For Christians, Good Friday represents a day of remembrance of the death of Jesus Christ, a Jew living in Roman occupied Israel up until around 36 AD. Image source

He was just one of thousands (if not vastly more) of people, mostly dissidents in Rome punished by crucifixion as a way to discourage others from doing the same. I found Marco Cáceres article, titled ‘The Crucifixions’ enlightening as he recounts the vastness through which this method of torture and execution was employed by the Romans and across the lands of no less than twenty other civilisations over millennia.

I was raised in a Catholic family in Australia. I went to a Catholic primary school until the completion of my seventh formal year of schooling.

When it came to choosing a high school, the majority of my classmates were all destined for St. Gregory’s, John Therry or Saint Patrick’s in the Camden area. All of these schools were of the Catholic faith. Mum went to St. Pat’s. My father went to All Saints College in Bathurst, as he was raised in a Church of England household. My older sister chose to go to John Therry, and later entered the public system after suffering bullying at school.

Anticipating freedom from further (unsuccessful) indoctrination, I chose to go to a non-religious public high school.

I was fed up with the indoctrination and the make-believe stories that the priest, teachers and devout parents and members of the community had to say about the all-powerful Creator. Even at the age of eleven, when I made the choice to actively shun the church teachings, I knew that church was bullshit. Why would an omnipotent God need people to pay respect to him? If there was a God, he wasn’t looking for an ego boost. If he needed it, couldn’t he just expecto-patronum himself some more ego?

At the time, I didn’t have a clue about the now very well publicised prevalent sexual misconduct that infected the church hierarchy. I didn’t think the parishioners of the church were bad because they were religious. I just thought they were a club of idiots who couldn’t think for themselves. I was sick of the wasted time I spent at church during educational hours. I enjoyed learning and reading at school. I detested all the attached church ceremony that came with attending a Catholic school. It had me worn out. I couldn’t remember when you were supposed to “thumb” your forehead for want of a better description during a mass. Nor had I any clue why people were drinking Jesus’ blood AND eating his body. Who the fuck does that? Hannibal Lecter? It was strange to say the least.

The Catholic ‘God’, father of Jesus, required people to admit their faults during confession, sing to him, eat his body and drink his blood.

Jesus Christ, the son of God and apparently somehow God himself (because he is God and can be in two places at once) requires remembrance and constant praise. At the Last Supper, prior to his reluctant crucifixion by the Romans, he sat amongst his gullible followers and said he wanted to be remembered, explaining that whenever bread and wine were consumed in the fashion of the Eucharist, that he would, quite literally, mind you, be within the bread and wine. To be more exact, the bread was his body. I’m assuming he meant his flesh. While the wine was his blood. Morbid.

I remember sitting and standing, then kneeling (rinse and repeat for God knows how many times), and taking in my surroundings. In the Church on the grounds of St. Pauls Primary in Camden, where I grew up, there was a large wooden carving of Christ, pinned to the cross. While I think Catholicism, along with all forms of religion are bollocks, I’ll admit that looking up at that man nailed to the cross is one of the saddest things I’ve laid eyes on. The look in those wooden eyes was that of utter compassion and peace. The way this man was carved was clearly done so in a way to elicit emotion from whomever gazed upon it.

I felt sorry for this man.

According to the accounts of the New Testament (we have to ignore the Old Testament for now, as it is full of obvious hatred), Jesus was decent. I chose the word ‘decent’ deliberately. Jesus talked a lot about doing good things. He would have waterside sermons to followers who gathered around him insisting on information. One parable that springs to mind is the parable of the Farmer Scattering Seed. Let it be known that Jesus knew how to plant a seed.

What did Jesus actually do for the masses, aside from a sum total of just forty miracles in his entire life?

Forty (including his own birth and resurrection) seems insignificant considering he was the same force who apparently created the entire universe.

Upon cursory investigation, here’s what I found:

• Jesus shared information, peacefully conversed with a Samaritan woman (even though Samaritans and Jews were sworn enemies), ‘helped’ a thief who was dying on a cross (no explanation) and was trustworthy. Source

• Jesus told some more parables and encouraged a man of means to redistribute his wealth to the poor as a kind of payment to access Heaven upon death. Source

• A woman poured expensive oil on his head while he was eating. His disciples cracked the shits and demanded to know why the oil wasn’t sold and the proceeds given to the poor. Jesus didn’t mind. He wanted her to remember this time when he was dead and buried. Source

Look, I get that this is the most brief theological study in two thousand years, but it seems like Jesus was mostly just a good guy with a bit of an ego. I could argue that Julius Caesar, assassinated about eighty years before the death of Jesus, was a pretty good guy, too. He worked hard to provide resources for the working poor, showed mercy to political enemies and gave citizenship to outside tribes. Having Roman citizenship was a big deal as it afforded a great deal of protection.

Jesus may not really have been as spectacular as he should or could have been, but did he really deserve to be nailed to a cross?

I don’t think so.

Remember those forty miracles I spoke of earlier? I think you’ll appreciate how loosely the term miracle was tossed about when we consider Miracle # 36,

'The Withering Fig Tree that Produced No Fruit'.

“As explained in the Gospel of Mark:
The next day as they were leaving Bethany, Jesus was hungry. Seeing in the distance a fig tree in leaf, he went to find out if it had any fruit. When he reached it, he found nothing but leaves, because it was not the season for figs. Then he said to the tree, "May no one ever eat fruit from you again." And his disciples heard him say it.

In the morning, as they went along, they saw the fig tree withered from the roots. Peter remembered and said to Jesus, "Rabbi, look! The fig tree you cursed has withered!"
"Have faith in God," Jesus answered. "Truly I tell you, if anyone says to this mountain, 'Go, throw yourself into the sea,' and does not doubt in their heart but believes that what they say will happen, it will be done for them. Therefore I tell you, whatever you ask for in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours. And when you stand praying, if you hold anything against anyone, forgive them, so that your Father in heaven may forgive you your sins."

In frustration, Jesus cursed a tree that wasn’t bearing fruit because it wasn’t in season. Let that sink in. He wasted a miracle cursing a tree that didn’t bear fruit out of season.

Instead, Jesus could have made a demand of the fig to provide fruit the following day. Hindsight is certainly 20/20, but we're talking about the Son of God here. Why should I be making allowances?

What did the Roman citizen say to his neighbour of Jesus' effort upon witnessing his monumental walk carrying his cross through the jeering, stone-throwing crowds and up the hill awaiting his crucifixion?

"Nailed it."

I'll leave you with the face of the man who mocked Jesus on the day of his death. After two thousand years, your statute of limitations has expired, my all-powerful friend.

All the best,

Nick.

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