Chapter 5. Redeemed by Jesus (Divine Energy: God Beyond Us, Within Us, Among Us) (Dorr, Donal)

One of the weakest parts of Christian theology is the treatment of redemption. Many committed Christians are put off by the traditional language in which this doctrine has been expressed and explained-so much so that some even react against the very word 'redemption'. But the mere adoption of another word-such as liberation-does not solve the problem. People still need some convincing account of what it means to say that 'Jesus died for our sins'. The traditional explanations do not find an echo in the religious experience of many people today. The lack of clarity or credibility in our teaching about redemption is a serious problem for anybody who is interested in continuing the mission of Jesus. In order to present this central part of the Christian message to the people among whom we work, we need to find some approach which 'rings true' in our own lives.

In this chapter I propose a new approach to the theology of redemption. In doing so I try to make use of a language and idiom which people nowadays will find meaningful and which will strike a chord in the religious experience of the present generation. The chapter is a study of the death and resurrection of Jesus. It follows on directly from the previous chapter and the two should be taken in conjunction with each other.

One might have thought that the message of Jesus would be seen as 'Good News' for all and a threat to nobody. But from an early stage it became clear that the message and approach of Jesus were very unacceptable to those who held positions of power in his world.

The Pharisees resented his freedom of spirit before God�and particularly his mission to share that freedom with the 'common people' and so-called 'sinners' (Mt 15:2). Furthermore, they heard Jesus deny their own privileged position-for instance in the parable where he presented the prayer of the tax-collector as more acceptable to God than their prayer (Lk 18:9-14).

The Scribes and lawyers saw their authority as religious 'experts' called into question by his open challenge to their interpretation of the Law on issues of healing (Lk 6:7; 14:3-4) and eating on the Sabbath (Mk 2:23-8); the Gospels show him passing a very severe judgement on them-that they were 'blind guides' who had missed the whole point of the Law, 'straining out gnats and swallowing camels' (Mt 23:24).

The ruling elite felt their position undermined by his exercise of power in teaching, healing and clearing the temple (Mt 21:23)�and by his accusation that they were just like those who in the past had rejected the prophets (Lk 20:19). They saw a threat in the very fact that so many people believed in Jesus (Mk 11:18); they feared that this would provoke a reaction by Rome leading to a loss of their own power (Jn 11:47-50).

Even the Roman governor Pilate eventually went along with the idea that Jesus was a threat to the empire (Lk 22:13-25; Jn 19:12-6).

Because of the way he chose to live his life, Jesus found towards the end of his public ministry that he had become the object of an implacable hatred from the very people who exercised authority in the name of God. The Gospels convey very well how this resistance to Jesus, and all that he stood for, gradually built up and eventually culminated in his judicial murder. They also bring out the point that Jesus came to endure his rejection and condemnation, even though it was, quite literally, an agonizing process for him to come to this acceptance. He sweated blood in the process of moving from saying 'let this cup pass from me' to saying 'not my will but yours be done' (Lk 22:42-4). The New

Testament presents this willing endurance of his suffering and death as a sacrifice offered by Jesus to atone for human sin (e.g. I Cor 15:3-4; II Cor 5:14; Eph 5:2).

However, the New Testament does not put forward a theology which would explain how Jesus' death can have the effect of removing sin or breaking its power in others.{1} Down through the centuries we have had a succession of different theologies of redemption which seek to throw light on this mystery. Nowadays, none of these theories sound very convincing. People today are quite unwilling to use the images which were popular in the early centuries of Christianity; they cannot think of Jesus 'buying' us by paying a price either to God or to the Evil One; and they are not impressed by the idea that he overcame Satan by a kind of trick. Even more unacceptable are the theories of atonement which were popular from the Middle Ages up to recent times. Most people nowadays are rather horrified by the suggestion that the death of Jesus was effective because it made satisfaction to the injured honour and dignity of God; and many people recoil from the phrase 'washed by the blood of the Lamb'. Nowadays, religiously sensitve people see this kind of language and theology as having a bloodthirsty quality which they feel has nothing to do with God.{2} On the other hand, people feel dissatisfied with the alternative theology which was put forward-one that attributes the effectiveness of the death of Jesus to the example he gave his followers.

In the following pages I propose the outline of a different approach to the theology of redemption. There are four aspects to this theology:

* First, there is the scapegoating of Jesus.

* Second, there is the way in which this was transformed into a positive energy by Jesus.

* Third, there is the way in which this could bring salvation to the followers of Jesus, in his own time and right up to the present.

* Fourth, there is the issue of how Jesus can be seen as bringing salvation to the whole world, including those who never heard of him�and even those who lived before his own time.

In recent years, dissatisfied with the older theologies of redemption, some theologians have turned to the Old Testament notion of the scapegoat as a foundation for a better understanding of what it means to say that Jesus died for our sins. In my opinion the notion of the scapegoat is not a sufficient basis for a comprehensive theology of redemption. But it provides a vital first component for such a theology-one that is both solidly based in the bible and at the same time comprehensible to the people of our world today.

In our times the concept of a scapegoat occupies a place in two different realms of discourse. On the one hand, people are vaguely aware that in Old Testament times there was a ritual practice of sending a goat out into the wilderness, to carry away the sins of the whole nation (Lev 16:20-2). On the other hand, popular psychology has made us familiar with the idea of 'scapegoating' as a common practice in families, communities and groups; this arises when problems which have arisen in the group are loaded on to one member who is made to carry the blame for all.

At first sight there is a notable difference between the two situations. For scapegoating as we understand it today is an unconscious process whereas the Old Testament practice was a deliberate ritual. But in fact the two are very closely linked; for solemn religious rituals of this kind are powerful expressions of unconscious needs.{3} However, in using the notion of a scapegoat to reflect on the death of Jesus it is better not to begin from an analysis of the Old Testament ritual, for this could make it seem unrelated to people in today's world. A more effective starting-point is the unconscious scapegoating which takes place in every age and of which we have become more aware in recent times.

St John's Gospel puts into the mouth of Caiaphas, the chief priest, the powerful words: '... it is better for one man to die for the people, than for the whole nation to be destroyed.' (Jn 11:49). This text expresses very clearly the conviction of John that, behind all the plotting and manoeuvring which eventually brought about the death of Jesus, there was a process of scapegoating. John immediately goes on to suggest that, without realizing it, the chief priest was prophesying that 'Jesus was going to die for the nation�and not just for one nation but to gather into one all the scattered people of God' (Jn 11:51-2). The statement attributed to Caiaphas, and John's own comment on it, contain the germ of a rich theology of redemption which is particularly relevant in today's world.

The crucial point to understand about scapegoating is that it involves the psychological mechanism called 'projection'. {4} This is a process which often takes place when people are unable or unwilling to accept or cope with evil or unpleasant aspects of their life. A person in this situation may at first simply refuse to notice feelings or tendencies within them which they find unacceptable. But if the problem becomes so serious that it can no longer be ignored or denied the person may 'project' these feelings outward by coming to believe that somebody else is responsible for the difficulties they are experiencing. For instance, when a serious rift develops between close friends or marriage partners, it is not uncommon for each of the people involved to load all the blame for the breakdown on to the other person. It is not simply a question of each being blind to his or her own faults; these very faults are 'transferred' to the other person and actually seen in the other. The same thing happens when there isa public controversy. People tend to become arrogant and judgemental; and they self-righteously impute to those on the other side the very faults of which they themselves are guilty.

The work of Ren� Girard provides the inspiration for a redemption theology built around the notion of the scapegoat. According to him there is a fundamental inclination to violence in all people and all societies. This gives rise to an escalating spiral of retaliation and becomes a most serious threat to the survival and stability of all human communities. Those societies which learned to survive did so by the discovery of the scapegoat mechanism: they projected all their hatred and violent inclinations on to one innocent victim whom they sacrificed. The victim was an 'outsider' of some kind, whose death would not provoke a further spiral of violence-for instance, a prisoner of war or some such person for whom nobody feels responsible.

The originality of Girard's account is that it enables one to understand how the scapegoat came to have a deep religious significance. He showed how the scapegoat becomes the focus for two very different sets of feelings in the community. On the one hand, it 'carries' all the hatred and the violent feelings which have been projected on to it. But, on the other hand, it also is looked on with awe and religious respect. The reason why the scapegoat becomes an object of religious veneration is that when it is sacrificed as a victim it seems to create peace and harmony in the community in some mysterious almost magical way.

But how does harmony result from the killing of the scapegoat? It comes because all the different hostilities which were tearing the community apart become displaced and are re-focused on to the scapegoated victim. In this way the different factions of the community all become united-at least temporarily-in the process of collectively unloading their violence and hatred on to the victim. It is essential that all the members of the community be involved in the sacrificing of the victim; for this is the only way in which their tendencies to attack each other and tear the community apart can be kept at bay.{5}

All this may seem very far-fetched when it is written down in cold print. But a little reflection on real-life situations will show that the process which Girard describes is happening all the time around us and within us. It happens in family life when a husband abuses his wife and at the same time finds ways of blaming her for his violence. It happens in schools when one child is bullied by others�and they concoct all kinds of justifications for this bullying. Scapegoating also takes place on a global scale. Whole nations-or their leaders-project their hatred and violence outward on to some 'enemy' who becomes demonized and is seen as something that must be destroyed. For Hitler and the Nazis it was 'the Jews'. Ronald Reagan spoke of 'the evil empire' of communism. A few years ago, many Israeli and Western leaders demonized Yassar Arafat; nowadays 'Islamic fundamentalism' has become the scapegoat.

These examples indicate that at the very heart of the scapegoating mechanism is a process of self-deception. For scapegoating works only so long as those who are engaged in it are not aware of what they are doing. Girard makes much of the fact that violence and rage tends to blind people. For him this applies not merely when there is a violent outburst of rage but also when the tendency to violence is building up inside people; this internalized violence distorts people's perception of others and of the world. This helps to explain how totally innocent victims can be quite arbitrarily 'picked on' as scapegoats. Once again this seems almost incredible when it is written down; but some honest reflection on our own experience as victims and as victimisers shows that Girard's account, though perhaps overstated, is by no means far-fetched.

The relevance of all this to the condemnation and death of Jesus is very obvious. In fact it is all summed up in the phrase which John puts in the mouth of Caiaphas: 'It is better for one man to die for the people, than for the whole nation to be destroyed.' (Jn 11:49). Of course we do not have to assume that this fourth Gospel, written many years after the death of Jesus, gives a literal account of the words spoken by the chief priest. But this strengthens rather than weakens the case for building a theology of redemption on John's account of what Caiaphas said. For what his Gospel gives is the fruit of a lifetime of reflection and prayer by St. John on 'what had really been going on' in the life and death of Jesus. And John's conclusion is very clear: it is that Jesus was made a scapegoat for the sins of 'the people'.

When John has Caiaphas speak here of 'the people' the reference in the first instance is to the Jewish people of whom Caiaphas was the chief priest. But it is fundamental to John's understanding that the Jewish people here represent all peoples. In the Last Supper discourse John has Jesus warning his followers that they, like him, will be hated and rejected by 'the world' (Jn 15:19), not just by the Jews. The Acts of the Apostles also brings out the point that the death of Jesus was brought about by both the Jews and the Gentiles (Acts 4:27). In the past, many Christians have been guilty of a basic distortion of the Gospel when they held the Jews-as distinct from the Gentiles-responsible for the death of Jesus. The irony in this is that they were then guilty of scapegoating the Jewish people in very much the same way as Caiaphas scapegoated Jesus! (cf. Schwager pp. 160, 189, 229.)

Girard's account of the nature of the scapegoating mechanism helps us understand how somebody who was obviously so good and so innocent could nevertheless be picked as a scapegoat. There even are indications that the evangelists had an insight into how people who are at enmity with each other can be brought together through the process of scapegoating. The Pharisees, Herodians and Sadducees all united against Jesus (cf. Schwager 183-6) and that day even Herod and Pilate became friends (Lk 23:12).

The Gospels give a good picture of how the pharisees, the scribes and the ruling elite (the chief priests) became enemies of Jesus. We see how his behaviour and words evoked in them feelings of insecurity, fear, anger, and ultimately a violent hatred. These were very unacceptable feelings to people who saw themselves as ruling in God's name, or interpreters of God's Law, or model practitioners of that Law. The way they coped with the problem was to project on to Jesus the enmity they felt. As they saw it, the issue was not that they were enemies of Jesus but that he was the enemy. Having labelled him as their enemy and a danger to the nation (Jn 11:48), they even went on, according to John's Gospel, to suggest to Pilate that he was an enemy of the Roman empire (Jn 19:12). Schwager (pp. 193-7, 209) suggests that the real, but hidden, object of their hatred and resentment was God; therefore their violence erupted against Jesus when he was portrayed as 'the Son of God' (Jn 19:7).

A superficial redemption theology might suggest that just as the scapegoat carried away the sins of the Jewish people so Jesus carried away the sin of all the peoples of the world. But this would be to understand the death of Jesus in a magical way. A genuine theology of the scapegoat rejects and shows up such magical thinking. It emphasises the point made so frequently by the Old Testament prophets-that sin is not removed by blood sacrifices but rather by a genuine change of heart. The scapegoating of Jesus did not bring about our redemption. It was an evil act of victimisation. But Jesus drew good from it. Starting from this victimisation, several more steps are required before we can begin to understand how we are redeemed by his death.

So we come to the second aspect of the theology of redemption which is present in germ in the Gospels. It is how Jesus was able to respond to the hatred and scapegoating in a way which transformed that evil energy into a power for good. What is most evident in the Gospels is the strength and the dignity with which Jesus responded to the scapegoating which was inflicted on him. He did not weaken under the many accusations made against him. St John's Gospel presents him as defending himself quite vigorously in front of the high priest: 'I have spoken openly ... Ask those who heard me ...' (Jn 18:20-1). And when he was struck because of this reply he challenged this injustice: 'If I have spoken wrongly, bear witness to the wrong; but if I have spoken rightly, why do you strike me?' (Jn 18:23). Jesus did not react defensively to the attacks on him. He had the strength of will to maintain silence when that was the most effective and dignified response he could make-for instance, in front of Herod (Lk 23:9) and whe Pilate questioned him again after having had him scourged though he knew he was innocent (Jn 19:19).

At his trial, the behaviour of Jesus was such that it provided no 'hooks' on which his enemies could hang their projections. For instance, if he had reacted aggressively this would have lent some semblance of credibility to the charge that he was a danger to society. And if he had shown weakness he would have lent some credibility to the charge that he was a sham. By maintaining his dignity he showed up the inconsistency and dishonesty of the charges against him; this was a most effective challenge to his accusers to look into their own hearts and acknowledge their scapegoating�and the hatred and envy which lay behind it (Mt 27:18). As Albert Nolan points out (p. 132), the attitude of Jesus put those who accused and betrayed him on trial.

When Jesus responded in this way to being victimised he unmasked the self-deception which lies at the heart of the scapegoating process. This notion of unmasking the evil and self- deception is a crucial part of Girard's account of the scapegoat. It is significant for a theology of redemption because the recognition of the evil which oppresses and contaminates us�and which we collude in and contribute to-is, normally, a major first step in being liberated from it. The evil that has to be unmasked is twofold: there is the wickedness that lurks in the human heart and the sinfulness that characterizes many of the traditions and institutions of our society.

The Gospel accounts of the Passion give three striking instances of how the condemnation of Jesus brought about the unmasking and recognition of evil. Firstly, Judas suddenly realized the enormity of what he done in betraying the innocent Jesus: '"I have sinned in betraying innocent blood."' (Mt 27:4). Secondly, there was the conversion of the centurion who supervised the crucifixion: 'Now when the centurion saw what had taken place, he praised God and said: "Certainly, this man was innocent."' (Lk 23:47). Thirdly, there was the repentance of the crowd who witnessed the death of Jesus (presumably the same people who had earlier been baying for his blood): 'And all the multitudes ... when they saw what had taken place returned home beating their breasts.' (Lk 23:47).

But what happened in Jerusalem and on the hill of Calvary that day was something much more powerful and mysterious than a man maintaining his dignity in the face of hatred and rejection, more even than the unmasking of the self-deception involved in victimising an innocent person. The core of the mystery is that Jesus found a way of transforming the negative energy which made him a scapegoat into a positive energy that brought new life and hope into our broken and sinful world. In order to have any sense of this mystery we have to explore our own experience of finding ways of coping with evil.

Most of us have discovered that, faced with the rejection and hatred of others, we have to make a basic choice. On the one hand, we can allow ourselves to respond to hatred with hatred�and then we find that this evil 'eats us up'. We may not realise for some time how destructive it is. And even when, through bitter experience, we have learned the lesson, it is easy to yield to the seductive power of the evil and allow ourselves to forget what we learned.

On the other hand, we may develop ways of protecting ourselves against the evil in varying degrees. Many people simply distract themselves by thinking of other things or by keeping busy. Some find it helpful to picture themselves enveloped in an aura or garment of light which shields and screens them from the negative energy coming at them. This recalls the imagery used by St Paul when he speaks of putting on the armour of God (Eph 6:13), or the breastplate of hope and love (I Thess 5:8).{6} However, the image of the shield, though very useful, seems inadequate to describe the response of Jesus to evil. He did more than shield or protect himself against it; he really overcame it.

Jesus looked evil in the eye and consciously let it in. He allowed it to touch his spirit and strike deep into his heart. He experienced the raw wound opened up by the hatred directed at him. He felt the fear and horror which evil inspires. He sensed the bitter coldness generated in his heart by his experience of rejection and condemnation. Then, going deep inside, he found the still point at the centre of his being, the core of his spirit which was untouched by the invasion of evil. This was the point where he knew he was 'the Beloved' of God. It was the place where he loved and accepted himself totally.

In that deep place Jesus located a fountain of love and healing energy; and he immersed himself in it. Bathed in this loving energy he moved out again to confront the evil which had invaded him. With utmost sensitivity he allowed the healing energy to touch the raw wound in his spirit. Gently, he focused the warm energy of his love on the coldness that encased his heart, feeling it gradually melt the icy bitterness. Then, finding his heart fully purified and his spirit set free, he reached out from his heart to look again at those who hated and condemned him. He found in his heart an ability to forgive them, to make excuses for them: 'forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing' (Lk 23:33). This power of forgiveness was an energy far greater than the hatred directed at him-so much so that it grew stronger in proportion to the malevolence of his enemies, as though it were feeding on their malice. In that sense there was a transformation of energy-good was returned for evil.

I have been using images of activity in the human heart to indicate what I mean by saying that Jesus 'transformed the negative energy into positive energy'. And the best I can hope for is that these images will find an echo in the experience of readers who themselves on some occasions and in some degree have met evil with forgiveness and love.

Undoubtedly, Jesus gave us an example of the most authentically human way to respond to hatred, scapegoating, false accusations and murder�and how to transform this evil energy into positive energy. But this does not yet provide a fully satisfactory explanation of how he turned the evil into something salvific not just for himself but for others. This is the crucial third aspect of the theology of redemption.

At this point it is helpful to recall that Jesus as a Jew was steeped in the tradition of the scriptures of his people. As I pointed out in the previous chapter, the Gospels suggest that the role of Jesus can be understood as being like that of Moses, the servant of God. But the notion of 'servant' as applied to Jesus in the New Testament is not limited to the suggestion that he is a new Moses. The Gospels contain oblique references to another 'Servant', namely, the mysterious figure found in the beautiful poems called 'the servant songs' in the second part of the Book of Isaiah.

The first two of the 'Servant Songs' find many echoes in the Gospel accounts of the life and words of Jesus. They speak of the one who was chosen by God and filled with God's spirit (Is 42:1), the one called 'to open the eyes of the blind' (Is 42:7), the one who not merely restores the people of Israel but is also 'the light of the nations' (Is 49:6). The third and fourth of the 'Servant Songs' find a particular resonance in the Gospel accounts of the suffering and death of Jesus e.g. 'I offered my back to those who struck me ... I did not cover my face against insults and spittle' (Is 50:6); and, 'Without beauty, without majesty, we saw him, no looks to attract our eyes, a thing despised and rejected ...' (Is 53:2-3).

Despite the extraordinary depth and power of the Servant Songs they were rather neglected by later Old Testament writers (cf. Schwager p. 135). It is as though later generations were unable to make full use of them because of the very depth of religious understanding which they contained. But they became attached to the book of Isaiah and remained as a resource which could be drawn on by Jesus when it became clear that his ministry was not going to be a success in the conventional sense.

The New Testament suggests that Jesus realized that he was going to be killed and that already, prior to the event, he interpreted his death in terms of the fourth Servant Song{7} which spells out in considerable detail the notion of vicarious suffering e.g:

'Ours were the sufferings he bore, ours the sorrows he carried ... he was pierced for our faults, crushed for our sins. On him lies the punishment that brings us peace, and through his wounds we are healed.' (Is 53:4-5).

This passage could help him to make some sense of the pain of his utter rejection by those whom in childhood he had been taught to respect. The 'Servant Songs' could enable him to come to see that his rejection and suffering did not represent a failure on his part but were a crucial aspect of the mission he had been given by God.

The importance of these passages from Deutero-Isaiah springs from the fact that they represented an important break-through in prophetic understanding.{8} Like the earlier prophets, the writer of the 'Servant Songs' believed that God's action would bring liberation and redemption. But this anonymous writer differed from the earlier prophets in three important and inter-related ways. First of all, salvation was no longer seen in purely nationalistic terms as the triumph of Israel over the other nations; it had become clear that just as the great empires were to gave way before the power of God, so too Israelite society had an imperial structure which had to be similarly overcome. Second, the writer of Deutero-Isaiah was not thinking only in terms of the covenant established on Mount Sinai between God and Israel; there was now a far more global perspective centred on a figure who brings redemption to the whole world. Thirdly, salvation or redemption was no longer presented as just a future historical event; rather it was understood in a manner quite close to the way in which we understand it nowadays-as a process which is already going on by the mysterious working of God's power in the present world but which will find a definitive completion at some uncertain time in the future.

This new understanding of redemption opened up the possibility of seeing the suffering of the Servant as truly redemptive. For the Servant (seen either as an individual or as a whole community) represents the part of God's saving work which has already been achieved. The Servant is specially called to give witness to the divine redemptive power in a world which is as yet largely unredeemed. Since the Servant represents a totally different vision of life to the prevailing one-a vision which challenges profoundly the existing structures of power-it is inevitable that the Servant will meet with incomprehension, hostility and rejection.{9} By continuing to give witness to God's salvation, and by enduring the consequent suffering on behalf of others (Is 54:11), the Servant becomes 'a light to the nations' (Is 42:6; 49:6), one who helps to bring about the transition from a disordered and oppressive society to a new world which is truly God's realm. The present suffering of the Servant can then be seen as playing a ecessary role in God's redemption of the world. That is why the Servant Songs were such a crucial resource for Jesus in his passion�and for the early Christians in understanding why he had to suffer (e.g. Acts 8:32-5). These key passages from Deutero-Isaiah could suggest both to Jesus and to his followers that they interpret his role as that of a 'Suffering Servant', one whose suffering brings redemption to others�and even to the whole world.

We do not know whether Jesus himself explored the question of how his suffering and death as a 'Suffering Servant' could have an effect on the life of others. But Christians down through the ages have attempted to answer this question. In every period believers have looked within their own particular culture for some analogy which would help them to understand what it means to say that Jesus suffered and died on behalf of humankind. In our time it is useful to approach this mystery in terms of the 'spiritual energy' of Jesus. (I described this in the previous chapter on Jesus the Human One and I developed the idea in what I have written above about how Jesus transformed negative energy into positive energy).

By employing the notion of spiritual energy we can understand that Jesus' dying for others was not a totally inexplicable act, which would make it more or less a work of magic. It was rather a fully human action, indeed a high-point of human activity. This concept also helps to explain how Jesus calls us to follow him and so 'to fill up what is lacking in his sufferings' (Col 1:24). Furthermore, in contrast to most theologies of redemption, this approach brings out the continuity between the life, the death and the resurrection of Jesus, rather than leaving us with sharp dichotomies between them.

I propose to begin the exploration of spiritual energy as a redemptive category by looking not at Jesus but at other great leaders. I have been stressing the fact that the uniqueness of Jesus lies in the fact that he is the one who is the epitome of what it means to be human. The same applies to his redemptive work. It is not unique in the sense of being totally different to what other human beings are called to do. Its uniqueness lies rather in its perfection and universality. So we can expect to find other outstanding humans who have acted in a similarly redemptive way, though not in the same degree. We can even find some elements of a similar redemptive pattern in the high points of our own lives.

It is appropriate, then, to look for a redemptive pattern in the lives and deaths of other outstanding people and to see what light this throws on the death of Jesus. Let us look briefly at Joan of Arc, Mahatma Gandhi and Nelson Mandela. Here are three very different people, each of whom has a particular strength and nobility of character. All three provided truly inspiring leadership for their people. Each of them had a particular ability to give energy to his or her followers. For this very reason each of them was hated and scapegoated by their enemies. In all three cases their 'ordinary' human activity was suddenly cut off by death or by the living death of a long imprisonment. Yet out of their situation of apparent human helplessness they all gave their followers new hope and energy.

The most recent of these cases is that of Mandela; and it provides a particularly clear instance of the kind of energy that is at work. After the heady excitement of his public trial he was 'buried' in Robbin Island and left there to rot. His enemies believed that his loss would help to break the spirit and sap the energy of his people in their struggle for justice and freedom. This may have happened for a time. But his spirit remained unbroken and over a period of years he grew in stature as a symbol of resistance and a source of spiritual energy for those who continued the struggle.

After twenty-five years his enemies began at last to notice what had been happening. They realized that his prison cell had become a fountain of spiritual power and that in his apparently helpless situation he was a more effective leader than he had been before his arrest. Even his jailors had come to respect and honour him and to recognize him as a leader with real power. Eventually the very people who had condemned him found themselves trying to bargain with him. And what an extraordinary bargain they wanted to make: they were pleading with him to allow them to release him; and he was refusing to be released unless they fulfilled certain conditions!

It would be a gross understatement to say that Mandela influenced others by his example. It is more accurate to say that he gave inspiration to his people-provided we give a really strong meaning to the word 'inspiration'. They breathed in the energy he gave them. Then they in turn exuded energy which they sent outward to him and through him. In this way he became a focus for the energy of a whole people. That energy became quite palpable in protest marches and meetings where hundreds or thousands of people danced the 'toyi-toyi', which was at one and the same time a dance of resistance and of celebration. Two years before Mandela was released, the spiritual struggle had already been effectively won. By then the oppressed people had gained freedom of spirit-even though the apartheid regime still maintained its overwhelming military power. Many heroes and heroines contributed to that victory of the spirit; but few would deny that Mandela in his prison cell was the leader. It is not an exaggeration to call him a saviour of his people.

Mandela is human. No doubt he has his faults. Indeed, it may well be that, by the time this book is published, people will have found him to have feet of clay. But even if that happens it will still be true that, while still locked in his prison cell, he exerted an extraordinary psychological-spiritual power which changed the lives of millions of people and had a transforming effect on the history of his country and of the wider world.

My concern here is not to write an account of the South African struggle for liberation but simply to point out the light it throws on the work of Jesus. By interpreting the struggle in terms of spiritual energy we can see the key role played by a person who was apparently powerless. This helps us understand how the suffering and death of Jesus could be a continuation of the energizing of people which was so characteristic of his public life, as I discussed already in the chapter Jesus the Human One. It can even suggest how Jesus' work of giving hope and energy could not only continue but could actually find its culmination in this time of apparent weakness and failure.

There are many similarities and some significant differences between Mandela and Joan of Arc. The key difference is that his communication of hope and energy reached its peak while he was in prison, while her greatest success in this regard came after her death and even through her death. Had she been allowed to return as a free woman to her people she might well have failed to provide the inspiration and spiritual energy which was her contribution to their struggle. In her case, death as a martyr set the seal on her work and provided a fountain of rich spiritual energy for those who allowed themselves to be inspired by her.

The energy of Joan of Arc still flows today for those who wish to draw on it. Time and distance have given it a certain universal character; it is no longer necessary to be French to draw inspiration and energy from Joan. It is much the same in the case of Gandhi. He is no longer just an Indian hero but a source of life and energy for people all over the world. His death, for all its arbitrary character, nevertheless played a part in turning Gandhi the man into a myth, in the richest sense of that word. If he had not been killed at that time, it is possible that some of his energy might have become diluted in the new India which was failing to live up to his ideals. Death cut him off at a time when he could become a universal symbol and fountain of hope for those who believe that the struggle for liberation is primarily a struggle of the spirit.

This throws light on how, through his death, Jesus the Jew came to play a central role not just for his own people but for the wider world. In his death he began to take on a universal significance. As the 'servant songs' of the book of Isaiah predicted, he became 'a light to the nations so that all the world may be saved' (Is 49:6; cf 42:6).

It is part of our Christian belief that, 'Jesus died for all' and that, 'he is the saviour of the world'. We must be careful, however, not to interpret such statements in a magical way. The way in which Jesus became the universal saviour is not a totally inexplicable mystery. It is a historical process. He died on the periphery of the Roman Empire and his death scarcely merited a mention in the histories of the time. But within a couple of hundred years he had become a central figure in the Roman world�and later in the whole Western world. Over the centuries, the different self-contained 'worlds' (China, India, the Americas, Australia, the Pacific) have converged with the West and all are in the process of becoming one world. As this meeting of different universes took place, Jesus increasingly became a world figure, belonging to no single culture, but a source of life and energy to all.

When we say that Jesus is 'a source of life and energy' we are not just using metaphors. We are speaking of an energy which is palpable, even though it is not visible and even though there are no scientific instruments which can measure it. Sceptics who question the existence of psychological-spiritual energy should recall the extraordinary and frightening energy which Hitler evoked and focused in his famous Nazi rallies.

This mention of Hitler reminds us that energy of this kind is not just a single reality like electricity; it comes in many different forms, some of which are quite evil and destructive. Even 'good energy' is not all just one undifferentiated reality. Take the 'Mandela energy', for instance. There are no indications that it ever took the form of hatred; so we can take it that from the beginning it was positive or 'good' energy. But over the years it has been focused in a variety of ways. In the early years it manifested itself as a dignified and restrained resistance to oppression. In recent years, however, it has flowed in three different directions. Firstly, it is a very powerful force for reconciliation with former enemies. Secondly, it provides hope and energy for the building of a new and better South Africa. Thirdly, it reaches out as a beacon of inspiration to the wider world.

Looking at these different aspects of the 'Mandela energy' helps one to appreciate the variety of ways in which the spiritual energy and grace of the redemptive life and death of Jesus manifested itself. At its heart was his unbounded love for the people to whom God had sent him. This first found expression in the respect and care with which he reached out to bring healing and liberation of spirit to 'the common people' and especially to those who had been left on the margins of society. When those in power reacted with incomprehension and opposition, the energy of Jesus was focused in a firm challenge to their oppressive use of religious and political authority. The night before his arrest Jesus spent many hours preparing himself for his trial and death. The outcome of that agonizing struggle was summed up in his prayer, 'not my will but your will be done' (Lk 22:41). The effect was a re-focusing of his spiritual power and energy so that he was able to endure his trial and death with quiet but uncompromisingdignity. I have already described how he allowed himself to be wounded by the hatred and rejection, how he allowed that evil energy to invade his heart and there transformed it into love and forgiveness. So he was able to pray for forgiveness for his enemies (Lk 23:34) and respond generously to the repentant thief (Lk 23:43). Underpinning all of this was his unconditional trust in the One who had sent him, a faith that survived even the dark of apparent abandonment by God.

These different manifestations of the grace-full energy of Jesus all became more fully available to others after his death. The first step was a new hope, a dawning conviction that his death was not the end since he had in fact triumphed over death: 'Why are you looking among the dead for one who is alive?' (Lk 24:5). This hope then shed light: his followers began to see a pattern, a meaning, in all that had happened:

Was it not necessary for the Messiah to suffer these things and then enter his glory? (Lk 24:26; cf Lk 24:45)

The New Testament also emphasises other gifts which became available to the followers of Jesus after his death: joy, peace of spirit and the overcoming of fear (e.g. Mt 28:8-9; Lk 24:36, 41; Jn 20:19-21). Finally, the energy of Jesus which filled his followers gave them a strong sense of mission. The women ran to tell their news to the other disciples (Mt 28:8). The two Emmaus disciples returned at once to Jerusalem to share their experience with their friends (Lk 24:33). And, once the Spirit had come on all the disciples (Jn 20:21-2; Acts 2:4), they felt called to share the Good News with all who would listen.

All of these gifts were experienced by the followers of Jesus as a share in his life and energy. The Emmaus disciples gave a vivid description of the energy which flowed into them: 'Was it not like a fire burning in our hearts?' (Lk 24:32). And Paul as usual went to the core of it when he said: 'Who can separate us from the love of Christ? ... I am certain that nothing can separate us from his love ...' (Rom 8:35-7). Of course this life, this love, this energy is resurrection energy. It is a share not in the death of Jesus precisely as death but rather in the life of Jesus beyond death. St

John's Gospel, while in no way playing down the reality of the suffering and death of Jesus, sees them suffused with glory; so the resurrection is simply the other side of the death of Jesus.{10}

The Gospels give us several accounts of 'appearances' of Jesus after his death. 'Encounters' would be a more appropriate word than 'appearances'. For the disciples were at first unable to recognize the one who encountered them�and when they did recognize him it was not because of his appearance. Not only in his appearance but also in his mode of presence he was quite different to the Jesus they had known before his death. The Gospels make it clear that there was no resumption of the life Jesus had led with his friends before he died. The 'appearances' of Jesus were occasional special encounters whose purpose was simply to bring home to his followers that he was really alive, that his presence was not that of a ghost (Lk 24:39) and that he would continue to be with them 'till the end of time' (Mt 28:20).

Contrary to what is often assumed, the 'appearances' of the risen Jesus did not cease forty days after his resurrection; and they were not confined to those who were around at that time. Other people had rather similar 'encounters' with Jesus. The best-known example is Saul/Paul's 'meeting' with Jesus on the road to Damascus (Acts 9:4-6), which Paul did not hesitate to list alongside the 'appearances' mentioned in the Gospels (I Cor 15:8).

The fact that Paul's 'meeting' with Jesus is counted as a valid 'appearance' provides a solid basis for recognizing the validity of 'encounters' with Jesus which have continued to take place down through the centuries. We may even find similar experiences in our own lives. They come in varying degrees of intensity. For some people, on some occasions, they are so vivid that it seems right to call them 'appearances' or 'visions'. On other occasions, or for other people, they may be more accurately named as 'moments of encounter'. Whatever form they take, such 'meetings' with Jesus can have similar effects in our lives as the appearances recounted in the Gospels had for his first followers. They bring peace, dispel fear, give us new hope, show us the deep meaning of the painful experiences we have endured, and fill us with the life and energy of Jesus to such an extent that we find it 'like a fire burning in our hearts' (Lk 24:32).

All through this exploration of the life and death of Jesus I have been stressing the fact that he is the one who shows us the way, who unveils what it means to be fully human. This applies also to his resurrection. We are missing the point of the incarnation and the resurrection if we assume that it is only in the case of Jesus that there could be 'appearances' or 'encounters' from beyond the grave. The whole purpose of his incarnation is to throw a new and richer light on our human experiences. And one aspect of our experience is that we are inspired by people who have died or are cut off from us, that we make a spiritual contact with them and draw energy from them.

It may be helpful at this point to return to the case of Joan of Arc. There can be no doubt that after her death as a martyr she became a source of energy and hope for thousands or even millions who never met her in the flesh. In the case of at least some of these people there was a real 'encounter' with Joan: they had a strong sense of her presence with them and this had a powerful effect on them. She inspired them-which is another way of saying that they drew energy from her.

It is easy to dismiss this as 'unreal' because these people never touched or saw her. The fact that her presence touched them is then effectively dismissed as mere fantasy. The Gospel accounts of the 'appearances' of Jesus invite us to take more seriously the 'real presence' of inspirational people who might have seemed to be cut off from us by death or imprisonment.{11} In writing to the Corinthians Paul speaks passionately of the connection between the resurrection of Jesus and that of Christian believers (I Cor 15:12-20). It makes sense, then, to speak of having encounters not merely with the risen Jesus but also with inspiring people like Joan of Arc who have followed the path marked out by Jesus.

Some people may be shocked at the idea of comparing Jesus with Joan of Arc, Gandhi, and Nelson Mandela. They may feel it fails to do justice to the uniqueness of Jesus and to the universal character of his contribution to the world. Furthermore they may find this whole approach 'reductionist' because it seeks to explain the supernatural effects of Jesus' life and death by comparing them to such natural psychological realities as the hope and energy which we can draw from leaders like Joan and Mandela.

On the other hand, this approach can be defended as one which takes seriously the reality of the incarnation. It avoids the kind of dualisms which have done so much damage to theology in recent centuries. Dualism created a split between the natural and the supernatural and between the spiritual and the material. This approach bypasses these specially invented theological categories which have no adequate grounding in the real world. Instead, it explores the effect of the life and death of Jesus in human terms, on the assumption that what is most deeply human is truly spiritual. Furthermore, the presupposition of this approach is that grace can be felt or experienced, that even the deepest and most spiritual realities are not beyond the bounds of human consciousness. This means that the effects of our redemption by Jesus can be described in human terms, using the language of psychology, politics, economics and culture.

If this is a valid way to explore the meaning of our redemption by Jesus then it is not reductionist or disrespectful to make comparisons between Jesus and other outstanding human leaders-provided, of course, we acknowledge the differences as well as the similarities. Indeed it is not merely allowable to make such comparisons, but is essential to do so. For, as I have been insisting, the whole purpose of the incarnation was to show us what our human life is all about. If we are to respond in the way Jesus wishes to his coming among us we have to look at our lives in the light of his. And the paradox is that in order to do so, we must first explore his life and work in terms of our everyday human experience. Especially relevant in this exploration are such deeply human experiences as the ways in which we can draw hope and energy from another person, whether that person be present or absent, alive or dead. It is a serious misunderstanding of grace to imagine that Jesus has a 'monopoly' on the giving of new life and hope to others. What we can say is that he is the one who unveils the full significance of this life-giving salvific activity which can be found in every age and culture, including our own.

We come now to the fourth and final aspect of redemption, namely, our Christian belief that the salvation of Jesus is truly universal. Theologians have always had great difficulty in finding a credible explanation of how those who have never heard of Jesus, and even those who died long before the time of Jesus, are included in the redemption and new life which he brought to the world.

The first step towards providing an answer to this problem is to recall that Jesus is essentially 'the human one', the epitome of humanity. In the previous chapter on Jesus the Human One I drew out the implications of this by insisting that what we find in Jesus we should look for and develop in ourselves. In the present chapter I have been drawing out the complementary aspect, namely, that every communication of hope and grace-full energy-whether from Mandela or from Joan of Arc or from any other outstanding human being-throws light on how Jesus brought grace and hope to all who respond to him. I went on to suggest that some individuals can be a source of hope and energy even on a world-wide scale. This helps us to see how the redemptive grace and energy of Jesus becomes available to people like ourselves who live long after his time and in a different culture.

But Christian faith calls us to go one step further and say that all human salvation comes through Jesus Christ. Not just the salvation of those who live hundreds of years after the time of Jesus but even people who lived before his time and who could never have heard of him. To understand what this means we need to use some technical theological language. We can say that Jesus as human is the 'exemplary cause' of the salvation all human beings because he is the model of humanity and our highest representative. He is also the 'final cause' of the salvation of all, because he embodies the fulfillment of humanity; he possesses in full measure those qualities which the rest of us only partially realize. But it is obvious that Jesus as a historical human person could not be the source of the new hope and energy which came to people who lived long before his time. Therefore, strictly as human, Jesus cannot be seen as the 'efficient cause' of the salvation of people who lived before his time or in cultures where he was never heard of.

It is for this reason that I say that our belief is that, 'all human salvation comes through Jesus Christ'. Here, for the first time, I am adding the word 'Christ' to 'Jesus'. The addition of the title 'Christ' indicates that at this point we are dealing with something more than purely human causality.

St Peter, in his very first preaching after Pentecost, insisted that God has made the historical person called Jesus 'both Lord and Christ' (Acts 2:36). 'Lord' was a word that suggests a divine character (for instance it was used to refer to God in the Jewish bible). The word 'Christ' means 'the anointed one', the Messiah, the one chosen by God to bring salvation to the whole world. When Jesus was given these titles by the New Testament writers it was equivalent to saying that he is the universal saviour. Nowadays we can express this truth more clearly by saying that the historical Jesus became 'the Cosmic Christ'�the personification of universal human salvation. And so we say that all instances of human liberation and redemption, before or after the time of Jesus, are included in the work of this cosmic Christ.

But on what grounds are we entitled to give Jesus this universal title 'the Cosmic Christ'? There are two stages in the argument for doing so.

First of all, as I have been insisting, the salvation which came from Jesus was not a magical reality; it was a human experience brought about through human means. When those who lived before his time were given new life by God's power, this was not an entirely different kind of salvation from that of the people who knew and loved Jesus. In these cases, too, God used human means. Since Jesus is the fulfillment of all that is truly human the salvation of these people can be seen as a foretaste of his redemptive work.

The second step is to note that as Christians we accept St John's identification of Jesus as the Eternal Word of God-the Word who was in the world from the beginning 'though the world did not know him' (Jn 1:10). The Word of God, long before being born as a human, was bringing salvation to people through other less perfect images and signs of God, such as the beauty of nature, the mystery of a child or the experience of human love (cf. chapter 1 above). Before becoming incarnate in Jesus, the Word had also been sending forth the Spirit into the world, to challenge and inspire people of every era and ultimately to fill them with God's life and energy (cf. chapters 2 and 3 above). From this long perspective, the coming of Jesus was the culmination of a redemptive involvement in the world which had been going on from the very beginning.{12} So it makes sense to identify Jesus, the definitive embodiment of the Word of God and therefore the focal point of human history, with the cosmic Christ who is the personifiction of all human salvation, before and after the time of Jesus.

This account of human salvation and redemption by Jesus has important implications for anybody who is interested in sharing in the mission of Jesus. First of all, it encourages Christians not to assume that they already know all about what is involved in being fully and authentically human. We may believe that Jesus is the high point of humanity and may study him, meditate on him and model ourselves on him. But we must not imagine that we know Jesus fully. For our understanding of him is culturally conditioned and limited by our own inadequacies. The more open we are to learning about human fulfillment from other people, other cultures, and other religions the better we will know Jesus.

Second, this approach invites us to look for the signs of the Spirit at work in places and among peoples where Jesus is scarcely known. It summons us to be sensitive to the elements of redemption, liberation and reconciliation that are already present in these situations. It gives us the assurance that people who have previously been truly open to the Spirit will recognize in Jesus the fulfillment of their deepest spiritual aspirations-provided our presentation of Jesus and our witness to him are properly inculturated. Therefore it also brings out the importance of authentic inculturation-one that is in harmony with the earlier work of the Spirit and with all that is most deeply human in each particular culture.

A final implication of this approach is that it offers a way out of the theological dilemma which paralyses or inhibits many of those who work among people who have rejected Christianity or have scarcely heard the Christian Good News: 'why bother preaching Jesus if people can be saved without ever hearing of him?' It indicates that the new life, new hope and new energy of Jesus does not come to people automatically or in some magical or mysterious manner. Rather it comes through human means, namely, through words and witness. People encounter Jesus and receive his new life through hearing him spoken of and seeing the witness that Christians give to him. So missionary work is by no means unnecessary or out of date.

It is true that people who have never heard of Jesus can still be saved. But that does not happen automatically or by magic. Though it is an action of the Spirit, it is nevertheless a human experience. Though it does not involve an 'encounter' with Jesus as human, it normally comes through the mediation of some other manifestation of God's Word (e.g. an experience of reconciliation or an encounter with some prophetic figure). Nobody is saved in isolation; we all need to be touched by others. God uses each of us to affect the lives of others.

Already as human beings we must be in solidarity with all our brothers and sisters; we must acknowledge that we are accountable for their welfare. Our commitment to them as Christians is a spelling out of this human responsibility. So there can be no question of a committed Christian disclaiming responsibility for the salvation of non-Christians. We must respond to their need. But how we respond to them is a different question. We have to make choices based on respect for their beliefs and on sensitivity to their culture and values; we must also take account of the other commitments which we ourselves have taken on. This means that there is room for a variety of different ways and levels of exercising our missionary responsibility. But to dismiss the work of mission as an outdated concept is to deny human solidarity and to miss the whole point of the incarnation.