The next few lines in the Apostle's Creed are some of the toughest. We read that Jesus “suffered under Pontius Pilate,” “was crucified, died, and was buried” and that “he descended into hell.” Here it's important to remember that we can’t hope to find the meaning of any isolated ‘moment’ in the Creed apart from the whole, just as we can't interpret the Creed apart from the light of Scripture and Tradition. It’s especially impossible to understand the meaning of the statements here apart from what happens next (i.e. resurrection, glorification). With that in mind, while my interpretation here is perhaps surprising, I'm aiming to be perfectly in turn with the broader tradition of the historic orthodox Christian faith.
Which brings me to the idea of “irony.” In Matt Bird's illuminating book The Secrets of Story, we find him saying that “Irony is the heart of meaning.” The theorist Kenneth Burke explains irony in very simple terms: Irony is when what goes forth as A returns as non-A. More specifically, our need for irony is a need for what is negative to come back to us as a positive. Another way to think of irony is as a type of juxtaposition where the real meaning overturns the expected meaning.
Well, here in the Creed we have an irony: the focus on suffering and death is not, as we would expect, entirely negative. Of course, we’re looking at what Christians regard as the darkest moment in the whole of human history and yet instead of this being the lowest point in the story, it becomes the highest point. As the writer Paul notes: “I resolved to know nothing while I was with you except Jesus Christ and him crucified.” (1 Corinthians 2:2). For Paul, this terrible thing is also somehow a good thing. We should remember that Christians refer to the Friday that Jesus died as "Good Friday."
But to get at the irony of this strange statement, let’s have a look at each statement individually. First is the idea that Jesus "suffered under Pontius Pilate." Here we have an answer to one of the common complaints about the Creed, which is that it seems to jump from Jesus' birth to his death. What about the middle bit—his life on earth? After all, we know that bad theology tends to stem from ignoring the middle bit. A vital aspect of the life of Jesus was the fact that he taught us how to live.
Well, the answer to this complaint is quite simple. The Creed isn’t meant to replace reading of the gospel narratives but is meant to offer us a way to read them faithfully. But also, there is a sense in which Jesus' life between birth and death isn't skipped over. After all, the phrase “suffered under Pontius Pilate” can be taken both literally and metaphorically. Literally, yes, he suffered when he was tried under the authority of Pontius Pilate. But metaphorically speaking, “suffered” is used to encapsulate his whole life.
Take for example, this little extract from Isaiah 53 (The whole chapter actually came to be associated by the early Christians with Jesus):
He was despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief; and as one from whom men hide their faces he was despised, and we esteemed him not. Surely he has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows; yet we esteemed him stricken, smitten by God, and afflicted.
Jesus certainly lived a whole life, filled with all kinds of good things. He certainly shows signs of joy, humour, happiness, wonder, and so on. And yet suffering is used to summarise the life of Jesus. He “suffered in the flesh” (1 Peter 4:1). Suffered is the core/summary word because it stressed the fact that in this, even in the horrible stuff of life, that God meets us too. He's doesn't just meet us at our best, but in the worst aspect of the human experience.
When most of us think about suffering, the question will come up: Why? There are ways to answer this question, but it is best to note that the real motivation for the “why” is that we need the negative to become a positive (the positive, though, is likely to be found elsewhere). Even if an answer could make some rational sense, it's unlikely to be particularly comforting. It's possibly for this reason that in the book of Job, we read that Job is not comforted at all by answers but only by the presence of God. In fact, the book of Job can be read as one long tirade against people who provide answers to the problem of suffering too quickly and thoughtlessly.
So my approach is not going to be answering why we suffer but concerns the issue that was closer to the what Jesus seemed to do with it: “What now?" How do we find meaning in and through and beyond suffering?
Let's look against what that one idea from Isaiah 53: “Surely he has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows; yet we esteemed him stricken, smitten by God, and afflicted.” One of the commonest replies to the suffering of others is that the reason for it must be found in something they did or need to learn. Often, we may think God is punishing us when we suffer. But in Isaiah (which echoes the book of Job’s concerns), we find that when Jesus suffers, it is not because he is stricken by God, but only that “we esteemed him stricken.”
I'm reminded of the story of another victim who was brutally treated. At the end of the story of Jospeh, we here him tell the brothers who had victimised him: “What you intended for evil, God has used for the good.” (Genesis 50:20).
Then we have another line: "He descended into hell." This is also a tough idea, too, known as the “harrowing of hell." The harrowing of hell is also referred to in Athanasian Creed which also states that Jesus Christ "descended into Hell". Christ's descent into the underworld is alluded to in the New Testament in 1 Peter 4:6, which states that the "good tidings were proclaimed to the dead". The Catholic Catechism interprets Ephesians 4:9, which states that "[Christ] descended into the lower parts of the earth", as also supporting this interpretation.
Merely asking “Why?” in the face of suffering won’t get you far because it’ll make you assume the posture of the victim. Even though we see Jesus being victimised, he does not once take on the posture/stance of the victim. And maybe that's because he knows that these things, difficult and terrible as they are, are not ultimate.
Which brings me to the idea of “irony.” In Matt Bird's illuminating book The Secrets of Story, we find him saying that “Irony is the heart of meaning.” The theorist Kenneth Burke explains irony in very simple terms: Irony is when what goes forth as A returns as non-A. More specifically, our need for irony is a need for what is negative to come back to us as a positive. Another way to think of irony is as a type of juxtaposition where the real meaning overturns the expected meaning.
Well, here in the Creed we have an irony: the focus on suffering and death is not, as we would expect, entirely negative. Of course, we’re looking at what Christians regard as the darkest moment in the whole of human history and yet instead of this being the lowest point in the story, it becomes the highest point. As the writer Paul notes: “I resolved to know nothing while I was with you except Jesus Christ and him crucified.” (1 Corinthians 2:2). For Paul, this terrible thing is also somehow a good thing. We should remember that Christians refer to the Friday that Jesus died as "Good Friday."
But to get at the irony of this strange statement, let’s have a look at each statement individually. First is the idea that Jesus "suffered under Pontius Pilate." Here we have an answer to one of the common complaints about the Creed, which is that it seems to jump from Jesus' birth to his death. What about the middle bit—his life on earth? After all, we know that bad theology tends to stem from ignoring the middle bit. A vital aspect of the life of Jesus was the fact that he taught us how to live.
Well, the answer to this complaint is quite simple. The Creed isn’t meant to replace reading of the gospel narratives but is meant to offer us a way to read them faithfully. But also, there is a sense in which Jesus' life between birth and death isn't skipped over. After all, the phrase “suffered under Pontius Pilate” can be taken both literally and metaphorically. Literally, yes, he suffered when he was tried under the authority of Pontius Pilate. But metaphorically speaking, “suffered” is used to encapsulate his whole life.
Take for example, this little extract from Isaiah 53 (The whole chapter actually came to be associated by the early Christians with Jesus):
He was despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief; and as one from whom men hide their faces he was despised, and we esteemed him not. Surely he has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows; yet we esteemed him stricken, smitten by God, and afflicted.
Jesus certainly lived a whole life, filled with all kinds of good things. He certainly shows signs of joy, humour, happiness, wonder, and so on. And yet suffering is used to summarise the life of Jesus. He “suffered in the flesh” (1 Peter 4:1). Suffered is the core/summary word because it stressed the fact that in this, even in the horrible stuff of life, that God meets us too. He's doesn't just meet us at our best, but in the worst aspect of the human experience.
When most of us think about suffering, the question will come up: Why? There are ways to answer this question, but it is best to note that the real motivation for the “why” is that we need the negative to become a positive (the positive, though, is likely to be found elsewhere). Even if an answer could make some rational sense, it's unlikely to be particularly comforting. It's possibly for this reason that in the book of Job, we read that Job is not comforted at all by answers but only by the presence of God. In fact, the book of Job can be read as one long tirade against people who provide answers to the problem of suffering too quickly and thoughtlessly.
So my approach is not going to be answering why we suffer but concerns the issue that was closer to the what Jesus seemed to do with it: “What now?" How do we find meaning in and through and beyond suffering?
Let's look against what that one idea from Isaiah 53: “Surely he has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows; yet we esteemed him stricken, smitten by God, and afflicted.” One of the commonest replies to the suffering of others is that the reason for it must be found in something they did or need to learn. Often, we may think God is punishing us when we suffer. But in Isaiah (which echoes the book of Job’s concerns), we find that when Jesus suffers, it is not because he is stricken by God, but only that “we esteemed him stricken.”
From our point of view, it looked like he was stricken by God. God didn't do this to Jesus, we only thought he had.
We should remember our theology: Jesus is God. There are a few ironies that become clear when we notice this. First, here we find that the Ruler of the Universe is put on trial by a mere politician. In the end, it is really Pilate put on trial. Second, in line with what I've said above, our expectation that suffering has to do with God’s punishment or judgement, is overturned. Third, here we have a picture of Jesus, who as true God transcends suffering, electing to also suffer.
The ironies continue as we start to look at the next line: Jesus “was crucified, died, and was buried.” The very source of life, the one through whom all things were made, undergoes death. A further irony: the thing that was thought to be “punishment” (for sin) is transformed into the very mechanism by which life will be dished out to the rest of us. We are not saved from death but saved in death. Death enters the world by means of sin but we should remember that this too is not without grace: death is also what keeps us from living perpetually in a world corrupted by sin. Still, a further grace comes to us through the death of Jesus.
In a way, Jesus “sanctifies” death.
Again, this is an irony. What goes forth as “bad” returns as a good because God can “work all things for the good of those who love him” (Rom 8:28). Of course, the meaning of Jesus’ death is one of the most contested things in Christianity. There are whole schools of thought dealing with what it means, and Christians get into many needly squabbles over which way of understanding Jesus' death is the right way. The truth is: there is mystery here, too. What is uncontested is that it has to do with “atonement for sins” and the forgiveness of sins. And it is about “drawing all people to God” (John 12:32). In any case, as Tom Wright says, you don’t necessarily have to “know how it works” for it to work. It is a sign that God is at work even when the worst thing happens: the torturing and murder of an innocent man at the hands of a corrupt and unjust system.
I'm reminded of the story of another victim who was brutally treated. At the end of the story of Jospeh, we here him tell the brothers who had victimised him: “What you intended for evil, God has used for the good.” (Genesis 50:20).
Then we have another line: "He descended into hell." This is also a tough idea, too, known as the “harrowing of hell." The harrowing of hell is also referred to in Athanasian Creed which also states that Jesus Christ "descended into Hell". Christ's descent into the underworld is alluded to in the New Testament in 1 Peter 4:6, which states that the "good tidings were proclaimed to the dead". The Catholic Catechism interprets Ephesians 4:9, which states that "[Christ] descended into the lower parts of the earth", as also supporting this interpretation.
Since the aim in these blog posts is to steer clear of controversies, I'll focus again on what we all should be able to agree with, although this means recognising that there is great mystery here too. The point is that death/hell mean separation, and yet there is irony here too: Jesus meets us in the place of the greatest separation. There is nothing, as Paul suggests, that can separate us from the love of God, in Jesus Christ (Rom 8).
And so, you see, our need for irony is answered in this portion of the Apostles' Creed. We see many negatives turned into positives, many terrible things transformed and redeemed. In the midst of our own suffering, we may not necessarily want to dismiss it by saying "It's all ironic." But what Christians throughout the ages have been able to say is that God can work through all things for the good of those who love him. It's emphatically not that God is the source of the suffering, but that he can take it, even our suffering to the point of death, and turn it into something beautiful and good and true.
And so, you see, our need for irony is answered in this portion of the Apostles' Creed. We see many negatives turned into positives, many terrible things transformed and redeemed. In the midst of our own suffering, we may not necessarily want to dismiss it by saying "It's all ironic." But what Christians throughout the ages have been able to say is that God can work through all things for the good of those who love him. It's emphatically not that God is the source of the suffering, but that he can take it, even our suffering to the point of death, and turn it into something beautiful and good and true.
Still, we have a part to play in all of this, which is to seek to affirm whatever good we can, even despite the suffering. We can still take responsibility for our part in facing suffering, as Viktor Frankl suggested: “Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom.” We can decide, even though it is hard to do so:
Do I allow this to make me bitter or do I allow this to make me better?
Merely asking “Why?” in the face of suffering won’t get you far because it’ll make you assume the posture of the victim. Even though we see Jesus being victimised, he does not once take on the posture/stance of the victim. And maybe that's because he knows that these things, difficult and terrible as they are, are not ultimate.
Resurrection Sunday is coming.
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