It’s a story both ancient and contemporary, and the horrific atrocities never are put to rest.
By Molly T. Marshall
This past Sunday in Overland Park, Kan., a rabid anti-Semite, gun-wielding white supremacist drove into the parking lot at the Jewish Community Center with the intent to kill. And he succeeded. He shot a grandfather and grandson (thinking they were Jews, but actually Methodists), missed two others and then drove to a nearby Jewish retirement center and killed a woman (who turned out to be a Catholic). The metro area of Kansas City and the wider Jewish and Christian communities are bowed down with grief.
An interesting byproduct of these deaths is the rising empathy in Christian circles for the long experience of Jewish persons, often at the hands of Christians. The cruel irony of the killer’s failed mission is not lost on either community.
Two days hence, we have learned a lot more about the perpetrator of this hate crime. He has served as a Grand Dragon in the KKK, ran for office in Missouri on one issue — dislodging Jews from places of influence in the U.S. — and retains an abiding affection for the Nazis. After being placed in the police car, he screamed “Heil Hitler” with hebephrenic glee. The local authorities have rightly deemed his murderous action a “hate crime.”
This story line is both ancient and contemporary, and the horrific atrocities never are put to rest. On the eve of Passover and the beginning of Holy Week, this event requires better thinking about guns, religious liberty and the propensity of humanity to scapegoat “others” for the ills of the world.
We may wonder where such virulence arises. Seeds for this kind of ethnic hatred often grow in those who feel dispossessed or blame others for their cultural status. Learning the narrative that underlies an ideology is instructive. Also probing the systemic evil that threatens us all is necessary. It is an inescapable reality that we live after “the Fall,” and we “sigh for Eden,” in the words of Willimon.
In earlier times, Christians persecuted Jews for the crucifixion of Jesus, and they read virulent parts of the New Testament as warrant for their action. The epithet “Christ killers” seemed to justify the targeted marginalization and wounding exploitation of Jewish communities.
Thankfully, in recent scholarship the broad-brush accusation of “the Jews” has been refined, although movies like Gibson’s “The Passion of Christ” do not help. We have learned that a slender sector of Jewish persons — temple authorities colluding with Rome — allowed the death of Jesus, and that his confrontation with the reigning powers precipitated his execution.
Yet the burden of election, “being chosen,” clings to this historic people. Perhaps it is because of the unique identity God bestows on the Jewish people that others express the mimetic desire to displace and destroy them. Over the past two summers studying with rabbis in Jerusalem, I have learned that God’s project with Israel, calling them to a covenant relationship, was a test case to demonstrate how God desires intimacy with all humanity. Sadly, this experiment was more failure than success, in the words of my teachers.
The Jewish “no” to Jesus allows the Gentile “yes,” and we travel toward redemption in a familial conversation. “We are the relatives that just won’t go away,” remarked a rabbi friend. I am grateful that we claim each other in these days.
In this week Christians call holy, we confront once again the blood thirst that characterizes sinful humanity. The “fall to violence,” in the words of Marjorie Suchocki, is the primal expression of rebellion against God and the refusal to live in community with others.
Christians and Jews are drawing their lives of faith ever closer in our city. Public statements, vigils and interfaith clergy gatherings bear testimony to a shared concern for mutual well-being, for shalom. These encounters call us to pierce beneath the surface of distrust and traverse a new landscape.
Appropriate for this week are words from the Mourner’s Kaddish:
Blessed be God, beyond any blessing and song,
praise and consolation that are uttered in the world. Now say:
Amen. May there be abundant peace from Heaven and life upon us and
upon all Israel.
A companion reading for Monday of Holy Week describes the peaceful ways of God’s servant, whom Christians claim to be the Messiah:
He will not cry or lift up his voice, or make it heard in the street; a bruised reed he will not break, and a dimly burning wick he will not quench; he will faithfully bring forth justice (Isaiah 42:2-3).
This faithful Jew shows us the way to live with others. I pray we will all be renewed in this season as we consider his pathway.
OPINION: Views expressed in ABPnews/Herald columns and commentaries are solely those of the authors.