Jesus Who? 

The Rev. Ron Sala

Unitarian Universalist Society in Stamford

Easter, April 20, 2003 

 

Ah, Spring! We have discarded out coats and we’ll soon be on the beach at our annual picnic.

I’m reminded of something a friend told me a few years ago in a conversation on a beach. I believe there’s something about the surf that brings out religious impulses in people. He said that some 2,000 years ago the son of the Great God came down to earth. His birth was foretold in the stars. He was born of a virgin, in humble circumstances, on December 25^th. He was visited by three wise men and shepherds. He grew up and performed many miracles, such as raising the dead, making the blind see and the lame walk. He cast out demons. At the end, he had a last supper with his 12 disciples. He was killed and ascended into heaven on the third day. His worshipers held feasts in which they believed they partook of his body and blood. They were also baptized. His religion became the most popular in the Roman Empire. His name? Mithra.

Perhaps you thought I was talking about someone else. Jesus, maybe. My friend had been raised Jewish, became a Jew for Jesus, then eventually became a neo-Pagan. I think my friend’s journey is emblematic of our society’s struggle to come to terms with just who this man Jesus was.

I was raised Christian myself. Since my childhood I’ve altered many of my opinions about who Jesus was. Before anyone gets too alarmed, let me set the record straight.

First, I’m not impressed with claims that Jesus was the son of God. I consider myself a bit of a pantheist. Agree with me or don’t, but I feel God can speak to us through every creature, creation, and creativity. Perhaps God is nothing but consciousness itself, but that would be enough. Jesus is divine? Great, but so are you and me.

Second, I’m not impressed by claims that Jesus sacrificed himself for our sins.

I don’t think he sacrificed himself at all. Yes, he died as a political prisoner under Roman rule. Yes, he knew he was taking a large risk with his politically destabilizing rhetoric. But dying wasn’t the point. He had a message to get out, and he wouldn’t suppress it for the world, even if his life were to be taken from him. He didn’t seek to die, only to live true to his principles.

Also, the whole scheme of Jesus dying to blot out sins rests on the premise of having to appease a vengeful God obsessed with infractions to the point of damnation. That’s not the kind of God I want to believe in.

Third, I’m not impressed with claims that Jesus rose from the dead. I’m not so much of a skeptic to say it couldn’t have happened, just that it seems fairly unlikely. Besides, in my humble opinion, it’s a bit pointless to argue about it now. That was a long time ago, and even if he did rise from the dead, nobody took any pictures—unless, of course, you count the Shroud of Turin.

Is Jesus alive someplace else? What happens to any of us after this life? I think Lou Reed put it bluntly but well, “Anybody who says they know what happens after we die is lying.”

So who was this Jesus, then?

To give one answer to that question, I’ll go back to another outdoor conversation I had with another friend of mine. A few summers ago, I went to a movie with the Generation U, the young adult group of the Community Church of New York. It was West Side Story, the last film of the season on the big screen in Bryant Park. A gentle chill was in the air, a delight after the muggy New York summer. Somehow, the city recaptured some of the wonder it held when I first moved here. It was a perfect night.

Even though I had seen West Side Story more times than I care to remember, I was moved by the music, the dance, and that story older than Shakespeare: tragic love. As we were leaving, a friend turned to me and commented that the story would have been more faithful to Romeo and Juliet if Maria would have died along with her true love. Irked at him for the apparent callousness of his remark—and for lousing up my perfect evening—I accused my friend of being a cynic. He surprised me again by agreeing. “A cynic,” he said, “is just someone who believes that people act out of their own self-interest.”

Ever since, this statement has haunted me. Contrary to what many believed at the time of the founding of our Unitarian and Universalist denominations, and many still believe today, our liberal religious tradition tells us that we are not utterly depraved, conceived in sin, with “no health in us.” Nevertheless, even a glance at the paper or the nightly news reveals a catalogue of human selfishness and greed. Which view is right?

I had a fuzzy memory from high school and college of a group of Greek philosophers called Cynics, but I had to admit to myself I really didn't know what they were about or how they might help me with my question. So I did some research.

Picture yourself in an ancient Greek marketplace. A stranger approaches in a tattered cloak, barefoot, with a staff and a begging bag. He doesn't look like anyone the respectable market-goers would pay much attention to. But then he opens his mouth.

“Break the chains of your wealth!” he shouts. “Be like me, free from worry, living on the bounty of nature!” He enters into a diatribe, aimed at anyone who will listen, criticizing the very foundations of society: wealth, status, warfare, gladiatorial contests, the mystery cults, the swearing of oaths. He's obviously struck some nerves in the growing crowd, and people begin to mock him. They throw bones at his feet, as if he were a dog. “You should be as doggish as me!” he yells, happy with the challenge. Losing patience with his jibes, some in the crowd punch him and pull at his hair. He does not fight back, but says, “Blessed be the Gods that I am not cursed with praise!”

The man is a Cynic. He believes that arete, Greek for excellence or virtue, is to be found in a life of voluntary poverty, free from the customs of civilization, independent and self-controlled. The Cynic school began four centuries before Christ and continued for several centuries after him. They were dispersed throughout the Greco-Roman world.

The early Christians, in fact, were often seen by their contemporaries as a kind of Cynic. Let's look at the similarities.

The most obvious would have been the lifestyle. Cynics kept things as simple as possible: a cloak, maybe sandals, maybe a bag, maybe a staff. Other than this, the true Cynic had no earthly possessions, having given them away on taking up the philosopher's role. Similarly, Jesus advised those who would follow him to sell what they had and give to the poor. Depending on which gospel you read, he sends his disciples into the world with various lists of minimal equipment. For example, in Matthew 6:8-9, “He ordered them to take nothing for their journey except a staff; no bread, no bag, no money in their belts; but to wear sandals and not to put on two tunics.”

This shows that neither group were fans of money. First Timothy 6:9-10 is the much-quoted “the love of money is a root of all evil.” It seems that among early Christians, a similar saying is even more often quoted. It is attributed to Diogenes of Sinope, the most famous Cynic, who lived in the fourth century BCE: “The love of money is the mother-city of all evils.”

In fact, both groups were admonished against the common view of money as something to be held onto tightly. In Luke 6:30, Jesus says, “Give to everyone who begs from you; and if anyone takes away your goods, do not ask for them again.” In a book called Lives of the Eminent Philosophers, Diogenes Laertius writes, “Don't get cross when [good and] wise people ask you for an obol, for it's not yours, it's theirs, and you're giving it back to them.” Perhaps this attitude sheds some light on Jesus' saying, “Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar's and unto God the things that are God's.” It's as much to say, “Let Caesar have his money. Look what it's done to him.”

Another common point is that both groups go out of their way to get into trouble with conventional society.

The aforementioned Diogenes would rival any postmodern performance artist for shock value. So total was his devotion to his concept of natural living that he's reported to have freely, publicly, and unselfconsciously belched, broken wind, and performed other bodily functions that were I to describe, I doubt I would be welcome at this pulpit again . . . .

Jesus' ouster of the moneychangers in the temple would have been completely in the spirit of the Cynics, as would a good percentage of his public career: eating with tax collectors and “sinners,” talking with a Samaritan woman, breaking the Jewish Sabbath and purity laws, or railing against the religious establishment of the scribes and Pharisees.

“Woe to you when all speak well of you, for that is what their ancestors did to the false prophets,” says Jesus in Luke 6:26. Cynic tradition shares this sentiment. Diogenes Laertius writes about a problem Antisthenes, the founder of the Cynic school, was having: “Lots of people are praising you,” Antisthenes was told. “Why? he asked, what have I done wrong?”

This reminds me of something said recently by T. Richard Snyder, dean of New York Theological Seminary, where I attend. Every ten years, the seminary must reapply to the ATS, the agency that accredits theological schools. Thirty years ago, then president Bill Webber was working on changes that would make NYTS one of the most culturally diverse and progressive seminaries in the country. ATS sent a visiting committee to observe the seminary’s programs. The committee gave the ATS board a positive recommendation, but the board sent a second committee just to be sure, not that this had anything to do with the bold new direction the seminary was heading in, of course. Ten years later, the same thing happened: The visiting committee gave a glowing report and was again second-guessed by the board which reluctantly approved. When reaccreditation came up again recently, the board not only approved but called the seminary “a model of theological education.” Far from being happy, Snyder cannot help but wonder if its time to do something really radical, now that the rest of country seems to be catching up.

The word Cynic means “dog-like.” It's said that Diogenes lived in a large earthen pot by the door of a temple in Athens. He was a self-appointed watchdog of the Goddess, carrying a lantern by day, searching for the one honest person necessary to prevent her from destroying the earth. Early Christians, too, believed in an immanent end of the world. Perhaps cynicism in our modern sense stems from the fact that Diogenes never found that one honest person, yet the world remains.

Perhaps Jesus too had a similar appraisal of human nature. In Mark 10:18, he says, “Why do you call me good? No one is good but God alone.” Nevertheless, he also says, “Follow me.” I don't believe a Cynic Jesus could have thought himself God incarnate. As F. Gerald Downing, author of the book Cynics and Christian Origins writes, “it cannot be imagined it ever crossed his mind.” Jesus saying “Follow me” is rather an invitation to imitate him in a dog-like critique of society, barking at the follies and injustices we see around us, knowing no person or people will ever be perfect, but barking anyway.

A Cynic Jesus gives 'em hell. Not as an otherworldly judge sending souls to perdition, but as a this-worldly one pointing the way to change. He gives us hell and in so doing gives us hope. Our human life is important enough that it is worth the critique. And we are good enough to benefit by it.

The Cynics are no longer with us, but their spirit lived on in Unitarian Universalists like Henry David Thoreau, who wrote, “My purpose in going to Walden Pond was not to live cheaply nor to live dearly there, but to transact some private business with the fewest possible obstacles. . . ;” like Albert Schweitzer, who, when asked why he had only one necktie, responded that he had only one neck; like Ralph Waldo Emerson, who wrote, “The greatest man in history was the poorest;” and like Susan B. Anthony, who barked at the unnaturalness of the denial of woman's suffrage. It lives on today in all who reject conventions that value money over people or destroy nature within us or without.

Earlier, I listed claims about Jesus I’m not impressed with. There are also a number of things I am impressed with, things that I think he would have agreed with. I am impressed with what Jesus taught. Love your neighbor as yourself. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. The law was made for people, not people for the law. Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called the children of God. Do not judge, so that you may not be judged. Whoever becomes humble like a child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. Do not forgive seven times, but 77 times. The kingdom of heaven is among you.

I am impressed with the way Jesus lived. He spoke with a woman cast out and called unclean. He took time for children. He prayed much. He ate with sinners. He called hypocrisy when he saw it. He loved rich and poor alike. He told great stories. He touched the diseased. He spoke truth to power no matter the cost.

I am impressed with Jesus’ legacy. Napoleon was reported to have said, “I founded my empire on hate, and it’s already collapsed. Christ founded his on love, and it’s lasted 2000 years.” I needn’t remind you that the church hasn’t always lived up to Jesus’ teachings. Sometimes it hasn’t even come close. But at least there’s a standard against which we can compare ourselves. And there’s a example of forgiveness when we fail. Every time we ask the question, “What would Jesus do?” and try to live up to the answer, we have done well indeed.

So we do not need to say Jesus was the son of God…to see the divinity in him.

We do not need to say Jesus died for our sins…to appreciate the price he paid.

We do not need to say Jesus rose from the dead…to know that his dream lives on.