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find it difficult to understand why it has taken them so long to see what is obvious, something that seems, in fact, to have been hidden in plain sight. They ask questions about what might have prevented them from seeing this before, and they often wonder why it is never mentioned in sermons. These questions should be taken seriously. Unspoken reasons behind the reluctance to notice and name Jesus’ experience as sexual abuse need to be recognized. Deeper conversations on the subject often reveal that assumptions about stigma are a critical factor in people’s attitudes. Most frequently, the resistance comes from the sense that Jesus would be somehow demeaned and less worthy as a saviour if he were a victim of sexual abuse.

      The stigma and shame that comes with being named as a victim of sexual abuse is one of the central concerns that we want to identify and explore in this volume. The early Church spoke of the immense shame Jesus endured in his trial, torture and execution. Indeed, in this light the profound shame may be the key to the offence and scandal of the cross acknowledged by the apostle Paul in 1 Corinthians 1.23. However, over the centuries the memory of this shame has been lost. Despite the display of so many images of Jesus’ body hanging from a cross, we are unable to see what is right in front of us. When it is named in ways that make the shame and humiliation more explicit, this naming is often resisted.

We see the resistance to the idea as at least as important as the idea itself. It is because of the resistance that we as editors felt it important to put this collection together. A question articulated by a respondent to a recent presentation captured this issue succinctly: ‘If it is acceptable to say that Jesus suffered torture and crucifixion, why is it not acceptable to say that he was the victim of sexual abuse as well?’6

      There are several levels to this discussion: what happened, why people resist this idea, and why these both matter. The issues are closely linked to the importance of acknowledging that Jesus was a victim of sexual abuse. We believe that appropriately exploring these painful and difficult issues can lead to positive consequences for survivors of abuse, those who love them, for the Church as the body of Christ, and for the wider society in which silence about sexual violence has been accepted as the norm. We hope to provoke a longer-term conversation.

A starting point for this volume is the work by David Tombs from over 20 years ago. In his 1999 article ‘Crucifixion, State Terror, and Sexual Abuse’, Tombs drew on Latin American liberationist hermeneutics for a reading of biblical texts with attention to both past and present contexts.7 He described the dynamics of state terror and sexual abuse in the torture practices of the regimes of Brazil, Chile, Argentina, Guatemala and El Salvador in the 1970s and 1980s. He then used this historical reality as a vantage point from which to re-examine Roman crucifixion practices that might shed light on the biblical narratives. A guiding hermeneutical principle was that those reports on torture provided a lens through which to see the first-century context and the biblical text in new ways.

      Understanding the use of torture for state terror – and the prevalence of sexual abuse in torture practices – provides insights into what is clearly present within the texts but is often unrecognized or ignored. Torture reports also raise the possibility of further sexual assault that may have taken place in the praetorium. Since this article was first published in 1999, reports from Sri Lanka, Libya, Syria, Democratic Republic of Congo, South Sudan, Myanmar and other contexts have attested to a range of sexual abuses being a feature of the mistreatment of prisoners in detention and a global issue.

Tombs’ article focused primarily on a historical rereading and the hermeneutical approach that might support this. However, in a short final section it offered a brief reflection on some of the theological and pastoral implications of this recognition prompted by the parable of judgement (Matt. 25.31–46). Matthew 25.40 provides a clear theological basis for affirming that Christ shares in the suffering of others: ‘Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.’8

      We have taken the words ‘When did we see you naked?’ (Matt. 25.38–40) from the parable as the title for this book. The parable of judgement does not suggest that Jesus was himself naked, nor did he need to be for his teaching to convey his message. However, the words capture a question that needs to be asked. Later, in Matthew 27, as the passion story unfolds, this question, ‘When did we see you naked?’ becomes more urgent and immediately relevant. The book title is intended to raise the question as to whether we see the naked Jesus in Matthew 27 and other texts or avoid what is in front of us. It is an invitation to reflect back during the passion narratives to the question asked in Matthew 25.38–40 with a new awareness of what was actually done to Jesus and a new sense of what he might fully share with others.

      In this book we explore both Jesus’ historical experience of sexual abuse and the theological and pastoral significance that this might have today. We are not saying that sexual abuse is the only form of suffering that Jesus experienced in his trial, torture and execution. It is not our intention to limit understandings of Jesus’ crucifixion in any way. Instead, our aim is to broaden the established narrative and to notice the gaps in the story that have heretofore been untold and/or unacknowledged.

      Sexual violence and sexual abuse have been a part of lived experience for millennia, and its presence is shockingly prevalent in the biblical text as well. Nevertheless, one of the prevailing characteristics of sexual violence is that it can be hidden in plain sight. Either by commission or omission, it is often unseen and rarely discussed outside of specialist scholarship or within victim/survivor support groups. Often we need a catalyst – something outside the norm of what we think and how we do things – to push us to see something differently and to give us new ways of knowing. In recent years, revelations of clergy sexual abuse and sexual harassment cover-ups, and the corresponding #MeToo and #ChurchToo movements, have shone light into some of the most shame-filled experiences of society. As much as ever, we need theologies and biblical interpretations that offer tools that address issues related to sexual violence and abuse in a way that can lead to liberation rather than continued stigma, silence and despair.

The chapters in this book take up the questions and challenges of understanding Jesus’ experience in a way that may at first seem unimaginable. What is presented here is not intended to shock. It is offered with a serious historical, theological and pastoral concern. Many contributors write not just as scholars but as people deeply committed to the Church in a variety of ways. They write with an awareness that the topic is sensitive. Breaking the silence around the unspeakable is fraught with risk of offence. However, keeping silent involves risk of a different sort. As Sara Ahmed says, ‘Silence about violence is violence.’9 Silence risks acceptance of the status quo and complicity with how things are. Sexual abuse and sexual violence demand a response beyond silence. As survivors and people who work with them attest, breaking silence can be a first step to transformation.

How to discuss Jesus as victim of sexual abuse is a question that has to be opened up, not a provocation that must be closed down. But of course this raises ethical concerns. As Roxane Gay asks: ‘How do you write violence authentically without making it exploitative? … [W]e need to be vigilant not only in what we say but also in how we express ourselves.’10 The question is not whether unspeakable abuse should or should not be addressed, but how it can be addressed in an appropriate way.

      Here, authors take a number of theological approaches: feminist, womanist and post-colonial hermeneutics; discourse analysis; constructive and practical theology; memoir and reflection; poetry; and qualitative research drawing on victim/survivor testimony and faith community response. These chapters reflect a variety of opinions and starting points. There is a range of emotions also at play within these pages: curiosity, pain, hope, rage, courage, disgust, healing, anger, as well as resolve to create a better world. For some, there is hope and redemption to be found in the acknowledgement of Jesus as a victim of sexual abuse, and in the belief that recognition of shared experience has value and meaning.

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