In Samuel Beckett's absurdist theatrical work, "Waiting for Godot", salvation plays out its dubious paradox over the sparse nothingness of the play's entire duration. The ever absent Godot seems like the salvific figure that will finally free Vladimir and Estragon from their unbearably confining reality of the present, yet the two remain confined to the barren unchanging stage by the very fact they are waiting for Godot. Yet, why they are waiting for Godot and who Godot is remains hauntingly uncertain. This theme of salvation recapitulates in a number of biblical allusions, one of them being the boy messenger who "minds the goats", while his brother, who Godot supposedly beats and mistreats, "minds the sheep" -- a strangely unexpected reference to Matthew's gospel (25:31-46) where the 'Son of Man' separates the sheep from the goats. The sheep being those who see Divinity in the hungry, thirsty, estranged, naked, sick and imprisoned, and respond by providing for them -- and consequently are "blessed by [the] Father, [and] inherit the Kingdom". The goats are those who do nothing and consequently are sent away for "eternal punishment". It seems paradoxically purposeful that Beckett has the goat-herding boy claim that Godot beats his sheep-herding brother. No one knows if it's true, but it seems true. Similarly, in the second act, Estragon calls the abusive-seeming Pozzo by the name Abel, and refers to Lucky, the indentured servant, by the name Cain. Abel being the primal brother favoured by God, because he sacrificed the 'right' thing, and Cain the primal brother rejected by God, and moved by spiritual despair and envy to kill his own brother.
The most memorable biblical allusion for me however, was when Vladimir says to Estragon, "the two thieves. Do you remember the story? ...how is it that of the four Evangelists only one speaks of a thief being saved. The four of them were there –or thereabouts– and only one speaks of a thief being saved... One out of four. Of the other three, two don't mention any thieves at all and the third says that both of them abused him."
This third Evangelist mentioned by Vladimir is Matthew. At this point we may historicize and act very dainty and distinguished, and disdainfully make the claim: it is very likely none of the Gospel writers were actually there at the crucifixion. After all, the disciples of Jesus would very likely have spoken Aramaic and remained generally illiterate, while all of the four gospels were written in Greek. There is large scholarly consensus all four gospels were written after 69CE at the earliest. They all disagree with each other in innumerable ways. And what is one to do with such detailed accounts of Jesus before the Sanhedrin or being questioned by Pilate before his crucifixion, while those were all very privileged spaces for the elite, not accessible to peasant disciples. At this point, we could all pack up our stuff, so to speak, and just go home. We're finished, everyone. Get out. Go home. It's over, lol. What a boring and terrible way to ruin good fun though. It was Tolstoy who poetically said, "it is just as unimportant
and unnecessary to know when and by whom such
and such a Gospel was written, and whether such
and such a parable came from Jesus himself or
not. For me, the only important concern was this
light, which, for eighteen hundred years, has shone
upon mankind; which has shone up."
But, do allow me to at least sort out which Gospel is which in Vladimir's piquant observation. Mark, very likely the earliest of all four canonical gospels, mentions, "those who were crucified with him also taunted him" (Mark:15:32). But Mark never mentions those crucified with Jesus as thieves. The Gospel of John does the same. These are the two 'Evangelists' that Vladimir says never mentions the thieves. Matthew, mentions thieves, but keeps with Mark's story, claiming they both "taunted" Jesus (Matthew 27:44). Luke is the one exceptional gospel that provokes Vladimir to contemplate salvation in this way, because Luke is the only one that mentions a crucified thief being 'saved'.
Now Beckett seems to frame this textual reality in a despairing sort of way -- a lament regarding the elusive nature of salvation. Out of four, only one offers any sense of redemption to the 'thief'. But I would argue, without this dour backdrop of the other three canonical gospels, it would be far more taxing to access the full richness of Luke's redeeming narration. From my own reading, Lukan theology is the great champion of inclusivity and political defender of the marginalized. One need look no further than the Sermon on the Plain, comparatively set next to Matthew's version, styled as the Sermon on the Mount. Between these two texts, for example, there are minor differences in the way the Beatitudes are presented. In Matthew, we have, "Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven... Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled," (Matthew 5:3,6). Luke's version goes: “Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God. Blessed are you who are hungry now, for you will be filled," (Luke 16:20-21). The political undertone is clear in Luke. Its voice lies with the current realities and struggles of marginalization. This is not simply a spiritually moral matter to Luke. Following the terse Lukan blessings are many woes to the affluent: "But woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation. Woe to you who are full now, for you will be hungry."
In Ancient Rome, thieves were the only ones crucified for committing theft. Any crucified thief would already be the underclass of Roman society. I think it would be less than a coincidence for Luke to also be the 'Evangelist' who took the time and space in his narrative to extend redemption in the direction of the thief, society's most marginalized member. Matthew is not 'wrong' for having the thieves mock Jesus. They align perfectly with Mark's and John's, though the crucified figures in Mark and John are not labelled as 'thieves'. Luke is the one that is making the 'transgression' -- a proactive one, which refuses to accept the assumptions dominant culture makes for us regarding the identities of the marginalized. A reduction of who they are and what they are capable of doing. I feel this underlies and frames the way Luke presents the crucifixion event as a whole:
"One of the criminals who were hanged there kept deriding him and saying, “Are you not the Messiah? Save yourself and us!” But the other rebuked him, saying, “Do you not fear God, since you are under the same sentence of condemnation? And we indeed have been condemned justly, for we are getting what we deserve for our deeds, but this man has done nothing wrong.” Then he said, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” He replied, “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.”
It was now about noon, and darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon, while the sun’s light failed; and the curtain of the temple was torn in two. Then Jesus, crying with a loud voice, said, “Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.” Having said this, he breathed his last." (Luke 23:39-46)
I will remark, first, on the manner in which the two thieves speak. They each begin by posing a question -- somewhat ironic questions, within a passage wholly saturated in irony. The first thief follows up his question with an ironically authoritative command further overwhelmed with dramatic irony, "Save yourself and us," he says. The point being, Jesus cannot save himself. It is in this paralysis and disability that Christianity redefines how God is understood. There is this gaping gap of irony. God all powerful, all mighty, all knowing -- all these notions of infinitude borrowed from Greek philosophy -- lies incongruently across from this God hanging on a cross being abused and shit-talked by the little flimsy creatures he himself created, unable to save himself. It is only by the absence of salvation extended to God on the cross, whereby salvation is made possible for anyone. However, this is but one aspect of an entire life filled with this odd brand of irony -- from God being birthed into an animal feeding trough, to riding a into Jerusalem on a donkey. This is what Kierkegaard refers to as the 'comedy' of Christianity. What underlies the Christian faith is an enormously comical joke about God.
The second thief also poses an ironic question, but addresses it to his fellow human being. His gaze turns to his fellow individual, before then turning to God -- beautifully reflective of what I perceive to be the pervasive ideology of Luke. One cannot truly address God meaningfully unless one has confronted concrete human realities surrounding oneself first -- this life, and this present reality. And Jesus responds, "Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise." The Greek word 'paradeisos' refers to 'God's garden'. 'Paradise' extended to the thief, within the Lukan narrative, is the clearest affirmation of redemption -- a welcoming back into the primal Eden of innocence.
The second thief asks the first thief, "Do you not fear God?" Work out your salvation in fear and trembling, expresses the Pauline epistle to the Philippians. Maybe in fear, and maybe in trembling, Luke presents the moment of death in the crucifixion event and the final words of Jesus in a starkly different terms than the other two synoptic Gospels. Matthew and Mark have the last words of Jesus as: "My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?" It is understandable why Luke would find this line rather troubling and choose to omit it altogether. This was God's own moment of revolt and doubt. As G.K. Chesterton put it, this was the singular event where "God seemed for an instant to be an atheist."
The way in which Luke expresses faith in God's faithfulness is ironically by doubting the very narrative of God sitting before him, and reconstructing a new interpretation of it, writing Jesus' last words as: “Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.” In some sense, doubt paradoxically underlies notions of faith, as faith automatically implies a certain form of doubt. It is by this, any distinction can be made between 'knowing' something and 'believing' something, as Zizek would point out. In order to have faith in something, it must inherently be doubtable and unbelievable. In the opening of 'Fear and Trembling', Kierkegaard claims faith and doubt as tasks that are worked out over a lifetime, even though many claim to have accomplished them already, and want to surpass them. In the case of Luke, it is interesting the way in which doubt takes the form of removing God's own expression of doubt. Luke seems to be almost taking on the doubt himself to save God from appearing doubtful. In 'Fear and Trembling', Kierkegaard similarly imagines the way Abraham brought himself to sacrifice Isaac.
"Then Abraham lifted up the boy, he walked with him by his side, and his talk was full of comfort and exhortation. But Isaac could not understand him. He climbed Mount Moriah, but Isaac understood him not. Then for an instant he turned away from him, and when Isaac again saw Abraham’s face it was changed, his glance was wild, his form was horror. He seized Isaac by the throat, threw him to the ground, and said, "Stupid boy, dost thou then suppose that I am thy father? I am an idolater. Dost thou suppose that this is God’s bidding? No, it is my desire." Then Isaac trembled and cried out in his terror, "O God in heaven, have compassion upon me. God of Abraham, have compassion upon me. If I have no father upon earth, be Thou my father!" But Abraham in a low voice said to himself, "O Lord in heaven, I thank Thee. After all it is better for him to believe that I am a monster, rather than that he should lose faith in Thee." (Kierkegaard, Fear and Trembling, Prelude)
This story of Abraham journeying out three days to Mount Moriah to sacrifice his only son, Isaac, has been reappropriated in countless ways by Christians, and reread as a foreshadowing of God the Father giving up his only son, Jesus Christ. One must recognize that at the heart of the Christian project, is eisegesis of the Hebrew Bible -- reading all of Christian theology back into the Hebrew Scriptures, and an expressing of flawed supersessionist ideology using names like 'Old Testament' and 'New Testament'. This is part of Christianity's irony. It itself is the thief! Among many other things, it steals the entire Hebrew tradition and claims it as its own.
In conclusion, I feel Luke's crucifixion story provides a very significant critique of the state of Christian faith today. Luke provides space for what Foucault refers to as the 'possible transgression', and allows within faith, a dynamic to flourish between doubt and constructive imagination. Christian faith today, I feel, is plagued with the malaise of unwarranted certainty and its own version of 'objective knowledge', especially within its doctrine and theology. But I would use Luke to argue that true faith cannot flourish without an earnest relationship with doubt. Beckett shows so luminously the way uncertainty can feel so confining and paralyzing and terrifying to confront. But this is the existential condition absurdist theatre knows and expresses so well. It is the admission of finitude. We do not know everything and cannot know everything. Secondly, I feel what Luke's gospel argues is, that centrally, Christianity is about extending a space of healing to the marginalized, as Luke did in his gospel for the thief. And it was not extended with some small insignificant corner of his narrative, but with one of the very central and pillar moments in the Christian narrative. To begin to act in such a way, in a present context, it would be first useful to realize that Christianity is the largest religion in the world. There are an estimated 800 million to 1 billion Protestants and over 1.2 billion Catholics, in addition to Orthodox Christians and adherents outside those traditions -- that is approximately 31.5% of the world population. Every other religious group, including the totality of individuals who do not identify with a religion are smaller than the world's Christian population. This must be recognized as a situation of dominance and privilege. Some Christians like to self-style themselves as the persecuted and a struggling minority. There are handful of regions around the world where that may be a reality or further complicated by race issues and Western elitism intertwined with secularism, but to an overwhelmingly large extent, that is a misleading claim. In the religious context, every other religious/areligious group is in a sense marginalized by Christianity, and Christians, I feel, should inquire how certain extensions of their faith are marginalizing other religious or non-religious groups, and become self-aware of its hegemonic tendencies. For example, in the case of gender and sexual minorities, the LGBTQIA* community has and still faces overwhelming oppression, but instead of extending a space of healing and support, Christianity has often been in the forefront of further marginalizing this community. This is very counter to the spirit of Luke, I would argue. Thirdly, I would argue that the comedy of Christianity has ironically been stolen from faithful Christian practice by reductive and pious expressions of self-hate and contrition, and a form of self-negating devotion to a master hand-puppet God who orchestrates the entire world in such a way that the useless humans he (or she or they) made can just sit back, denied of their agency, and do nothing to engage with this world or produce action, as long as they continually remind themselves of the unwavering truth of God's omnipotent puppeteering abilities. Instead, I would argue, comical irony is what underscores Christianity and its reconceptualized notion of God, in addition to exposing the fallacy of any omni-whatever God, as Brueggemann would argue against.
In the 8th century, an English monk described how a feasts held in the honour of Eostre, a goddess of Germanic paganism, had died out and had been replaced by a 'Paschal festival' month of Christian celebrations. This has never been corroborated with an additional source, but it does suggest Easter to be, in a certain comical sense, stolen by Christianity, as was done to establish the other large scale festival Christmas. May this be a softer reminder that, Christianity is the thief next to Jesus. May we never forget the 'salvation' extended to us by Luke, and may we too extend that space of healing towards those marginalized by hegemonic forces like ourselves. May we be bold enough to doubt and transgress the meta-narratives which confine others and ourselves, and may Luke's crucifixion story remind us of how we may put the 'good' back in Good Friday.
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