I Didn’t Kill Jesus!

An Easter Reflection. . .

I grew up Catholic going to mass every day while attending parochial grade school. I had constant contact with God as I tried to make my way through long sermons and religious ceremonies. I spent so many hours on my knees that I thought I would surely have to have knee replacement when I was older. I was taught to believe in mortal sin though I did not really know what that was — but venial sin sounded worse. I loved the Latin masses because I couldn’t understand it and I thought God wanted us to forever guess what he was saying.

Over my developing years I thought about becoming a nun. I would be a bride of Christ and do good work for the poor and hungry. But then, I realized as I grew — I was the poor and hungry. The priests I knew were older men who liked the pretty girls in my class. I had no knowledge that they also really liked the boys, too. Today, this realization turns my stomach.

It’s always during Easter that I have the greatest fallout with the Catholic Church. My family would go to mass during Lent and we would take part in the trial of Jesus. I never really understood what Jesus did wrong but I knew the Romans didn’t like him very much. The Passion Play would begin and as always, the priest took the role as narrator while we, the religious community, would take the part of the angry mob. “Crucify him,” we’d shout out loud. “Crucify him,” we repeated.

In my heart I asked God to forgive me for saying these lines. I’m not a murderer and I don’t condone the death penalty. I like Jesus and could never figure out why I had to say those terrible things. As I got older that resentment grew more and more fierce. I was being forced to say something I didn’t mean. It was a lie and yet, I was still required to shout “Crucify him!”

I didn’t kill Jesus. I love him and he’s a good spirit but because I couldn’t stop being responsible for his death I left the Catholic Church.

Honestly, I didn’t kill Jesus!