Have you ever noticed that we never really see any mean or terrifying statues or images of Christ? Why is that?
The Catholic convert G.K. Chesterton noted back in 1925 how the experts portrayed the Jesus of the New Testament as a most merciful and kind lover of humanity. They also argued that the Church had hidden Christ’s human character “in repellant dogmas and stiffened it with ecclesiastical terrors till it [had] taken on an inhuman character.” Modern so-called experts do the same thing in 2025. They use terms like “rigid,” “backwards,” and “medieval” to make the same point.
Chesterton demonstrated how the experts were and are wrong. He wrote that it was the churches that portrayed Christ as almost entirely mild and merciful. And yes, Christ uttered words of heartbreaking beauty. But was that all He uttered?
The popular image of “Gentle Jesus, meek and mild” is what most people see. Something most people don’t see, something most people cannot even imagination, Chesterton wrote, is a mean-looking statue of Jesus, a Christ of wrath. He wrote that one doesn’t turn a corner or enter a marketplace to meet a bone-chilling statue of Christ “turned upon a generation of vipers, or that face as it looked at the face of a hypocrite.”
You hypocrite! Remove the wooden beam from your eye first; then you will see clearly to remove the splinter in your brother’s eye.
Christ was hounded by hypocritical pharisees for three years until they found a way to have Him crucified. When Christ called them hypocrites do you think He did so with a warm and loving smile on His face?
Chesterton wrote that if a man, a total outsider who had never heard the gospels, picked up a New Testament for the first time, his first impression of Jesus would not be “gentle, meek, and mild.” No, if he just read the words as they stand, he would form quite another impression; “an impression full of mystery and possibly of inconsistency; but certainly not merely an impression of mildness.” The outsider would find the Gospel very interesting, but that interest would come from the fact that a good deal of it had to be guessed at or explained:
[The Gospel] is full of sudden gestures evidently significant except that we hardly know what they signify; of enigmatic silences; of ironical replies. The outbreaks of wrath, like storms above our atmosphere, do not seem to break out exactly where we should expect them, but [instead seem] to follow some higher weather-chart of their own.
Chesterton wrote, “the Gospels have the mysticism and the Church has the rationalism. It is the Gospel that is the riddle and the Church that is the answer. But whatever the answer, the Gospel, as it stands, is almost a book of riddles.” It’s not your typical religious book with numerous pious platitudes by a wise, sage, inhuman character. No, it is a strange story about a very human character, a practical man who makes “a number of strange claims that might sound like the claim to be the brother of the sun and moon; a number of very startling pieces of advice; a number of stunning rebukes; a number of strangely beautiful stories.”
We, for our part, can conclude that this book of riddles is real. It’s real because it includes a lot of things that people would not invent. For example, there is the enigmatic silence in the life of Christ until He was thirty years old. If people were going to make up this story, they would have filled it up with lots of impressive feats from Christ’s boyhood years. Some actually tried that, but their stories got thrown out for what they were—fables.
So, what was Christ doing for thirty years? We don’t know. We do know he was obedient to His parents. And we know He worked with His hands as a carpenter, tradesman, and construction worker, throwing around lumber in and near Nazareth.
The word hypocrite is interesting. It’s a Greek word, meaning “one who hides behind a mask.” What was Christ, a Jew who spoke Aramaic, doing using Greek words? Well, a bit over three miles northwest of Nazareth is the ancient Greek town of Sepphoris. That name is a variant of Hebrew for “bird” because Sepphoris is perched on top of a mountain like a bird, where one could see splendid views of the Galilean valley below.
Many have never heard of Sepphoris because it is not mentioned in the Gospels, but it was the administrative center of the region, known as the “Ornament of Galilee.” Sepphoris had beautiful buildings and streets and a 4500-seat amphitheater.
This has prompted scholars to propose that Jesus and Joseph would walk up to Sepphoris to work on construction projects. After all, Nazareth was a tiny village. There was only so much one could do for a living there. Perhaps the Virgin made their lunch, and father and Son walked to work. It’s all very human. Perhaps Christ and Joseph worked on that amphitheater in Sepphoris. Maybe that is where Christ picked up the word hypocrite. The word hypocrite actually comes from stage-actor, for the Greek actors on stage wore masks.
Now, this Sepphoris construction project scenario is just speculation. But it’s not far-fetched. Jesus Christ was a real man, who had a real blue-collar job. He silently worked in Galilee all those years and, at the age of thirty, began to make noise with miracles and brilliant preaching. While doing so, He remained a mysterious man of contradiction, a man of riddles.
Can a blind man lead another blind man? Won’t they both fall into a pit?
Christ wanted people to see the truth. He wants us to see the truth in a world blinded by sin. That is why Christ could be quite stern at times. For He wanted people to understand the seriousness of the situation. He wanted them (and us) to understand that there is a life-and-death battle going on for our souls—hence, the stunning rebukes Christ wielded at times.
Should that alarm you or fill you with terror? Well, that depends. Is it better to face being called a hypocrite by Christ now or later? It might sting a bit now, but later on it might sting like hell.
Can you then see how a stunning rebuke by Christ now is actually mercy?
We receive mercy now at the Holy Sacrifice of Mass, which is a sacred mystery and a bit of a riddle full of sudden gestures, enigmatic silences, and ironical replies.
At Holy Mass you should close your eyes and meditate on the face of Christ. Picture the gentle Jesus, meek and mild, as He asks you a question. Hear Him ask:
Do you want the riddle solved? Do you want to see? Well, take the wooden beam out of your eye—and put it on your back. Then follow me up the mountain where we will throw around some lumber. We’ll plant some trees on Calvary and bear some good fruit. Up there, on a higher weather chart, perched like a bird on your cross, you will have a splendid view of the world below. And you will see clearly.
Images from Wikimedia Commons; Tintoretto (left), Cecco del Caravaggio (right)
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