THERE IS a prevailing emotion that hangs over the Gospel accounts of the Passion like a bad smell. It is fear. The Jewish authorities fear the independence of this preacher from the countryside. They fear his ability to perform miracles. They fear his popularity with the crowd. And they fear revolution — that the popular unrest will prompt the Romans to tear up the agreement that has left them largely in charge of the province.
This fear is a close cousin of greed. When the authorities act on their fear, it is out of a determination that their power and its trappings must be preserved. When Christ hangs from the cross, the priests and the elders mock him, saying: “Let him now come down from the cross, and we will believe him.” The words ask for evidence, but the tone suggests that no manifestation of Christ’s divinity would satisfy them. Far from lacking evidence, they have the evidence that Jesus has already provided — in the miracles of healing and, in particular, the raising of Lazarus — and it is this that has sparked their fear. The power of the gospel at work is unwelcome to those who wish to protect their power to control.
Any hint of democracy is seen as another threat. When the crowds cheer Christ into Jerusalem, far from prompting the authorities to think again, it confirms them in their fear of Christ’s power. They are too practised in manipulating the crowd to pay any attention to its opinions. And so it proves: at Christ’s trial, the priests and elders can sway the onlookers with seemingly little effort. Here we encounter another fear: the religious authorities, backed by their paramilitary guards, have a firm grip on the people. The courage to defy them is not easily come by, as Peter discovers.
Fear remains the enemy of the gospel. The forces that caused the Jewish authorities to reject Jesus still sit at the shoulder of executive power wherever in the world it is manifested. The fear of losing power is enough to justify the most heinous injustices, and this, in turn, creates a fearful citizenry. Into this dark tangle shines the glory of the resurrection. It is easy to understand the fearfulness of Christian believers in the face of brutality, either political or corporate. But Christ’s example can be the source of boldness in the face of discrimination, a well of courage when tyrants, little or big, need to be confronted.
The purpose of the Church is to nurture this fearlessness, and the neglect, or worse, of this function has been shameful, if understandable. First, it is hard, intimate work to persuade the faithful to allow the Holy Spirit to pervade new areas of their lives — their prejudices, their political opinions, their carefully guarded inadequacies. Second, challenging power, wherever it reposes, requires support, and few congregations are united enough to provide this in any measure. But the approach of Easter is a chance to examine the fear that holds back Christ’s people, and to welcome his gift of courage.
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