Gibson's Passion as a Flawed Profession of Faith
by Aaron Milavec

The Passion is an extraordinary film.  Mel Gibson tells the personal story of how he was enmeshed in hard times that brought him close to suicide and how he found in the passion narratives hope for living.  In Gibson's own words: "When you get to the point where you don't want to live, and you don't want to die--it's a desperate horrible place to be.  And I just hit my knees.  And I had to use the passion of Christ and [his] wounds to heal my wounds."[i]  The genesis of this film, consequently, began in an authentic conversion experience.  While Gibson has been careful not to expose too much of the details of this experience, one would be mistaken not to allow and to take seriously how this self-acknowledged personal story stands behind the making of his film.  Roger Ebert, the film critic, captures my own sentiments in his review: 

            "The Passion of Christ" . . . depends upon theological considerations.  Gibson has not made a movie that anyone would call "commercial," and if it grosses millions, that will not be because anyone was entertained.  It is a personal message movie of the most radical kind, attempting to re-create events of personal urgency to Gibson.[ii] 

          Gibson's film has the merit of gripping viewers with a felt experience of the suffering of Jesus and Mary.  Roger Ebert remarks that, as an altar boy, the Stations of the Cross encouraged him to meditate on the sufferings of Christ.  "For we altar boys, this was not necessarily a deep spiritual experience. . . .  What Gibson has provided me, for the first time in my life, is a visceral idea of what the Passion consisted of."[iii]  Many viewers will resonate with this response.  Some, to be sure, will go even further and find that they renew their determination to stop sinning and to turn again to Jesus as their personal savior.  Others will be intent upon discussing whether Gibson might have gone too far either in deviating from the Gospels or in presenting graphic violence.   

          For myself, however, I want to consider this film as a profession of faith. I will conclude that, despite his personal sincerity, Gibson's film is deeply flawed.  It is flawed because Gibson's personal conversion and its associated theology shape his materials in such a way as to distort the person and the mission of Jesus as found in the Gospels.  More especially, Gibson's film glorifies redemptive violence and subverts Jesus' teaching of the wholesale availability of divine forgiveness independent of his death. 

The Glorification of Redemptive Violence 

           When interviewed by Bill O'Reilly, Gibson openly acknowledged that earlier films about Jesus have been historically inaccurate and unreal when it came to presenting the brutal violence inflicted upon Jesus.  "They're more like fairy tales.  And this [violence] actually happened.  It occurred.  I'm exploring this way, I think, to show the extent of the sacrifice willingly taken."[iv]  Remarks like this are revealing.  They reveal, first of all, that what Gibson means by the "historically accuracy" of his film has primarily to do with graphically presenting the suffering inflicted upon Jesus.  "I didn't want to see Jesus looking really pretty.  I wanted to mess up one of his eyes, destroy it."[v]  Secondly, Gibson's remark and his film reveal that the extent of the suffering was necessary in order to accomplish our redemption.  This is the theological passion shaping Gibson's choice and presentation of his images.  Finally, Gibson is a cinematic artist whose psyche is saturated with redemptive violence.  Peter J. Boyer expressed this accurately when he remarked: "Violence is Gibson's natural film language."[vi] 

          At this point, my early Catholic upbringing locks onto Mel Gibson's rhetoric.  On Fridays in Lent, we were herded into the church and confronted with the graphic violence depicted in the words and the images of the Stations of the Cross that circled the interior of Holy Cross Church.  At the beginning of each station, Fr. McMonigle, vested in his somber black cope, called out in a loud voice, "We adore thee, O Christ, and we praise thee."  All of us children then dropped to our knees and answered in a deafening chorus, "Because by thy holy cross thou hast redeemed the world!"  For the three hundred children in the church, therefore, all this violence was somehow "good" violence for it was necessary violence.  It was the price that Jesus paid for our sins.  No forgiveness would have ever been possible without the cross. 

          Mel Gibson was trained in this same religious setting.  And when he returned to his faith after abandoning it for a dozen years, the cross was still frozen as the symbol as God's gracious love for sinful humanity.  Thus, it is no accident that the very opening of the film presents the words of Isaiah as the theme knitting together the whole film:  

            He was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon him, and by his wounds we are healed (Isa 53:5). 

          The film that follows is Gibson's attempt to demonstrate that he will not succumb to the temptation to downplay the violence unleashed upon Jesus.  As one watches the brutalization of Jesus, esp. during the scourging, there is not the slightest possibility that this is "unreal" and some sort of "fairy tale."  Yet, when avoiding the pitfall of "too little," some viewers have asked whether there was "too much."  An artist living nearby commented to me, "No person could possibly withstood that much abuse and then, a few hours later, carry a cross on his back." 

          For Gibson, however, nothing can be "too much" for his purpose is to show how much Jesus had to suffer in order to redeem us from our sins.  According to this myth, no sin can be forgiven unless the sinner undergoes the requisite amount of suffering.  The greater the sin, the greater the suffering.  And, for someone who would step in to take upon himself the sins of the entire world, from the sin of Adam and Eve to the last sin committed on the last day, enormous suffering is required.  In fact, many spiritual writers have designated this as the greatest suffering ever told. 

          At this point, Gibson turns the Gospel scene of Jesus' anguish in the Garden of Olives into a paraphrase of the Garden of Eden.  As in the Eden story, Satan does not try to bully anyone or to suggest treason against God.  Rather Satan uses gentle persuasion.  To Eve, Satan says, "Is it true that . . . ?"  To Jesus, Satan says, "It's impossible that any one man can bear the burden of sin.  Who could possible do this?  It is much too costly."  Here one hears revealed the inner struggle of Jesus.  Just a moment earlier, a disciple noted how "agitated" Jesus was.  Another disciple responded, "He's afraid."  But Satan takes us deeper: he's afraid that he does not have the stuff to bear the burden of sin.  And, as the viewer just begins to register this fear and this uncertainty, Jesus is heard to say, "I am he."  "I am ready . . . but not my will but thine be done," Jesus prays.  Note that here again Gibson wants us to see that the prophecy of Isaiah is being carried to completion.  Gibson allows that Satan sets up the impossible challenge and Jesus finally brings his resolve to the sticking point and takes it--not with boasting but with a quaking certainty that he just might be able to do it.[vii]

Gibson's Depiction of Redemptive Violence

          At the scourging, one feels just how "costly" this gambit will be for Jesus.  Chained to a rock, Jesus says, "My heart is ready, Father."  At this, two sturdy soldiers test stiff rods calculated to soften Jesus up and to get him "singing."  The rods turn bloody as they slash through the skin of Jesus backside.  Jesus refuses to "sing" so the soldiers slice down harder.  Counting in Latin, they reach thirty-two and stop.  Jesus is prone but not unconscious.  Gibson allows us to register Jesus' suffering by letting us watch his shackled hands involuntarily shaking.

          Then, to everyone's astonishment, Jesus slowly stands up as though he is ready for more.  Gibson wants us to register that Jesus wants to go all the way--to embrace the full measure of the punishment that is the consequence of sin.  So now the Roman torturers set their bloody rods aside and reach for the sterner stuff--the scourges with multiple tails ending in metal claws.  Jesus now gets the full treatment that he appears to want and to need.  Again, miraculously, he refuses to cry out even when chunks of his flesh are being ripped away and spattering everyone and everything.  The counting gets interrupted with the arrival of Pilate's right-hand-man who stops them cold reminding them that Pilate expressly commanded, "Not to kill him." 

          During this long scourging sequence, Gibson breaks the monotony of the torture by allowing us to see Satan watching and moving back and forth behind the temple priests witnessing the torture.  Mary, the mother of Jesus, and Mary Magdalene comfort each other in the rear of the crowd as they suffer upon hearing the claws tearing into the flesh of the one they love.  In an earlier scene, Mother Mary is startled awake in her bed just as the torments of Jesus begin following his arrest.  She calls out, "How is this night different from every other night?"  Gibson, at this brief moment, reminds us that here is the Jewish woman reciting the words of the Passover meal celebrated earlier that night.  Mary Magdalene rushes to her side responding, "This is the night in which our Lord has redeemed Israel from bondage."   

          This exchange is entirely Jewish, but then, in the next moment, it is entirely turned in a new direction when Mother Mary says, "It has begun," and the two rush out to join the passion unfolding.  With artistic imagination and with theological guidance, Gibson thus turns the whole Jewish meaning of Passover, of redemption, and of the Lord into Christian realities.  In the Jewish Passover, it is the Egyptians, the perpetrators of violence against the Israelites, who suffer because they are intent upon impeding God's plan to liberate his people from their bondage.  On this Christian Passover, it is the beloved Son of God who will suffer.  And why must the innocent suffer?  In order that God can finally find the wherewithal to forgive the sins of humankind and liberate the captives bound in hell since the beginning of human history.  So, with a mastery of images and words, Gibson turns the words of the Jewish women speaking of Jewish experience into the words of Christian women speaking of a Christian redemption[viii] because they are now expertly fitted into the passion narrative. 

           These two women will follow Jesus and experience his passion with him.  Then, in the crowning moment, Mary, in an anguish of suffering will appeal to her son slowly dying on the cross, "Let me die with you."  The Catholic theme of Mary as Co-Redemptrix is thus artfully completed.  For the Catholic imagination has been fed on the thought that, if suffering is the cause of our redemption, then not only the suffering of the God-Man but the suffering of the sinless woman, his mother, work together to produce redemption.  Irenaeus, in the second century, already began to set in motion this theme when he suggested that just as Adam and Eve collaborated in their disobedience to the divine plan, so too, Jesus and Mary collaborated in the obedience necessary to overturn the former failings of the first pair.  At this point, of course, obedience and cooperation with God were the catchwords of redemption.  With time, however, the story would be retold by contrasting the pleasure sought by the first pair with the suffering sought by the second pair in eating.  Thus, if the redeemer of the world voluntarily sought to suffer and to die, it was fitting that the co-redeemer would do the same. 

          Gibson's theology has one more scene that is critical.  It takes place on Golgotha.  Simon has just been dismissed by the Roman soldiers after he, for all practical purposes, carried both Jesus and his cross, for the last hundred yards.  Jesus is prone on the earth.  Then without striking him, a Roman soldier, in a loud voice, taunts him with something like, "Finish it."  And, slowly, Jesus gets up and walks on his own steam the final five or six steps to the cross that is being readied for his execution.  This same soldier applauds him.  I don't remember the words he used.  What I did register, however, is that here again Gibson reinforces the theme that Jesus has to willingly embrace the suffering, that he has to go the entire way, or else the Devil will be vindicated: "It's impossible that any one man can bear the burden of sin.  Who could possible do this?  It is much too costly." 

          In the end, Gibson has crafted one fairy tale to cover for another.  To be more exact, he retold the gospel passion narratives within his story of heroic suffering in order to counteract previous films about Jesus that neglected his sufferings.  Whatever one thinks of this, one has to at least grant Gibson the merit of his religious experience when his own suffering in his own little hell was relieved when he came to rediscover the passion of Christ familiar to him due to his Catholic upbringing.  One has to also allow that Gibson retelling of the gospel narratives resonates as "true" among a large segment of the Christian population because they have been persuaded that the confession, the forgiveness, and the horror of sin become visible only through meditating on the cross.  It is no surprise, therefore, that Evangelical communities are renting the film, are giving away free tickets to see the film, and are encouraging Christian missionaries to take their "friends" to see it--because, as they weep for Jesus, they will sometimes find the courage to confess their own sins that nailed Jesus to the cross. 

Divine Forgiveness Without Jesus' Suffering 

          One would think that fidelity to God would be its own reward.  But, for most, it isn't.  One would further think that God's forgiveness would come easy since our Father in heaven knows us through and through and understands our weakness.  But, for most, divine forgiveness cannot be given easily.  So God is presented as though he gets locked into being unable to forgive Adam and Eve and all their children until his innocent Son goes screaming to his death on the cross.  This is bad theology, bad justice, bad parenting.  What parent, for instance, would send his faithful son to a brutalizing death in order that he might forgive his sinful son who squandered half his inheritance throwing parties with loose women.  Such a father would be deemed demented and hardly capable of knowing what "true love" is all about.  Furthermore, what would one say of a father who needs the innocent to be tortured in order to forgive the guilty?  Such a father must be seen as a "sadist"--the farthest thing from being a loving father.  While Jesus comes through in Gibson's film as the superhuman hero bent upon embracing the suffering willed by God, it is the unseen "Butcher God" who deserves to be hated and distrusted.  While Gibson imagines himself to be guided by sound theology and a redeeming religious experience, he has, in fact, distorted our sense of justice and distorted the name and reputation of God himself.  This needs some explaining. 

My Experience of an Unforgiving God 

          When I was a young child, the story of salvation given to me at Holy Cross Grade School was something so simple, so compelling, and so wonderful.  Adam sinned and we inherited the consequences: God's grace dried up and the gates of heaven were sealed shut.  For thousands of years, people were dying, but no one was able to get into heaven.  Everyone was waiting for God to send a redeemer.  Then, Jesus finally arrived and died for our sins on the cross.  And, as my Baltimore Catechism so clearly demonstrated, at the moment that Jesus died on the cross, there, way up in the clouds, the gates of heaven were again being opened.  Finally the souls of all the good people who had died could enter into heaven and be with God for all eternity. 

           I was a graduate student in theology before I first discovered that Jews did not have the vaguest notion that the gates of heaven had been sealed shut from the time of the sin of Adam.  Nor did Jews imagine that the Jewish Messiah being sent to them by God was destined to merit the forgiveness of sins (as though God ever needed such a grizzly inducement to forgive).  Even Jesus, I soon began to discover, grew up as a Jew and had no secret death wish and surely didn't understand his life as somehow gaining its divine significance only the cross.  Once I began to study theology, therefore, I was exposed to the ugly underbelly of the redemption story I received from my pious Ursuline nuns. 

          One can only say that torture should never happen and that the survivors stand as a witness to the depth of inhumanity and sin to which the Hannibal Lectors of this world are capable.  As for God, we should never even hint that God would somehow encourage, allow, or make use of torture.  In viewing Gibson's film, a true believer might imagine that God's himself cringes and averts her eyes such that the torture victims themselves cry out, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?"  Edward Schillebeeckx, in his two volume work on Christology, came to this same conclusion after investigation the whole gamut of biblical references pertaining to the suffering and death of Jesus.  By way of summarizing his findings, he wrote:  

            God and suffering are diametrically opposed. . . .  We can accept that there are certain forms of suffering which enrich our humanity. . . .  However, there is an excess of suffering and evil in our history. . . .  There is too much unmerited and senseless suffering. . . .  But in that case we cannot look for a divine reason for the death of Jesus either.  Therefore, first of all, we have to say that we are not redeemed thanks to the death of Jesus but despite it.[ix]  

There is neither the time nor the place in this book to develop how Schillebeeckx moves through the familiar Hebrew and Christian Scriptures in order to arrive at this conclusion.  Whether it is Jews being tortured by Nazi in the concentration camps or Jesus being tortured on a Roman cross--there is and never can be any divine complicity in any of these horrors.  Rather, God cries out with the victims!  God tears his garments in grief as they die.   

God Tears his Garments and Laments the Death of his Son   

          The passion narratives themselves give us pause when it comes to endorsing the Christian theology of atonement.  According to this theory, Jesus' death on the cross is the brightest moment in salvation history.  According to the Synoptics, however, it is the darkest: "From the sixth hour, there was darkness over all the land until the ninth hour" (Matt 27:45 and par.).  At the moment of Jesus' death, my childhood catechism presents the imagined image of the gates of heaven being thrown open after having been locked ever since the sin of Adam and Eve.  According to the Synoptics, however, Jesus' death is followed by an earthquake and the temple veil being rent in two "from top to bottom" (Matt 27:51 and par.).   

          In most instances, this rending of the veil has been interpreted to signal that the crime of the priests is so grievous that God abandons the holy of holies--tearing through the temple veil as he exits.  Practically speaking, this means "the cessation of the Jerusalem cult as a result of the death of Jesus."[x]  Such an interpretation fails to take into account that the disciples of Jesus in Jerusalem went to the temple daily to pray and to teach (Acts 2:46, 3:1, 5:42).  Other scholars have suggested that this tearing "originally represented Jesus' death" and later became a "supernatural portent of Jesus' deity."[xi]  But why represent Jesus' death symbolically when, in actual fact, the event itself was fully narrated?  Gibson, in his film, gives no importance to the tearing of the veil and omits it.  For him, the earthquake practically destroys the temple and the priests inside it.  Gibson thus endorses the dubious perspective that God's anger[xii] lashes out against those responsible for the death of Jesus--the priests and Satan. 

          But why do the Gospels direct attention to the tearing of the temple veil?  Following a suggestion of David Daube (23-26), a Jewish scholar, I finally arrived at an interpretation that makes sense of the seemingly insignificant clue that the tearing took place "from top to bottom" (Matt 27:51 and par.):   

            One has to be aware of the modes of expressing grief then current among the Jewish people.  When a father of Jesus' day would hear of the death of a son, he would invariably rend his garment by grabbing it at the neck and tearing it from top to bottom [see, e.g., Gen 27:34, Job 1:20, b. Moed Qatqan 25a, b. Menahot 48a].  This is precisely the gesture suggested by the particulars of Matthew's text: "The veil of the Temple as torn in two from top to bottom" (27:51).  In truth, God is Spirit.  Symbolically, however, the presence of God within the holy of holies was rendered secure from prying eyes by the veil which surrounded that place.  As such, the veil conceals the "nakedness" of God.  It is this "garment" which grief-stricken Father of Jesus tears from top to bottom when he hears the final death-cry of his beloved son.  Even for the Father, therefore, the death of Jesus is bitter tragedy and heartfelt grief.[xiii] 

This Jewish reading of the Gospels provides a point of departure for reeducating ourselves as to how the Jews who wrote the Gospels used familiar images in their text.  When our imaginations are fed on such as this, then we recapture our rage and indignation at the suffering of the innocent and relearn how to wrest message of the Gospels from becoming a softheaded plea for sanctioning evil. 

Atonement for Sins Reconsidered 

          While key texts in the Christian Scriptures (e.g., Mark 14:24, Rom 3:24-25, 1 Cor 1:30, Eph 1:7, Col 1:14, 1 Tim 2:6, Titus 2:14, Heb 9:15) have habitually been bent in the direction of supporting the theology of Jesus' atoning death, all of these texts taken together fail to take seriously the prevailing attitude of Jesus that God is abundantly ready to forgive sins quite independent of his intended or future death.  Thus, already with the ministry of John the Baptizer, persons respond to the call to "repent" (Matt 3:2) by "confessing their sins" (Matt 3:6).  Before there is any mention of Jesus, therefore, one has an expression of the Jewish self-understanding whereby turning-back (teshuvah), in and of itself, suffices in order to obtain God's grace and forgiveness.[xiv]  This tradition finds clear expression in the Psalms:    

            Then I acknowledged my sin to you, and I did not hide my iniquity;
I said, "I will confess my transgressions to the Lord,"
and you forgave the guilt of my sin (Ps 32:5). 

All throughout the Hebrew Scriptures, there are hundreds of historical instances wherein turning-back serves to gain the pardon of sins.  King David, for instance, repented of his sin in exposing the husband of Bathshebah to death on the battlefield so that he would be free to take her as his wife (2 Sam 11).  The Scriptures record this as follows: 

            David said to Nathan [the prophet], "I have sinned against the Lord."  Nathan said to David, "Now the Lord has put away your sin; you shall not die" (2 Sam 12:13). 

          Jesus also endorses this Jewish notion of the perpetual availability of God's forgiveness.  In fact, when Jesus said to the paralytic, "Your sins are forgiven" (Matt 9:2 and par., Luke 7:48), he did not find it necessary to qualify this assertion by adding "in virtue of my future passion and death."  Even the kingdom prayer of Jesus makes no assumption that our Father can and will "forgive us our debts" (Matt 6:12) only because Jesus died on the cross.   

God's Readiness to Forgive in the Parables of Jesus 

          When it came to the forgiveness parables of Jesus, even the contemporaries of Jesus might have wondered at the readiness of God to forgive even those sinners who cannot imagine that forgiveness is possible.  Thus, in Matthew's parable wherein "the king" freely and spontaneously forgave a debt of $10,000,000, the servant was only appealing for more time: "Lord, have patience with me and I will pay you everything" (Matt 26).  In Luke's parable, the prodigal son comes home only with minimal expectations: "Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son; treat me as one of your hired servants" (Luke 15:19).  Even before he gets these words out, however, his father is embracing him, clothing him in his best robe, killing the fatted calf for a celebration.  And this is no softheaded fool for he acknowledged to his elder son the full gravity of his brother's sin: "[Y]our brother was dead [to us], and [now] is alive; he was lost, and is found" (Luke 15:32, 24).   

          If Jesus had shared the perspective of the Baltimore Catechism, he would have given his parables quite a different twist.  For example, the father of the prodigal son would have had sober words to say to his faithful elder son: "Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours.  Now, however, you must be willing to suffer and die so that you can atone for the enormous sins of your brother(s)."  This ending would have demonstrated that God's forgiveness of the sinner is not the free and spontaneous gift that Jesus' original parable implies but that "we are bought at a great price."  The absence of such an ending, on the contrary, would imply that Jesus' parables were not shaped by the notion of divine forgiveness undergirding the medieval atonement theology found summarized in the Baltimore Catechism.  

          When one looks up "atonement" in A Catholic Dictionary of Theology, accordingly, one finds a very reserved assessment: 

            It seems question-begging today to confine the word atonement, still less redemption, to the idea of vicarious satisfaction.  Scripture and early tradition do not justify the assumption that this one concept is the only essential one to express the basic reason of salvation through Christ's activity. 

          Stepping back, one can now see that while the medieval theology of atonement did a marvelous job of capturing the minds and the hearts of medieval Christians and has retained its appeal in most Christian circles even today, Jesus and his disciples knew nothing of the logic of Anselm's position.  For Jesus, forgiveness had been and was forever freely available from a God who dashes off the porch and runs to embrace the son who has sinned but is now returning to his father.  Such a father could never be imagined to have been locked in unforgiveness from the sin of Adam to the death of Jesus on the cross.  With this, one must have the courage to recognize that Anselm's theology of substitutionary atonement represents a false doctrine that is dangerous to the spiritual life of Christians and fatal to a historical appreciation of Jesus and his mission. 

The Jewish Tradition of Prophets who Suffer 

          For the Synoptics, there is no presupposition that Jesus had to die so that all sins would be forgiven or so that the Gates of Heaven would be thrown open to sinners.[xv]  "According to early Christianity, the motif of the violent fate of the prophets was used to understand the significance of the death of Jesus, who was by implication the latest and greatest of the prophets."[xvi]  Jesus' suffering, consequently, was related to the precarious nature of his mission--that of being God's eschatological prophet.  God's will was that Jesus should continue his ministry to Israel even in the face of deadly opposition.  The suffering effected by this opposition was the occupational hazard anticipated by every true prophet of Israel. 

          Within the Synoptics Jesus is repeatedly identified with one or more of the prophets (Mark 6:14f and par.).  Jesus was regarded as a prophet on the basis of his experience of being sent by God (Mark 1:38, 2:17, 10:45 and par.; Matt 5:17, 10:34-36, 11:19 and par.; Luke 12:49), on the basis of his heralding of the Kingdom of God (Mark 1:14, 38f, 3:14, 4:1-32, 5:20 and par.), on the basis of his judgment speeches (Matt 11:21-24, 21:23, 23:13-39; Luke 6:24-26, 10:13-15), and also on the basis of his prophetic deeds (Mark 11:12-14, 15-17, 20-25 and par.).[xvii]  In Matthew's Gospel, the sufferings of Jesus' disciples and, by implication, the sufferings of Jesus as well, are clearly associated with the abusive treatment afforded the prophets: 

            Blessed are you when people revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account.  Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you (Matt 5:11f). 

          The prophets of Israel were not well-received and given a warm welcome.[xviii]  Rather, during their lifetimes, they were despised and persecuted.  Nehemiah, in his chronicle, ascribed a violent death to all the prophets during the Israelite monarchy: "They killed the prophets who admonished them" (Neh 9:26).  In contrast, Chronicles, speaking of this same period, provides a more moderate summary: "They [the people] ridiculed the messengers of God, they despised his words, they laughed at his prophets" (2 Chr 36:16). 

          Against this Jewish background, the speech of Stephen directed against the temple authorities make good sense.  The key portion is as follows: 

          "You stiff-necked people, uncircumcised in heart and ears, you are forever opposing the Holy Spirit, just as your ancestors used to do.  Which of the prophets did your ancestors not persecute?  They killed those who foretold the coming of the Righteous One [=Jesus], and now you have become his betrayers and murderers" (Acts 7:51-53). 

Here the temple authorities are being specifically accused of doing to Jesus what their ancestors did to the prophets.  One can notice here that, in this setting, Jesus is more than just the last of a long line of prophets, he is the one anticipated by all the prophets.  Thus, according to Acts, Jesus is the both (a) the suffering Messiah "foretold by the mouth of all the prophets" (Acts 3:18) and (b) the Prophet of the Last Days foretold by Moses (Acts 3:22).  Nonetheless, even given these developments, one can see how the tradition of the despised and rejected prophets serves to account for the death of Jesus and to accuse those implicated in that death.  Absent here is Gibson's self-accusation that he is just as guilty as them.  Absent also is the notion that the priests unwittingly did a great service in cooperating with God's plan to kill the Righteous One.  Absent, also, is all hint of anti-Judaism.  Stephen as a Jew is accusing some particular other Jews of killing the prophets.  His accusation is stinging and it might even be excessive; yet, it has nothing to do with blaming all Jews at all times and in all places for killing the Son of God.  Nor does it accuse "Christians" for doing this either. 

Conclusion 

          Gibson wants his viewers to recover the enormity of the historical sufferings necessary to redeem us from our sins.  In so portraying these sufferings, however, Gibson has inadvertently opened up a can of worms.  Satan is not the antagonist that he supposes.  Rather, the chief antagonist is God the Father.  The film tacitly accuses this God of being the Butcher behind the scenes who distorts the mission of Jesus and makes us tolerate--even to falsely love--the fact that Jesus gets tortured to death.  Once we recover the Jewish understanding of the hazards of the prophetic mission and once we recover the significance of the darkness covering the earth while Jesus hung upon the cross and the tearing of the veil from top to bottom at Jesus' death, then we will be ready to again hear and put into practice the teachings of Jesus and to await the Kingdom of God on earth.  This is the gospel of Jesus; this is his way of life.[xix] 

          Despite Gibson's impressive efforts to make it appear that Jesus wanted the full force of the sufferings to overwhelm him, this is not the Gospel of Jesus.  This is the Gospel of Gibson.  And, to this misleading gospel, one has to say, "We are not redeemed thanks to the death of Jesus but despite it.[xx]