Passion and the Passion Story

In college, my Junior year, a senior's thesis paper was on the JFK assassination. While most of us never dreamed of sharing our work with the rest of the school, he did. A decent size crowd of us gathered to hear his presentation, which included the Zapruder film. Today, by the magic of the internet, I was able to access that film in seconds at no cost. In 1979, however, that film was not so easy to come by. It was nothing short of amazing that we could see it and as the student shared his thoughts on the assassination he replayed the film about a dozen times.

When President Kennedy died, I was a young boy in a Catholic school. He had a special status in our world.  His death was also a shock so awful that they sent us home from school early. I was innocent then. Death had not personally visited my life, at that point. It was another year before the Spectre of Darkness visited us for the first time. [Trivia note, my mom was transported in the same ambulance as president Kennedy's body had been one year later. The driver told her about that as he drove her to Bethesda Naval Hospital.]

Because of the speculation comparing various theories of what took place in Dallas it was very interesting to see the assassination film and discuss. However, at some point, I remember something changed. I suddenly realized that I was watching a man die. A human being. Someone's daddy. I remember the sense of awe and the weight of the meaning of these moving pictures. It was not a movie produced by Hollywood. It was a real life murder captured on the grainy film of a 1960's home movie camera.

A year ago last Monday, one of my dearest friends at our parish died suddenly. I still feel deep emotion when I think about the loss. As a priest, my job is to do funerals. It is hard. Over the last decade I have presided over the final rites of numerous people with whom I have a close relationship. In the case of Paul, it is sometimes people who are very, very close.  My own losses are on public display as I struggle to lead worship and  preach. It can get difficult to hold back the emotions.

Last evening at eucharist, I read the Passion of Jesus from Matthew's Gospel. It is long, taking about fifteen minutes or so. Last night, I was very aware, that this was not just a story someone made up. It is the heartwrenching account of a healer and preacher from Galilee. It is what happened to a man who went around doing good to those in need and proclaiming hope to those who had none. He had an edge, at times He was "in the faces" of the political and church leaders. He made amazing claims about His status with God. Even so, there is nothing He said or did that warranted what happened to Him.

That is why I choked up, again and again, reading the story. Jesus is someone whom I love. He has been an incredible source of hope, healing and salvation for me and those I love most: my many friends, like Paul, my parents and grandparents, even people I do not know so well. All of them have been entrusted by me to Jesus. So when I read that they spit in Jesus' face, I feel it. When I read about them putting thorns on His head, beating Him and mocking Him, I feel it. Like the family of a murder victim hearing the transcript of the event read in court, so we, the friends and followers of Jesus, hear the graphic account of His last day. It is hard to sit through.

Most churches which read the account today will not burst into tears. Maybe the story is too familiar. Maybe we just aren't that into Jesus. Maybe we are too tied up with our own pain and struggle. I don't know. What I do know is this story is a story of torture and death and abandonment. It is a horror story.

It is also a love story. A story about God in human existence embracing all the worst this world has to offer. Brutality and beastly cruelty, doled out by uncaring institutions and individuals, literally abusing a good and helpless man until His last breath. Except, the story reminds us, not helpless. "Don't you think I could summon an army of angels if I wanted?," He asked. Because, that Man is God. If we take a breath, listen and focus, today each of us has an opportunity to hear, to know, to feel, to experience. It is not easy. It can cause us emotional distress and genuine feelings of loss and sadness.  It can also prepare us for greater joy next week, because the resurrection is as real as the crucifixion, and that nasty crucifixion is so very real.

Listen to Matthew today. Hear it. With your mind and heart. Hear it and feel it. Weep. And understand the cost of your salvation, our salvation. Understand and fall on your knees to worship. Understand, rise up, and serve Him. Holy Week has begun, be Holy!