Read Luke 23:13-25
ALSO IN SCRIPTURE
“In this way, he disarmed the spiritual rulers and authorities. He shamed them publicly by his victory over them on the cross.” (Colossians 2:15 NLT)
Altars reveal what we worship. Some are obvious—raised platforms of stone and flame. Others are quieter, constructed in systems, reputations, loyalties, and assumptions. Lent is a season of holy examination. It calls us to look closely at what we have built, what we defend, and what we trust. In this series, we conduct an audit—not of budgets or buildings, but of allegiances. Lent strips away every false altar until only Christ remains.
Part 18: The Altar of Violence. Good Friday doesn’t begin with chaos. It begins with a moment that almost feels controlled—measured, even reasonable. Leaders are gathered. Questions are asked. A decision is forming. If you didn’t know the subplot or how the story ends, you might mistake what is happening for justice at work.
But something is off.
Religious leaders want Jesus gone. Political authority does not find a charge that holds. The crowd is stirred, agitated, insistent. And yet, despite all of that tension, what unfolds is not chaos—it is process. Charges are brought, hearings are held, decisions are made in the open, and responsibility is spread so thin that no single person has to carry it.This is not simply the story of a crucifixion. This is violence justified through process—ordered, structured, and made to appear necessary. No one owns it, and yet everyone enables it.
Pilate stands at the center of it, not as a confused bystander (as the Gospel of John often presents him), but as a governor who understands exactly what is happening. Historically, he was known for brutality, not hesitation. This is not a moment of moral paralysis. It is a moment of political calculation. He does not need Jesus to be guilty. He needs the situation to be resolved. Order must be maintained. Unrest must be avoided. Position must be protected.
So the process unfolds. Questions are asked. Options are presented. The crowd is given a voice. And in the end, the outcome aligns exactly with what the system requires. Pilate does not fail to stop the violence—he authorizes it. What appears to be reluctance is not innocence. It is optics.
And that is what makes this moment so dangerous—not just then, but now.
Because violence rarely begins with hatred. It begins with permission. It becomes acceptable when it is legal, when it follows procedure, when it is demanded loudly enough, and when it serves a purpose that feels necessary. It becomes acceptable when the alternative feels too costly, and when truth is acknowledged… and then quietly set aside.
Jesus is not executed because the truth is unclear. Jesus is executed because the outcome has already been decided. The truth was never the point. Control was.
Religion identifies the threat, political power structures the solution, and the crowd supplies the momentum. Together, they create something none of them would fully claim on their own—a collaboration. Not a rogue act, not a misunderstanding, not a tragedy alone, but a system doing exactly what it was designed to do.
And if we are honest, that pattern has not disappeared. Harm is still justified as necessary. Decisions are still made “for stability.” Truth is still recognized in private and ignored in public. Systems still protect themselves first, and responsibility is still diffused until no one feels accountable for what is done.
And most often, no one stands up and says, “This is wrong, and I will stop it.” Instead, we hear familiar echoes: “I wash my hands.” “Give them what they want.” “It’s better this way.”
No one has to hate for violence to happen. They only have to allow it.
Good Friday does not just reveal what was done to Jesus. It reveals how easily a world—any world—can participate in harm while believing it is simply doing what must be done. And in that revelation, the altar stands before us—not in ancient Jerusalem, but here.
THOUGHT OF THE DAY
Violence is most dangerous when it looks justified.PRAYER
God, expose the places where we mistake process for righteousness and control for justice. Give us the courage to recognize truth, and the strength not to turn away from it when it costs us something. Where we are tempted to remain silent, speak through us. Where we are complicit, confront us. Lead us away from every altar that demands harm and toward the way of Christ. Amen.
Devotion written by Rev. Todd R. Lattig with the assistance of ChatGPT (OpenAI).
If you are Christian you have, no doubt, come across today’s scripture reading before. In one fashion, or another, you have heard that following Jesus means that we need to deny ourselves and pick up our cross. Part of the problem of being a Christian is that, all of these centuries later, we hear Jesus’ words in ways that I believe he never intendeded them. For instance, when we come across today’s Scirpture passage we often interpret it in ways that both trivialize the cross and demonize ourselves into something less than valuable in the eyes of God.
Join Rev. Todd and First United Methodist Church of Newton for their online Good Friday Tenebrae Service on YouTube at 7:30 p.m. 
Part 229: Pilate. For a man central in the capital punishment of Jesus of Nazareth, there isn’t a whole lot known about Pontius Pilate. As far as is known he was a part of the well-established Pontii family, who were originally of the plebeian class. Plebs were the general population of free Roman Citizens and were not a part of the ruling Patrician class. Thus, Pilate’s family genealogy was of humble origins during the Roman Republic; however, the Pontii family flourished in the Roman Empire, and the family eventually attained the consulship, which was, at the time of the Empire, a symbolic representative of Rome’s heritage.