg
"Crucifixion" Orthodoconline.com (2003) URL: www.orthodoxonline.com/images/crucifixion.jpg
"Reverend Fun" © 1999 Gospel Communications URL: www.reverendfun.com/?date=19991111

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