When Mel Gibson released The Passion of the Christ in 2004, few films in modern cinema history provoked such intense reaction.

It was praised, condemned, debated, boycotted, and defended with equal passion.

Two decades later, the film remains one of the most controversial religious works ever produced.

Yet recent public discussions surrounding Gibson and his long rumored sequel have reignited interest in a deeper question.

Why did this film face such resistance, and what truths may have been overlooked beneath the controversy.

That question resurfaced powerfully when Gibson appeared on the Joe Rogan podcast to discuss film, faith, and his upcoming project focused on the resurrection.

What began as a casual conversation soon shifted into a far more serious exploration of what happened behind the scenes of The Passion of the Christ.

As Gibson recounted the obstacles, the atmosphere reportedly changed.

The discussion was not promotional.

It was reflective, intense, and at times unsettling.

From the beginning, Gibson never intended The Passion of the Christ to function as a traditional biblical epic.

He was not interested in spectacle for its own sake or in softening the narrative to ensure mass appeal.

His goal was to confront viewers with the brutal reality of sacrifice.

He wanted the audience to feel the weight of suffering rather than observe it from a safe distance.

For Gibson, the crucifixion was not merely a historical event but a moment with direct relevance to every human life.

In preparation, he spent years studying the four gospels, analyzing every verse describing the final hours of Jesus Christ.

He went beyond scripture alone, drawing from ancient theological writings and historical sources.

The intention was not only to reconstruct events but to explore their spiritual implications.

The film was structured to communicate that responsibility for the crucifixion was collective, extending beyond any single group or era.

The opening scene in the Garden of Gethsemane established this vision immediately.

Darkness dominates the frame as Jesus prays alone while his disciples sleep nearby.

The vulnerability is emphasized.

Here is a figure understood as divine, yet portrayed with unmistakable human fear and anguish.

The appearance of Satan and the symbolic crushing of the serpent reference the earliest promise of redemption found in the book of Genesis.

Every image was designed with layered meaning.

This approach distinguished the film from conventional religious cinema.

It demanded engagement and reflection.

It was not designed for passive viewing.

Gibson believed that true understanding required discomfort, and that principle guided every creative decision.

Resistance from Hollywood emerged early.

According to Gibson, major studios that typically welcomed projects from established directors showed little interest.

Meetings were canceled.

Financing evaporated.

Colleagues distanced themselves.

The hesitation was not solely about market risk.

There appeared to be a deeper discomfort with the subject matter itself.

Gibson observed what he described as a double standard within the entertainment industry.

Films exploring various belief systems often received careful and respectful treatment.

Christian narratives, however, were frequently dismissed as outdated or unappealing.

The assumption was that modern audiences would reject them outright.

Refusing to abandon the project, Gibson chose to finance the film independently.

This decision carried enormous financial risk, but it also granted him complete creative control.

He assembled a cast and crew willing to endure controversy and intense working conditions.

The result defied expectations.

The Passion of the Christ became one of the highest grossing R rated films in history, demonstrating that a massive audience existed for serious and uncompromising spiritual storytelling.

The production itself was marked by events that many participants later described as extraordinary.

Jim Caviezel, cast as Jesus, endured significant physical hardship.

The cross used during filming was heavy, contributing to a shoulder dislocation during one scene.

During the scourging sequence, he was struck by whips that caused real injury.

These moments were not simulated.

The pain visible on screen was genuine.

Additional incidents contributed to a growing sense that the production was unlike any other.

Assistant director John Michelini was reportedly struck by lightning during filming.

Caviezel himself was also struck during the crucifixion scene and survived without serious injury.

Lightning carries symbolic meaning in biblical tradition, often associated with divine presence and judgment.

These events, while unexplained, deeply affected those who witnessed them.

Personal transformations among the cast further fueled this perception.

Luca Lionello, who portrayed Judas Iscariot, began the project as an atheist and later described a profound shift in belief.

Maia Morgenstern, who played Mary, was pregnant during filming, a quiet parallel between life and death unfolding on set.

Reports also circulated of unexplained healings and medical improvements among those present during production.

Whether these experiences were spiritual, psychological, or coincidental remains open to interpretation, but their impact on those involved was undeniable.

One of the most visually striking scenes occurs after the crucifixion, when Mary holds the body of Jesus.

The composition deliberately echoes Michelangelo Pieta, blending human grief with spiritual transcendence.

The image communicates sorrow, love, and reverence without dialogue.

It stands as a central expression of Gibsons artistic intent.

Critical reception was sharply divided upon release.

Renowned critic Roger Ebert awarded the film four stars, describing it as one of the most intense cinematic experiences he had encountered.

He noted that the portrayal forced him to confront the reality of suffering in a way he had never fully grasped before.

Other critics praised the films sincerity and ambition, while some compared its style to classic works of spiritual cinema.

At the same time, significant controversy emerged.

Religious leaders and scholars raised concerns that certain portrayals could reinforce harmful historical narratives, particularly those linked to antisemitism.

These concerns were rooted in centuries of misuse of passion narratives to justify persecution.

Gibson maintained that his intent was to portray universal responsibility rather than assign blame, but the debate highlighted the complexity of retelling such a charged story.

Scholars also pointed out that some scenes were not drawn directly from scripture.

Elements such as demonic imagery surrounding Judas were interpreted as artistic symbolism rather than historical claims.

Gibson acknowledged this, emphasizing that the film was a theological meditation rather than a documentary reconstruction.

The intensity of the debate only increased public interest.

People who rarely engaged with religious films felt compelled to see it for themselves.

Churches organized group screenings.

Academics hosted panels.

Media outlets dissected every aspect of the production.

The film became impossible to ignore.

Years later, Gibson has continued exploring these themes.

During his discussion with Rogan, he revealed that he and screenwriter Randall Wallace have been developing a resurrection focused project for more than six years.

This new film is envisioned as a sweeping exploration of cosmic history, spanning from the fall of the angels to the death of the last apostle.

It aims to examine the resurrection not as an isolated event, but as the central turning point of existence.

Gibson has described the project as extraordinarily ambitious, delving into theology, history, and metaphysical questions rarely addressed in mainstream cinema.

He believes the resurrection represents the ultimate challenge to skepticism, as it defies natural explanation entirely.

For him, the unwavering testimony of the apostles, many of whom died rather than deny what they witnessed, remains a powerful argument for its authenticity.

The conversation on the podcast revealed something deeper than industry politics or production anecdotes.

It exposed the personal cost of telling a story rooted in conviction.

Gibson did not present himself as a flawless figure, but as someone willing to risk reputation, relationships, and financial security to pursue what he believed mattered.

The enduring legacy of The Passion of the Christ lies not only in its box office success or controversy, but in its refusal to be neutral.

It confronts audiences with questions about suffering, responsibility, and redemption that modern entertainment often avoids.

Some viewers experience it as transformative.

Others find it troubling.

Few remain indifferent.

More than twenty years after its release, the film continues to provoke debate because it touches something fundamental.

It represents an artist choosing sincerity over safety, conviction over consensus.

In a media landscape driven by calculation and trend, that choice remains rare.

The renewed attention surrounding Gibsons upcoming work suggests that these questions are far from settled.

Whether one views The Passion of the Christ as masterpiece or misstep, its impact is undeniable.

It stands as a reminder that stories told with genuine belief can still challenge, divide, and transform on a massive scale.

In the end, the film was never just about history or doctrine.

It was about the cost of truth as perceived by the one telling it.

That cost, paid publicly and unapologetically, may be the most enduring secret the film ever revealed.