A PhD in Cruelty ...

How hard is it for you to be “nice”?  Does your significant other (or perhaps a close family member) seem to enjoy sharing “painful” truth about you, to you?  Or is it you, who cloaks pain with truth, when you speak to others.  Often folks who do this, are not even aware they do it.  But the ones on the receiving end are acutely aware.  Everyone wants the truth.  And nobody wants pain.  So how you reconcile those two things may be a matter of sensitivity if you care about how someone else feels.  Blatant truth, that is, truth told without the slightest regard for how it will be received, or how much pain it can cause – is the mark of a student aiming for their PhD in Cruelty, whether they know it or not.  And for those who enjoy cruelty; to see tears well up, to see dreams dashed with reality, to break the spirit of the young.  For these folks, cruelty is something beyond the boundaries of education, it is a high art form.  But for Christians, the only blanket for truth is love.  You can share painful truth with me, when I know it breaks your heart harder than it breaks mine.  When your tears flow faster than my own, then whatever pain there is in my truth is couched in a love that cannot be denied.  At that point, painful truth, is constructive at best, and commiserated at least.

Cruelty however, is something that can be taught.  Victims become proficient perpetrators.  And long-time exposure to inflicting cruelty causes dullness in recognizing it, and lack of motivation to treat it.  It is a tool of Satan to stamp out the love-response-mechanism in us all.  And what you do for a living can greatly impact how much cruelty you learn to tolerate, and perhaps inflict.  For example, its harder for a cop.  Imagine how much horror and cruelty a policeman is exposed to over the years of their career.  Their job is to jump right in to man-hurting-man and try to stop it.  They see us at our worst.  Either inflicting great pain on others, or falling victim to the pain another inflicts.  Most of us don’t seek out cops to form friendships, have dinner parties, and generally be a support system for them.  Instead we sit behind our televisions or computer screens quick to judge the failures of a few; attributing those failures to everyone; and all the while decry racisms of all “other” forms as being rampant in those who chose to protect and serve us.  None-the-less they continue to serve.  Everyday a battle to remain human, while exposed to the worst of humanity seen in crisis nearly all the time.  But at least cops understand the hope to make society better.

Try being a front-line soldier for a living.  That career requires you to kill others.  Kill, or be killed.  It is hard to kill others without finding a reason to dislike them, perhaps to hate them.  So we try to walk the tight rope of teaching our soldiers to protect each other, while hating the enemy, enough to kill the enemy, but not enough to become barbarians in the process.  Let’s face it, America rarely enters a war with another nation, unless the deeds of that nation rank in our barbarism scale.  Then we fight back.  But history has a long habit of pointing out that war makes barbarians of us all, blurring the lines between the good side and the bad side if all we do is examine the worst of what each of us has done.  My grandfather was a full-bird colonel coming out of World War Two, I believe he served in the army aircorp at that time.  He is buried in Arlington National cemetery with his wife now.  He saw combat in the Pacific.  Survived an enemy bomb that killed every other officer in the tent, was promoted, and continued to fight.  My grandfather was a gentle man, at least what I knew of him.  But he brought home a visceral hatred for anything Japanese.  And he did not want to talk about it.  He saw something.  Something so horrible, he could not get it out of his mind.  Even decades later it was just as raw as ever.  The cruelty he witnessed was so bad he could never forget it, or ever stop blaming for it.  But he was blessed enough not to let it completely take him over.

The military has always had it hard, trying to walk that balancing act between horrifically efficient killer, and common man able to enter a peace-loving society when hostilities come to a close.  Now we have a myriad of psychological conditions we diagnose our vets with, and think because we have cute names and accurate symptoms, we have solved the problem.  But the problem is a fundamental one.  We train our men to kill, proficiently kill, then at some point, tell them killing is done.  And today’s suicide rates of our vets are way too high.  It is hard to take life, then deal with it.  Some men just never try to come back from it.  Look back through history, this is not a new problem, and its hard to say whether it is better now, or worse now.  We kill from farther away, but we kill many more people with our advanced weapons.  In Roman times, you killed pretty much only people you could reach at arms length.  Archery may give you distance but lowers the body count surety.  A sword in the chest, pretty much guarantees the job is done.  Is it any wonder the soldiers in the days of Christ seem so proficient in cruelty?

The Executive of the state washed his hands and passed the buck as much as he could.  But he still ordered Jesus to be crucified.  Jesus would hardly be unique in that death.  Rows of crosses lined the roads throughout all of Israel.  Where we have light posts, they had crosses.  It was designed as a warning to rebellious thinking people.  Act out, find yourself decorating the highways of Judea in blood, your blood.  It was abomination to have this much death, or partial death, going on all the time, nearly everywhere.  But there were many would-be Messiah’s who promised freedom from Rome, only to find themselves, and their followers, and their follower’s families, up on Roman crosses, marking the roads in and out of every city.  Hatred of Rome was visual, and earned, and mutual.  Soldiers did all the dirty work.  Pilate was not going to do “anything” to Jesus himself, he would order the military to do it.  Men bathed in cruelty, who were taught hatred of the enemy is the only thing that kept them alive.  Doctrines of Satan spread then and now, in furrows of the blood of our enemies, that we feel OK about shedding.

Mercy, while steeped in the heart of Jesus for his Roman military escort, was totally void in their hearts for Him.  Matthew picks up the story in chapter 27 of his gospel to his contemporaries, beginning in verse 27 it says … “Then the soldiers of the governor took Jesus into the common hall, and gathered unto him the whole band of soldiers. [verse 28] And they stripped him, and put on him a scarlet robe.”  Modesty has left the building.  The circumcision of Jesus is now clearly visible to all.  What is left of his back is bare, but blood falls from its 39 chuncks of missing meat, taken by the shards of glass tied in to the tips of the whip (cat of nine-tails) used in his flogging.  He drops blood fast enough to bleed out, but no one tends to His already horrific wounds.  Jesus was a Jew.  He was bound to die.  The people hated Him (or so it looked).  So anything these Romans did to Jesus, would bring with it, not even a shred of accountability.  The only anger they would inspire in the priests, is from making them wait longer for the inevitable death of Jesus.  And let’s face it, that was part of the Roman “fun” of any crucifixion.

Once naked, they find likely in the dirty clothes hamper of Pilate, a scarlet purple robe of royalty.  How much fun it might be to put this robe on Jesus (dirty as it was) to make fun of Him.  The maids will wash the blood out of it before Pilate gets it back anyway, so why not.  Matthew continues in verse 29 saying … “And when they had platted a crown of thorns, they put it upon his head, and a reed in his right hand: and they bowed the knee before him, and mocked him, saying, Hail, King of the Jews!”  And Satan grants each of them an honorary PhD in Cruetly for following his lead in this matter.  What is a king without a crown.  So they make one, weaving together a thorn bush with 2 inch long thorns, long enough to push deep into the head of Jesus, causing new rivers of blood to emerge.  At this rate Jesus may not survive even the walk to the cross.  They give him a scepter made of a reed.  Then they mock Him, kneeling and hailing Him as the King of the Jews.  And this is where they believed anyone who dared to take that name belonged.  Here, bleeding out, being mocked.  Hate has no bounds, nor has it a high threshold.  Like love, when you think you have discovered all there is, more will be found in you.  Satan tries through all this cruelty to convince Jesus, that we, humanity, are not worth it.  He is right.  This is the painful truth, though it causes Satan no pain, only glee.

None of us are worth this.  At least none of us, would go through this for each other, yet Jesus is undeterred.  Now it is time to get physical.  Matthew continues in verse 30 saying … “And they spit upon him, and took the reed, and smote him on the head.”  None of us are too crazy about the idea of having someone else hawk-a-loogie right in our face.  To have the indignity of a spit bukaki in the face of your precious Savior should cause you to cringe in horror.  But it occurred.  Jesus did not react.  Not just because His arms were so tired He would not be able to lift them to wipe away the indignity.  But He just kept looking at these men as if He loved each of them, and knew each of them personally.  This was making it lose the buzz.  So they up’ed the game.  They take back the reed, and begin to beat Him on the head, pushing the crown of thorns even deeper into his flesh every time they made contact.  Producing a new squirt of blood as if from the pump of an artery every time they made contact.  They are laughing at Him.  He is crying for them.  They are why He is here.  To save each of them.

The fun is wearing off.  Cruelty cannot sustain a high, only get one started.  To sustain the high, one must find new ways to raise the game, make it worse.  There is never enough cruelty, to keep a high going.  Besides, Jesus has dumped so much blood on the ground in front of them, they are beginning to slip.  If they stay He will bleed out, avoid a crucifixion, and get them in trouble for not following orders.  Matthew continues in verse 31 saying … “And after that they had mocked him, they took the robe off from him, and put his own raiment on him, and led him away to crucify him.”  They put His own homespun on Him again.  But they leave the crown of thorns on Him, if they pulled it out surely He would have died from blood loss.  The clothing, such as it is, is now holding His back together after the flogging.  Not much skin left, so His clothing acts as a large sack holding His body together soaking with blood throughout.  But in this condition, He is completely unable to carry the cross as was the custom.  You can bet these cruel men had ZERO intentions of helping this Jew out, or any after Him.

Matthew continues in verse 32 saying … “And as they came out, they found a man of Cyrene, Simon by name: him they compelled to bear his cross.  [verse 33] And when they were come unto a place called Golgotha, that is to say, a place of a skull,  [verse 34] They gave him vinegar to drink mingled with gall: and when he had tasted thereof, he would not drink.”  They made it to the place designated for this execution.  Lucky them.  Had Jesus died en route there would have been no end to the anger.  The Romans could care less who they made help them out.  When they get there, they offered Jesus a pain-dulling stimulant, to give Him some chance to live longer.  This was not a mercy.  It was a continued act of cruelty.  The point was to see Jesus suffer as long as humanly possible.  If Jesus died right away, it kills the fun of it.  But when Jesus tasted what it was, He refused to drink.  In his depleted condition, you could not force Him, or you may just kill Him on the spot. 

Matthew continues in verse 35 saying … “And they crucified him, and parted his garments, casting lots: that it might be fulfilled which was spoken by the prophet, They parted my garments among them, and upon my vesture did they cast lots. [verse 36] And sitting down they watched him there; [verse 37] And set up over his head his accusation written, THIS IS JESUS THE KING OF THE JEWS.”  The doctors of cruelty who have no idea about ancient Jewish prophecies now fulfill another of them without the slightest knowledge they do so.  They threw dice for the homespun of Jesus.  Once you wash His robes, they might be awefully nice to add to a wardrobe.  Further cruelty, He will die naked and exposed now for all the world to see.  What would be our shame is now His shame.  No modesty, no compassion, only cruelty.  They choose to nail His hands and feet to the cross.  They could have tied Him up there with ropes, but ropes are less painful.  Nails, or rather spikes, will pearce Him clean through and increase the pain by an order of magnitude.

But while the sound of spike through bone is heard by all, what is not heard, is even a whisper of condemnation for those who are in the middle of inflicting all this cruelty upon Him.  Jesus had to die.  But this level of cruelty was our choice, not His will.  Yet still he does not call out any who sin against Him personally, to condemn them for what they do, even though their cruelty would have surely gotten any one of us to hate them in response.  The horror of sledge hammer through bone is heard.  Continual planking and squirting of blood, yet not a word of condemnation.  This was the most evident public sin of all time, yet nothing from Jesus who knew their every thought.  And somehow still, modern Christians believe it is “their job” to point out sin.  Leave the sin diagnosis with Jesus, and frankly focus on getting the repair there as well.    The sign they erect over His head proclaims Him King.  None of these men probably read; they are not even sure what they posted.  But orders from Pilate so, so be it.

It is convenient for us to think we would never stoop to this level of cruelty to anyone, especially to Jesus.  So instead of pounding in a crown of thorns, or planking spikes through bone, we offer death by a thousand cuts instead.  We speak our blatant truth with no regard, and let the chips fall where they may.  But they are not our chips.  They are the pieces of hope and faith we shatter in another because we demonstrate to them that our version of what love means, is devoid of any caring for what another thinks and feels.  We believe it is “our duty” to call sin by its name, and speak the “will of God” as if “we” knew that will.  Our Pharisee forefathers had equal arrogance.  They too recited scripture and clung to their singular interpretations and were now killing Jesus because they too believed they knew the will of God. 

We call ourselves Christian, and then proceed to dismember others with our speech, ironically thinking we do them a favor.  We do not.  If we loved them, so much that it broke our hearts to even consider sharing with them a truth that might hurt them as well, we would find another way to say it.  We might even follow the example of Jesus during this entire event and keep our peace, keep silent.  Or we would stand there with our brothers & sisters sheltering them throughout, so that they knew we were with them forever.  If tears are to flow, let them be our tears first.  Love that cares, cares.  It is not blind to the heart of others, even in matters of truth.  Let us burn our degrees in cruelty, and study love in its place.  Let us wrap truth in a hand-stitched blanket of love, never more in a platted crown-of-thorns, before we even consider delivering it.  Let us elevate love to a high art form, ever pursuing a mastery we may never fully attain.  And in so doing, speak or see cruelty never again.