Man, that was a mouthful.

We sat down with a couple of beers, huddled around a microphone and talked about the rough cut of the movie we had just seen, along with other matters of faith, music, pop culture and other tangents that popped up along the way.

Fortunately, Tripp Fuller and Bo Sanders of Homebrewed Christianity cobbled together a fascinating podcast from our nonsense. The byproduct is here, hot, fresh and ready to invade your ear-holes.

Check it out.

The highlight of Pagosa is the hot springs, which include more than a dozen manmade pools, all fed by a mixture of river and natural hot spring water. The smell all around the place is pungent, like a giant fart really, but over time that stench has come to represent relaxation for us. We take the three-hour drive from Pagosa to Pueblo a few times a year, decompressing and getting ourselves ready for the certain rush of activity that faces us when we get back home.

My son, Mattias, has come to really enjoy the springs too, even though the mellow environment isn’t exactly complementary to his personality. Something about the zoned-out hippie vibe of the place, though, affects even him. This isn’t to say that he’s an easygoing kid or anything, but I like to think it’s a good exercise in relaxation for him too. I’m not so sure the other guests at the springs agree, but relatively speaking, he’s a pretty chill little guy there.

One of his favorite things to do is to talk to everyone. Whereas we find his endless stream of questions a little bit of a beat-down after a while, new acquaintances still find it charming. He has no qualms about going up to complete strangers and asking them about what toys they like most, where they go to school, and if they’re big enough to make it through the night without wetting the bed.

He’s also quite the ladies’ man, even when he’s not trying to be. It’s sadly ironic that one of the best chick-bait strategies on the planet is a little kid, which generally puts you out of the running to take advantage of their charms.

Amy took Mattias into the locker rooms to change one afternoon, when they came across two attractive young women from Europe, each in their trademark itty-bitty bikinis.

“Excuse me ladies,” Mattias walked up to them as they were changing, “can I spin your suits for you?” There’s a centrifuge-like device in the locker rooms that spin the water out of the swimsuits to make them easier to pack. I have to assume that, given his age and lack of sexual awareness, he was really just trying to be helpful, but lines like that to literally charm women out of their clothes don’t come along every day.

They smiled and respectfully declined his offer, but he persisted. “It’s not too loud,” he said. “I can do it for you later if you change your mind, or you can probably handle it if you want to do them yourself.”

How awesome is that? Moments like that make a dad so proud.

On the way back from Pagosa, we decided to take a detour toward Rye, in the mountains south of Pueblo, to check out a landmark that’s grown to mythic proportion these days, called Bishop Castle. I’d never seen it before, despite living an hour or so away, and Mark could hardly resist the temptation to show off something to me I’d never seen before. It definitely was worth the extra time to get there.

Jim Bishop began building this castle, out in the middle of nowhere on the eastern ridge of the Southern Colorado Rockies, about thirty-nine years ago. Every day, he hoists one flagstone on top of another and secures them together with mortar. Every day, he welds two more pieces of wrought iron together. As far as I know, he has no specific blueprints, and based on the structural integrity, he’s consulted with no engineers, but the product of his obsessive labor is one of the biggest structures ever created by a single pair of human hands.

Jim was there the day we visited, his shirt caked in concrete dust, and his fists hanging at his sides like stones he worked with every day for decades. The entire area is littered with handwritten signs he’s posted over the years, most of which point to a less-than-intact psyche. Quotes like “9-11 was an inside job” and rants about the federal government and taxes are all over the place. I guess you could assume that a guy who spends his entire adult life building a castle in the middle of nowhere by hand with no plans is not exactly normal, but the signs add to the eeriness of the place.

“Here,” Jim jumps into a conversation with us that apparently had been taking place without us prior to our arrival, “see this book? They feature my place in here, and this thing’s published in Japan. Japan!” He pointed to another structure, emblazoned with hammered metal and noticeably bigger than his own place. “Mine’s not the biggest building ever built by one man. This one here is being built by a monk in Spain who believes God told him to do it.”

He tossed the book back in the passenger seat of his pickup truck. “I’d like to say I’m building mine to glorify the Lord,” he said, shaking his head, “but God knows when you’re lying. Me, I’m doing this to glorify myself and my family. That’s it.” He nodded as I dropped a five-dollar bill in his donation box – he’s proud to point out that no tax dollars have subsidized his project – and returned to his labor.

Rather than a monument, Bishop Castle is more of a memorial. Jim began building the sprawling structure as a young man, bringing his son into the mix when he was old enough to do his share of the work. One day, they were removing a massive tree for by hooking a chain around the trunk, and pulling it down with their truck. The way the story goes, they got the tree partially dislodged from its spot, but the deeper-running roots kept it from coming completely out of the ground. To help loosen the hold it had in the rocky soil, Jim’s son crawled down in the crater beneath the tree to cut loose some of the roots. As he worked, the chain loosened inexplicably, freeing the tree from the truck and sending it sliding back into its hole, on top of Jim’s son, who died instantly.

I can’t confirm the details of the story, and there was no way I was going to ask Jim to verify facts, but however it played out, the tragedy casts a pall over the ongoing work Jim Bishop has done ever since. As I scaled the hundreds of steps making up the spiral staircase in the 180-foot tower, it felt like I was shrouded in his grief, built up, one stone at a time, over so many years. Like the castle itself, there was no clear resolution to his grief; instead, he just kept pushing forward, building more every day, if for no other reason than to keep from having to stop.

The top of the spire was dizzyingly unsteady. My legs were shaking visibly by the time I reached the top, partly due to exertion and lack of oxygen at about 7,000 feet, and also because the whole thing just didn’t feel quite done. It bowed with the wind, an iron cage perched on top of hand-picked stones, all depending on thousands more below them to maintain their place in the order. I could see for miles from the highest point, causing me to feel at the same time strangely omnipotent and pitifully alone. I wondered how much thought he put into the metaphoric significance of the castle, or if it simply oozed out from his pores and into his work, taking on pieces of his own consciousness and personality as any person’s lifelong project would do.

Amy breathed a sigh of relief when I finally crawled back down from the top. She pointed out, when I commented about the precarious nature of the construction, that someone like Jim, who has been forced to face the reality of his deepest fears – in this case, losing a son – mere things like the risk of death hold no power any more. I looked up along the path of my ascent, and saw his makeshift scaffolding, all along the outside walls. The whole contraption was no more than a collection of two-by-fours, held together with some old nails. Anyone would have to be nuts to walk along such a deathtrap, especially with fifty-pound boulders in their hands; that, or they simply would have to practically welcome death.

Christian Piatt is an author, editor, speaker, musician and spoken word artist. He is the creator and editor of BANNED QUESTIONS ABOUT THE BIBLE and BANNED QUESTIONS ABOUT JESUS. Christian has a memoir on faith, family and parenting being published in early 2012 called PREGMANCY: A Dad, a Little Dude and a Due Date. Find him on Twitter or Facebook.

Check out the short video I recorded in anticipation of the gig:

See you all there in less than two weeks!

I was reading Rob Bell’s book, “Love Wins” recently, when I came across one of his early arguments for a broader look at salvation. He suggests that, if the notion some maintain about the risks of eternal damnation are real, the most compassionate thing to do is to kill all of our children before they reach an age at which they are held accountable for their actions. This, he says, would be the only way to ensure they aren’t doomed to hell later in life.

A hyperbolic example for illustration’s sake, of course, but as a father of two, something about it really shook me. How do we ever know until it’s too late if we’re doing the right thing in how we raise our kids?

Consider Abraham, one of the cornerstones of the Judeo-Christian faith. He’s the man from whom we all descend. But according to his example, I should be willing to kill my own children to prove I am a faithful servant of God. Though I understand the idea of placing faith in God before all else, including my own family, mostly what I come away with from this story is a bitter taste in my mouth for a God that would require such a test.

Though many focus on the testing of Abraham in this story, there is another angle to consider. As Rebecca Bowman Woods points out in “Banned Questions About The Bible,” the practice of child sacrifice was common in Abraham’s time. It’s reasonable to consider then, that the author of this story is claiming that the God of Abraham doesn’t require such offerings, because he stopped Abraham.

Personally, I identify with this interpretation, since we see time and again that God inclines toward mercy in relationship with humanity. It does pose a serious theological hurdle for those who maintain a belief in substitutionary atonement: the belief that God sent Jesus to die for our sins.

Also in the “Banned Questions” book, David Lose writes that although we may not find a comfortable interpretation of such stories, there is a subtext of hope. “God will provide what is necessary,” says Lose, “and the righteous anger against God it may cause cannot remove one from relationship with God.”

It’s reassuring to consider that God can handle my anger. I remember trying to punish my parents growing up with scowls and silent treatment. It was only after I became a dad myself that I understood what a welcome relief such self-imposed quiet can be. So if I can handle my kids’ anger, it’s fair to assume God can deal with mine.

Another premium for any parent is to try and be fair, especially if you have more than one child. From special attention to birthday presents and slices of cake, there’s an obsession in our culture implying that fairness is the same as parity. Some minor issues, like the slices of cake are easy to solve; let one kid cut the cake, and let the other one pick the first slice.

But despite our best efforts, something will always come along that will be labeled as unfair. But in examining scripture, I’ve come away with the sense that God’s fairness hardly resembles our human understanding of the word.

Consider the workers in the vineyard (Mt. 20:1-16), all of whom get the same wages, while some work all day and others labor only an hour. Imagine how the guy who sweated all day for the same reward felt. Or the Prodigal Son, who ignored parental advice and conventional wisdom, blowing his entire inheritance and coming back to dad poor and humiliated.

Instead of offering an “I told you so” lecture like I probably would, his father welcomes him with open arms, gives him a gift and throws a party. Personally, if I were the faithful son who had stood by my father’s side the whole time, I’d be more than a little pissed off by his generosity.

The prophet Malachi recognized the frustration of faithful Jews who did not care for the idea that there was no separate justice for those who didn’t follow God’s law (Malachi 3:14-15). This concern about no different fate for good and evil also evidences itself in Ecclesiastes 8:14-15:

“There is a vanity that takes place on earth, that there are righteous people who are treated according to the conduct of the wicked, and there are wicked people who are treated according to the conduct of the righteous. I said that this also is vanity. So I commend enjoyment, for there is nothing better for people under the sun than to eat, and drink, and enjoy themselves, for this will go with them in their toil through the days of life that God gives them under the sun.”

Here the speaker, who is thought to be Koheleth, a preacher, seems to decry the unfairness, and effectively says, “Why bother? We all get treated the same in the end.” Jesus affirms this notion of justice in Matthew 5:45 when he says, “… your Father in heaven… makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the righteous and on the unrighteous.”

One of the best and worst things at the same time about scripture is that it can be used to make nearly any point. If we want to justify corporal punishment, testing our children or even handing them over to an angry mob to be gang-raped (see Lot and his daughters, Genesis 19:30-38), we can find scripture to point to.

But if there’s one theme that seems to prevail in seeking the parental nature of God in the Bible, it is one of unconditional, inexhaustible forgiveness, mercy and love. I’m hardly there in my own parenting, but as many have said before me, God is God, and I’m not. And that bodes well for all of us.

There are plenty of criticisms offered against today’s American youth and young adults. And despite the fact that I turn forty in a few weeks, I still consider myself among them: a kindred spirit of cultural orphans, still sifting through the detritus of an evaporating American Dream to figure out who we might be without it.

Alisa Harris’ memoir, RAISED RIGHT: How I Untangled My Faith from Politics, reflects on the apparent cultural, spiritual and economic desert time in which we find ourselves. We have witnessed the carnage of a financial system that was intended to perpetually buoy a nation, but whose “invisible hand” has instead crushed the dreams of millions. We’ve watched as the two-headed political serpent attacks itself until it is impotent. We’ve seen religious figures scandalized their institutions emptied as a generation walks away, in search of something more relevant to their daily struggle.

One of the few common threads among us is our shared embrace of iconoclasm. While labeled as rebelliousness for the sake of itself by some, it’s more a symptom of a culture whose intense self-awareness has yielded either jingoistic narcissism or resigned nihilism. And both sides are convinced the other is both void of heart and intent on their destruction.

Why do we shrug off labels? Each seems weighed down by its own repugnant sense of self-righteousness. Why do we step away from our parents’ religious and political convictions? Because both have failed us, intent on self-sustenance before serving any greater purpose to better the human condition. Instead we pick and choose from our daily experience as we find identities and causes that fit, not satisfied to permanently ally ourselves with any particular group, lest we get fooled once again into placing our trust in something that doesn’t merit it.

Two quotes from Harris’ book stood out to me as definitive of the postmodern Christian American. Both suggest a custom-tailored identity that older generations label as opportunistic, but which younger ones understand as our only option for survival. She describes her college friend as “…cool in the ‘Evangelical ex-homeschooler who quotes the Aneid in Latin while drinking whiskey and smoking a pipe’ type of way.” Such a combination of attributes betrays both a longing for grounding, while also seeking liberation from old expectations.

A second description of a friend from New York City points at why so many today struggle to find any group or label they consider palatable. Harris calls her friend, “…a fiscal Republican, a social Democrat, a pro-lifer who didn’t believe in banning abortion, and a Christian who didn’t think Jesus cared so much whether people were gay.”

It’s reasonable to see why those within the established systems claim we stand for nothing. On the contrary, the friction lies in the disconnect between what we do stand for and what the systems that have so long taken power for granted say we should believe.

It’s no surprise we’ve walked away from traditional institutions in droves; we feel we owe them precisely what they’ve given us.

The redemption of such cultural ambiguity is that assumptions and stereotypes fall short more often than they apply, causing us to have to take people more at face value, discerning what they believe through face-to-face discourse. We crave more intimate, direct connection with one another because, in doing so, we hope to find out more about who we are as well.

It is here, as Harris points out, that real change takes place: where two or more are gathered. The talking points and ready-made labels fall short, giving way to a deeper concern for the humanity at the center of each life. The effect on her was that she, “determined not to let dogma swallow up my personality and poison my sense of charity. I promised myself that I would remember that people are more important than clinging to beliefs…”

Call it cynical, iconoclastic or even destructive to the fabric of society, but placing humanity above ideals seems the only hope we have for living out Christ’s call to love one another as ourselves. In so much as politics and religion both have failed to yield the result they had promised, it’s now up to us to plant new seeds, together, one at a time.

(For more conversation on Raised Right, visit the Patheos Book Club.)

Christian Piatt is an author, editor, speaker, musician and spoken word artist. He is the creator and editor of BANNED QUESTIONS ABOUT THE BIBLE and BANNED QUESTIONS ABOUT JESUS. Christian has a memoir on faith, family and parenting being published in early 2012 called PREGMANCY: A Dad, a Little Dude and a Due Date. Visit www.christianpiatt.com, or find him on Twitter or Facebook.

Just as the outgoing car passed, the one to my right cut in front of me and turned left. I honked not to teach her some lesson or humiliate her, but because she almost clipped the front of my car. And I made sure not to honk out of anger (pretty sure Paul said only to honk the truth in love, right?), but instead just offered what I call a “love tap.”

After she cleared oncoming traffic, she stopped, rolled down her window and shot me a disgusted look. “I was waiting for the other car to pass,” she said. “What the hell is your problem?”

“You turned left from the right lane and almost hit me,” I said. She looked embarrassed, but quickly covered the awkwardness with more anger.

“Get over yourself, why don’t you?” she grumbled, then flipped me off and drove away.

As I waited in line for my prescription, I thought about the exchange. Would she have acted this way if she had known me? Why was it all right even if she didn’t? My imagination wandered, considering the same kind of treatment offered on a larger scale by opposing political groups, religions, or anyone whose ideology trumps the basic humanity of the Other.

It’s easy enough to blame politics or religion for being soulless systems that dehumanize, but I’m beginning to think they’re just byproducts of a deeper social issue. As our society becomes for distributed and virtualized, and the more we think of other people in abstractions, the easier it is to divide ourselves, seeing those that differ from us as “less than.”

This, do some degree, speaks to one of the great potential value of the missional/emergent church movement. With its emphasis on building relationship, sharing story, serving one another and cultivating compassion, we have both the benefit and challenge of seeing one another as more than an assemblage of stereotypes or issues. In taking the time and effort to acknowledge one another’s humanity, we have an opportunity to glimpse the divine.

Then again, I guess some people are just assholes.

The highlight of Pagosa is the hot springs, which include more than a dozen man-made pools, all fed by a mixture of river and natural hot spring water. The smell all around the place is pungent, like a giant fart really, but over time that stench has come to represent relaxation for us. We take the three-hour drive from Pagosa to Pueblo a few times a year, decompressing and getting ourselves ready for the certain rush of activity that faces us when we get back home.

My son, Mattias, has come to really enjoy the springs too, even though the mellow environment isn’t exactly complementary to his personality. Something about the zoned-out hippie vibe of the place, though, affects even him. This isn’t to say that he’s an easygoing kid or anything, but I like to think it’s a good exercise in relaxation for him too. I’m not so sure the other guests at the springs agree, but relatively speaking, he’s a pretty chill little guy there.

One of his favorite things to do is to talk to everyone. Whereas we find his endless stream of questions a little bit of a beat-down after a while, new acquaintances still find it charming. He has no qualms about going up to complete strangers and asking them about what toys they like most, where they go to school, and if they’re big enough to make it through the night without wetting the bed.

He’s also quite the ladies’ man, even when he’s not trying to be. It’s sadly ironic that one of the best chick-bait strategies on the planet is a little kid, which generally puts you out of the running to take advantage of their charms.

Amy took Mattias into the locker rooms to change one afternoon, when they came across two attractive young women from Europe, each in their trademark itty-bitty bikinis.

“Excuse me ladies,” Mattias walked up to them as they were changing, “can I spin your suits for you?” There’s a centrifuge-like device in the locker rooms that spin the water out of the swimsuits to make them easier to pack. I have to assume that, given his age and lack of sexual awareness, he was really just trying to be helpful, but lines like that to literally charm women out of their clothes don’t come along every day.

They smiled and respectfully declined his offer, but he persisted. “It’s not too loud,” he said. “I can do it for you later if you change your mind, or you can probably handle it if you want to do them yourself.”

How awesome is that? Moments like that make a dad so proud.

Christian Piatt is an author, editor, speaker, musician and spoken word artist. He is the creator and editor of BANNED QUESTIONS ABOUT THE BIBLE and BANNED QUESTIONS ABOUT JESUS. Christian has a memoir on faith, family and parenting being published in early 2012 called PREGMANCY: A Dad, a Little Dude and a Due Date. Visit www.christianpiatt.com, or find him on Twitter or Facebook.

The Church administration that owned the property abruptly called staff and parents of Happy Time Preschool & Daycare in for a meeting where they announced the center would be shut down. A new facility, to be called Point of Grace Children’s Academy, would take its place. All staff would have one week to reapply for their jobs, and all working there, as well as those sending their children to the new academy, must now agree to a rigid code of conduct developed by the church.

A few no-no’s that will cause you to lose your job at the Academy or your child’s place in the student body include:

• Being gay
• Opposite-sex cohabitation outside of marriage
• No drugs or alcohol (not just for the kids; adults too)
• No use of vulgarity (anywhere, not just on school grounds)
• No pornography (though what qualifies as such is unclear)

This “Christian Lifestyle Agreement” reportedly founded upon Biblical principles, though I suppose they’re referring to a Bible other than the ones I have. But regardless of the justification they employ, there are some critical issues at play here, as I see it.

Yes, they are within the scope of the law as far as I can tell, given that they are running a private business. If the school is benefiting from any nonprofit status maintained by the church, however, I expect civil rights activists will have a field day. But for a church to establish such moral codes in an effort to control the ways of life of all involved seems to place a premium on their moral self-righteousness over the humanity of those they are charged by Jesus to serve.

Too often, the collateral damage in the culture wars is human. if, in fact, Jesus, his words and his way of life are our foremost example for our own lives, this graceless, self-aggrandizing act is anything but Christian.

And to have the word “grace” in both the name of the church and the school simply adds insult to obvious injury. If grace is conditional, it’s not grace, period.

Finally, the fact that such headline-grabbing sensationalism ends up establishing the baseline for the rest of Christianity in people’s minds does far more damage than any perceived benefit gained by trying (likely in vain) to control behaviors but things as fundamental as sexual orientation. Moves like this not only corrupt the Christian name in mainstream culture; they further buttress the implicit message so many get from Christians already:

You are not worthy. Therefore, you are not welcome.

No wonder prominent leaders like author/speaker Donald Miller avoid using words like “Christian,” simply because they are so laden with negative perception. Increasingly, I see and hear people calling themselves “Christ followers,” which effectively is synonymous with “Christian,” but without the stereotypes. My concern in doing so, though understandable, is that giving up ground in the debate about Christian identity only helps to reinforce the prevalence of such cancerous theology still within the Christian tent.

Such brazen acts of inhumanity can only be met with an equal degree of compassion, humility, inclusion and true grace – not just on a church sign, but in our words and deeds. It’s one thing to speak out in opposition of egregious acts in the name of our faith; it’s entirely another to live out the grace to all we encounter. The word looks nice on a church bulletin or day care sign, but to have such a beautiful word be associated with this kind of toxic, hypocritical behavior is a sin for which we Christians should all beg the world’s forgiveness.

Christian Piatt is an author, editor, speaker, musician and spoken word artist. He co-founded Milagro Christian Church in Pueblo, Colorado with his wife, Rev. Amy Piatt, in 2004. Christian is the creator and editor of the Banned Questions book series, which include Banned Questions About the Bible and Banned Questions About Jesus. He co-created and co-edits the “WTF: Where’s the Faith?” young adult series with Chalice Press, and he has a memoir on faith, family and parenting being published in early 2012 called PregMANcy: A Dad, a Little Dude and a Due Date. For more information about Christian, visit www.christianpiatt.com, or find him on Twitter or Facebook.

Yes, Mel Gibson, I’m looking at you.

It was Hitler who, after seeing the famous passion play acted out in Oberammergau in the 1930s who wrote about the fact that the same Jews who cried out “Hosanna!” when Jesus entered Jerusalem on a colt turned only a few days later and called for his death. This was a seed, among others, that was used as justification for the atrocities of the Holocaust.

Gibson’s Passion of the Christ offered a similar interpretation as the actors in the passion play at Oberammergau, which used all the same people for both the Triumphal Entry scene and the setting before Pontius Pilate as he allowed the people to choose who to release: Barabbas or Jesus of Nazareth.

John Dominic Crossan notes some interesting differences among the gospels, however, that are worth noting. In Mark, the first of the four gospels, the people before Pilate were referred to as “the crowd.” Later gospels embellish this from “the crowd” to “the crowds,” and then “all the people.” Finally, in John – the last of the gospels by some years – the folks calling for Jesus’ death are now “the Jews.”

This isn’t to suggest that the author of John had a vendetta against the Jewish people but rather it reveals a basic human tendency to elaborate a little more on the original story every time it’s told. Crossan suggests, based on his scholarly studies, that “the crowd” referred to in Mark probably consisted of less than a dozen people. And he gives pretty good reasons why.

Consider when Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem happens in the Jewish year. It’s just before Passover, when Jews celebrate their liberation from Egyptian oppression. But think of the irony of trying to celebrate such freedom while living under the suffocating thumb of the Roman Empire. Crossan calls the climate a “tinderbox,” positioned for revolt, and Pilate sees Jesus as just that kind of spark that could trigger the conflagration.

Pontius Pilate may have been a tyrant, but he wasn’t an idiot. How smart would it be of him to allow thousands of dissident Jews to assemble in the middle of town in such a climate? One forceful word from Jesus could lead to chaos. But as was tradition at Passover, he had to present two prisoners and allow one to go free, as an almost farcical demonstration of mercy.

So who was in this probably small, relatively harmless crowd standing below Pilate’s balcony? Crossan notes that Barabbas, though he is often painted as simply a murderer, was actually a political prisoner. He was the equivalent of what we think of now as a terrorist. He had risen up against Roman Imperial rule with force, probably as part of a subversive movement, and was arrested for killing a soldier, politician or the like.

Thinking about Barabbas this way starts to help us see him as a sort of shadow-side character to contrast Jesus. Both were intent on facing down the forces of empire, but Jesus of Nazareth chose nonviolence, while Barabbas opted for the sword. It’s also interesting to note that Barabbas’ full name in scripture is Jesus Barabbas. Not only did they share a name; it’s also worth noting that the translation of Jesus Barabbas’ last name – bar Abbas – means “Son of God.”

So consider this story as a parable. This means that, instead of concerning ourselves with whether the story is historically true in one or more of the gospels, we look for the deeper truth that can be revealed from within the story.

Here we have two saviors of the people, both named Jesus, and both called, in one way or another, “Son of God.” One has chosen blood as his means of redemption; the other depends on nonviolence. And the choice is given to the people there. Do you choose nonviolence or do you choose to continue the bloodshed that has led us to where we are?

The chorus from the crowd could not be more telling. They cry out, “His blood be on us and on our children,’ referring to the culpability they now bear for sending an innocent man to his death. It is blood they ask for, and it is blood they will continue to get.

Was Jesus set up by Pilate? Did he rally Barabbas’ supporters while keeping Jesus’ followers at arm’s length? Surely he was smart enough to realize that, if it came down to a battle of force, the Romans would prevail. But what to do with this radical rebel who would not take up arms, a man innocent of any crime deserving of such a punishment, yet who possessed the power to bring a mighty empire to its knees?

We will never know. But it seems clear enough that this story is much less about implicating Jews for the death of Jesus, and much more a revelation about basic human nature. God gives us a choice to change the world through nonviolent means, yet we continue to call for blood.

The good news (this is a gospel story, after all) is that we’re given the choice again to make every day. So for today, will we lay down our swords and turn them into plowshares, or will we continue to call for the blood of others to be upon our heads and on the heads of our children?

Christian Piatt is an author, editor, speaker, musician and spoken word artist. He co-founded Milagro Christian Church in Pueblo, Colorado with his wife, Rev. Amy Piatt, in 2004.

Christian is the creator and editor of the BANNED QUESTIONS book series, which include BANNED QUESTIONS ABOUT THE BIBLE and BANNED QUESTIONS ABOUT JESUS. He co-created and co-edits the “WTF: Where’s the Faith?” young adult series with Chalice Press, and he has a memoir on faith, family and parenting being published in early 2012 called PREGMANCY: A Dad, a Little Dude and a Due Date.

For more information about Christian, visit www.christianpiatt.com, or find him on Twitter or Facebook.