With Christmas approaching faster than anyone over 40 wants it to, the boy was reminiscing about ghosts of Christmas activities past after school the other day.
He played Joseph in a Christmas program two years ago, which was cool with him because all he had to do was stand there. The only acting required was pretending he was paying attention to everything happening around him (I should say that’s guesswork on my part, based on what is likely a good deal of projection).
His wistful recollection caused me to remember my two acting roles in church programs, which were much more buttoned up because they involved Easter and, as it happens, the Catholic Church in the 1980s was even less fun-loving and easy going than it is now. (This would be a good time to mention that, for at least a week in the first grade, I thought Pope John Paul II was the principal of the Catholic elementary school I briefly attended, because his picture was hanging up everywhere.)
“I played Pontius Pilate one year,†I said. “The year before that, I played the centurion who stabs Jesus in the side to make sure he’s dead.â€
The boy doubled over with laughter.
“Yeah, those were the roles everyone wanted,†I said with heavy sarcasm. “I killed Jesus twice.â€
“Did you enjoy playing those parts?†he asked.
“No, I didn’t enjoy playing the bad guys.â€
“No one does. What did Mimi think?â€
“Oh, Mimi never thought I did anything °ù¾±²µ³ó³Ù.â€
“Did you mess up your lines?â€
“There were no lines. One year, I stabbed. One year, I held a scroll and pointed.â€
The kid, always looking for the good in everyone, or at least a way to lighten the load of having to play one of the New Testament’s most heavy bad guys, said that Pilate didn’t really want to condemn Jesus to death. He had to do it because of the pressure put on him.
“Well, he did it because someone other than a Roman emperor was being declared a king,†I said. “That was considered treason. The punishment for treason back then was pretty stiff.â€
The boy then said Jesus knew what was going to happen and that it had to happen, so it didn’t really matter.
“Depends on which gospel you’re reading,†I said. “He predicts he’s going to die, but the necessity and implications of that, and just how much he knows, can differ.â€
While reconciling the gaps between what can be proven historically and what must be chalked up to faith surrounding the New Testament (and other religious texts) is fascinating to me, I’m not a Biblical scholar. In fact, at this point in the conversation with my child, I realized I was nothing but a buzzkill.
Playing the villain, once again. It’s the role everyone wants.
In truth, I envy young people who can embrace these things with such certainty and innocence. I’m not envious of the day the boy has to question these things for himself, but it’s a part of life.
It’s ironic to me that we’re constantly trying to prove that certain things from a religious text really happened, often while ignoring the message — you know, only the most important thing in there. Archeology can’t prove a miracle. That’s why they’re called miracles.
I also don’t understand why some religious groups across the spectrum seek to stifle curiosity and instill indoctrination. To me, that’s a tactic born out of fear that arguments won’t hold up to the most basic of questions. Isn’t the whole point to look into your own heart and decide between faith or skepticism? Or sometimes be skeptical of your faith? Skeptical of your skepticism?
Maybe that’s too many questions.
Then again, it’s when people stop asking questions that some historically awful stuff happens, often either propelled by one religion or another, a clash between religions or the complete absence of such a thing. Fanaticism of any kind creates a lot of room for unjust justifications, hypocrisy and brutality.
As with anything, there’s a high probability I’ve got it all wrong. Maybe the lesson here is don’t make a kid play a stabbing centurion and Pontius Pilate in back-to-back years during middle school. Something tells me I’m off there, too, though.
Anyway, forgetting Christmas for a moment, feel free to bring all of this up at the dinner table during Thanksgiving. I guarantee you’ll be legendary or infamous, and it’ll blow squabbling over politics out of the water.
