Walking into Holy Week
From Wellington Cathedral of St Paul
Walking into Holy Week: 17th April 2011: pm: The Very Revd Frank Nelson
- Psalm 69
- Isaiah 5: 1 - 7
- Matthew 21: 33 - 46
Each year, on Palm Sunday morning, we read one of the Gospel accounts of the Passion of Jesus. This year was no different, and this morning, at both services, people picked up different parts and the congregation as a whole joined in with the terrible cry of the crowd: Crucify him! Crucify him!
Less than a year ago a number of us from New Zealand made our way into the giant theatre that has been built in the little Bavarian village of Oberammergau. Once a decade the villagers, some 6000 of them, host tens of thousands of people from across the world, who come to see the famous Passion Play. It is an astounding act of dedication, commitment and sheer perseverance as villagers not only play all the parts, make the sets, work the lights and sound system, and feed and train the various animals used in the play, they also offer hospitality to all the visitors, in their hotels and guest houses. On one level, it is an amazing entrepreneurial exercise which keeps the village going from year to year; on another, it is the faithful keeping of covenant with God following a near disaster some 350 years ago.
Armed with cushion, blanket, hat and scarf we shuffled along the tightly packed rows of plastic seats to our own, and settled down to wait for the start. Around us were people from all over the world, and of all ages. In front of us, a giant open air stage, with high parapets as a back drop. The time approached and two files of people appeared from each end of the stage. Wearing long white robes with strange turban like hats, this was the choir. Not a flicker of a smile crossed a single face that I could see – this was German serious business to be conducted. They sang the opening chorus, inviting people to come and listen and see a story that continues to enthrall, entrance, challenge and move us to tears.
Once more the stage is empty. A flicker of movement morphs into a child running around a corner, chased by another, then another and another. Suddenly the stage erupts into a riot of colour and noise as people flood on to it from every possible access point. The sense of excitement is palpable; people are talking excitedly, pointing and waving. It’s a colourful, noisy and vibrant scene. Then, from behind one of the buildings, a group of men appear – they are leading a donkey, followed by her foal. Riding on the donkey (though you sense he would rather be walking) is Jesus. In all the excitement he manages to exude an air of calm serenity. He thanks his friends holding the donkey, he embraces a woman (perhaps his mother?), pats a child on the head.
So begins an intense six hours of drama as the Passion Play of Oberammergau unfolded into the night. The story is familiar to me, I have read it year after year ever since I can remember – yet it was different this time. To start with the language was German – which I do not speak. Is there a lesson there? How often do people struggle to understand what I am saying? How often is their miscommunication on even straightforward matters because we don’t follow the nuances of a language not our own? One of our group commented that the guttural sounds of the language were offensive for such an important story. Of course, they only sound guttural to the non native speaker. Our lovely English word ‘barbarian’ comes from the Greek word for any one who was not Greek – barbaroi. To the ancient Greeks people not speaking Greek sounded like so many bleeting sheep! When I lived in Hong Kong I, and other westerners, was known as a gwailo – among the politer translations of that word is ‘big nose’!
As the story progressed so the laughter, the tears, the bewilderment, the ‘aha’ moments, came and went. The audience was drawn into the drama of the story. How could you not be? The naivety of the disciples in their hope that Jesus would overthrow the hated Romans; the competition between Pharisees and Sadducees; the ever-present symbols of being an occupied people with the helmeted heads and lance points just visible on the parapets of the city walls; the drawing of parallels as clever costuming left one wondering whether Pilate was intentionally modeled on Mussolini, and the high priest on the pope.
Among the most poignant moments for me was the scene in the Last Supper when Jesus prayed with his disciples, teaching them what we now know as the Lord’s Prayer. It was Simon Peter to whom was given the line ‘save us from the time of trial’, and Judas uttered the words ‘and deliver us from evil’. With all the time in the world Jesus tenderly and lovingly washed the feet of each of his twelve disciples, including Judas and Peter. Our own knowledge of the story inevitably forcing us to think: What would I have done? How would I have reacted? What a contrast to this gentle cleansing with a later scene when Pilate, exasperated at the silence of Jesus and his refusal to say a word in his defence, slowly and deliberately strips off the elbow length gauntlets (which had fascinated me from the beginning) and holds out his hands for a slave to pour water over. The deliberate washing his hands of any responsibility for the life or death of Jesus was calculatedly chilling.
Year after year Holy Week offers us the chance to enter into something of the drama which is the Passion of Jesus Christ. Here in this Cathedral we base much of what we do on the records of a Spanish nun who travelled to the Holy Land and Jerusalem in the 4th century. The diaries of Egeria have survived and continue to influence our services today. Just as the 4th century Christians re-enacted the events leading to the betrayal, arrest, trial and execution of Jesus, so our services throughout this week invite us on a pilgrimage. If you are able, or dare, to come to one of the daily Eucharists this week, and especially those special services on Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, Holy Saturday and Easter Day, I promise you your life will be transformed. How could it not be? How could you go through the emotional roller coaster of the Palm Sunday crowd with their Hosannas, the dark garden and anguished prayer in Gethsemane, the shame of betrayal and denial, the deathly silence of Good Friday broken by the shouts of taunting mockery and the moans in agony from the cross, the emptiness and nothingness of Holy Saturday, without being moved? And then, at the Easter Vigil, the first flicker of light as a match is struck and a candle lit in the darkness. In less than a week we will be singing our Easter Alleluyas.
We might sing hymns like “Jesus shall reign where’er the sun” and “Christ is our cornerstone” – but do we really believe that? Have we ever spent time intentionally soaking ourselves in the Gospel accounts known as the Passion of Jesus Christ, which take us through the last days of Jesus’ life on earth?
On your way out of the Cathedral tonight, pick up a flax cross. They have been made by members of this congregation for you. Keep it with you as you go home tonight, to work tomorrow, to worship each day of this week. Look at it often, touch it often. What does it mean to you?
One final thought. Ron Atkins, a deacon in our church, has again painted our Paschal Candle. On one level it takes us back into events that happened two thousand years ago - and the cross is there. On another level, it brings us right into the present and the numbers 2011 are painted on it – as is a frieze around the top depicting the now collapsed bell tower of Christchurch Cathedral. What resurrection awaits that city, that Cathedral congregation, as we light our Paschal Candle at the Easter Vigil on Holy Saturday?
