Holy Week

It's difficult to believe, really, but it is true. Lent is almost over. Once again Christianity has steeled itself in the rigor of self-discipline, refined its sensitivities, tried, at least, to re-order its priorities. There has been a sense of preparation throughout this season of Lent, a sense of marshalling one's resources, gathering one's faculties, preparation almost for a time of testing and refinement, a time when all that we propose to be will be questioned and challenged. And indeed, that is the case. Lent is a time of preparation. Very soon, we shall be put to the test, as the Church once again re-enacts the powerful mysteries of Holy Week. Over these few days to come we will be presented in the liturgy with the very best and the very worst of which human beings are capable. We will draw on words, on gestures, on the timeless symbols of fire and water, of light and darkness. We will draw portraits of courage and of fear, of pride and of passion, of faithfulness, and of treachery. It will be a whirlwind of symbols and images. Strong personalities will move in and out of view, powerful emotions will erupt, now in order, now in chaos.

We will begin on Palm Sunday. We too will pick up our palms and rejoice with the crowds who welcomed Christ into Jerusalem. And then, only a few minutes later, we will hear the first reading of the Passion narrative, and listen to those same voices, this time clamoring for His blood. How could they have changed so quickly and so completely? But even as we ask the question, something in us already knows the answer. He disappointed them. He did not even try to be what they expected Him to be. Those "Hosanna”s were not offered in honor, they were a demand. We think of how often we too have turned viscously, cruelly on those whom we feel have disappointed us, who have not fit the pattern we have made. We feel the prideful arrogance of that crowd... of people who will love and honor only what pleases them, what conforms to their demands.

And as the week progresses, we follow the growing impatience of the authorities, the fearful anger of those who feel their power threatened, and who mask that fear as righteous indignation. How could they have been so foolish? Had they become so addicted to their power that they were ready to sacrifice anything in order to maintain it? Do we too, sometimes, so lose our perspective? In our families, in our jobs, even in our marriages, have we ever felt our position, our power, our self-image so threatened that we simply refuse to listen, to look... have we sometimes even resorted to the cruelty of the Pharisees, the inevitable last resort of a mind closed off from those around us?

On Thursday, we gather with Christ and His Apostles at the Last Supper. The celebration of the Passover, the holiest night of the year for the Jews. They had done so before, certainly. It was a familiar ritual. But this was to be a celebration different from any other. Where the leader of the service would normally have picked up a piece of bread and intoned, "This is the bread of affliction which our fathers ate in the desert," Christ picked up the bread and said simply, "This is my Body, which will be given up for you, and for everyone." And after the meal, at the fourth ritual cup, when the leader would normally have said, "This is the cup of benediction," Christ said, "This is the cup of My Blood, which will be poured out for you."

And then He added, "Now you do this, in memory of Me." Do what? What had these changes meant? Perhaps it was here that the Apostles first began to truly realize that in fact this was a new Covenant, a new Testament, the relationship between God and humankind had been radically altered. The people of God were being re-formed in a totally new way, and they would have to change so much of what they had held so sacred.

Perhaps the change was too much for some. Judas, for one. What moved him? Was he simply greedy? Was he afraid of the authorities? Or did he actually believe that he could manage Christ's mission, force a declaration of power by putting Him on the spot. What a difficult man to understand.

But there are many such figures, puzzling, complex mixtures of strength and weakness. Even Peter, the Rock, knew a moment of panic and betrayal. Fear does terrible things to people. It does terrible things to us.

Palate. What an enigmatic personality. There is really very little said about him. We have to speculate. Probably an intelligent man, an aloof , aristocratic man, used to the manipulation and intrigue of the courts, a politician, who had perhaps fallen into that mold so deeply that he had lost the ability to simply face an issue as it is, squarely, honestly, openly. Pilate was too used to figuring the angles, the implications of every move, ("What is to be gained and what is to be lost if I do thus or thus?") He intellectualizes, he debates, ("What is truth?") He tries to read and re-read the mood of the crowd, he weighs the release of Christ against the release of Barabbas... what is the Emperor's interest in all of this? ("You are no friend of Ceasar.")

Keeping the peace was important. Taxes couldn't be collected if revolt was open. But then, so too was Roman law. He could not allow a lynching. First he tries to shift the responsibility, do nothing, but make it look like doing something. Send Christ off to Herod. A weak and foolish sybarite. He only wanted Christ to do some magic tricks, to entertain his court. Christ would not, so the problem is once again at Pilate's feet. And so the last resort of a cautious politician. Simply do nothing at all. ("I wash my hands of this. At least this way I won't be hurt.")

Good Friday. The execution and the painful, frightening realization that despite the attempts to trump up charges, despite the false witnesses, the execution of Christ was perfectly legal. He had committed a crime by Hebrew law, and was liable to death. He had, in their eyes, blasphemed. He had claimed to be God, made Himself equal with God.

Somehow, it would almost be easier for us to accept the notion of a mad lynch mob, an impulsive act of violence, a mistake that should never have happened. But it wasn't that way at all. The reality is far more chilling. Somehow, humanity had brought itself to the point at which it could, perfectly legally, perfectly respectably, kill the Son of God and congratulate itself at having done its duty.

Is it still so? Is such injustice, such blindness, built in to our society... is it so much a part of our society that we don't even recognize it, that we even call it virtue?

And Saturday. Now the world must live with the fruit of its efforts. Humankind had built a tomb for everything that was good. How many other tombs do we build, and what goodness do we bury there?

The guards have been posted. Nothing personal, they are just doing their job. A few friends will come by to pray, not many. What happened? How long will this last? What can tomorrow possibly bring?

From 1980 through 1982, Father Sandell served as Chaplain to the Bishop O'Reilly Council No. 3918,Grafton, North Dakota Chapter of the Knights of Columbus. "Scattered Thoughts" is a collection of essays based on columns originally written for the Chaplain's Corner, section of the Council's monthly newsletter.