When I saw Mel Gibson's The Passion, I was moved by his accomplishment. He made Jesus' sufferings visceral, which is a feat no other filmmaker was willing or able to do. But as I walked out of that theater, I recalled Gibson's portrayal of the Pharisees, the way the camera would linger on their faces. In Gibson's movie, the faces of the Pharisees were much more "Jewish" than the others. The faces in the crowd, those of the Apostles, and of Mary, they could have been Greek. They could have been Latin, but there was no mistaking the Semitic appearance of the men that demanded Jesus' crucifixion. In Gibson's movie, we weren't only looking at Jesus' murderers. We were supposed to link them with Fagan, Shylock, the moneylenders, the studio heads, the lawyers, and all the other "evils" that Jews have supposedly been at the root of.

Poor Mel Gibson. Like many people, he just can't shake the anti-Semitic mindset. It gets ingrained, and as we saw last week in Malibu, under pressure, bigots revert to type. Like any other drug, bigotry simplifies the world and comforts the mind. It's like alcohol, and we've all known plenty of people who can't lay off the sauce: "Jews are this . . . Jews are that . . . Jews are always. . . " Then comes the apology, "Don't get me wrong, some of my best friends are . . ."

Thus, after seeing The Passion, I was not at all surprised by Gibson's meltdown. The meltdown wasn't caused by drinking. It was caused by his anger at those he believes hold sway over him. Mel is not alone. In any society, when a minority subgroup prospers and does well for itself, people get leery. It's easy to have compassion for the downtrodden, or extend sympathy to the hungry and homeless. But when a minority rises and obtains a degree of power, masters skills, finds a niche and excels, the majority feels threatened. And if the group does all this while maintaining a tradition and culture that is older and richer than our own, we may even feel a little envious. We begin to resent the opportunities and strengths that a close-knit community can offer, and ascribe every success to a conspiratorial, scheming clannishness.

Like America, Mel Gibson is steeped in religion, but can't find a home for his soul. Like America, Mel Gibson is successful and free and full of privilege, but chooses to embrace a faith that thrives on exclusion, that reflexively seeks dominance over others. And like millions of other worshippers who kneel at the altar but can't look their neighbor in the eye, Mel's faith has left him lonely, scared and baffled by a world that will never see everything his way, never be a proper mirror for his own reflection, even though he thinks it should.