On the Passion of Christ
Agnostic reflections from the holiest month of my life (Pt. 2)
This is the second piece in what will be a four-part series, featuring my reflections on the importance of prayer, the Passion of Christ, His death, and resurrection.
Palm Sunday
Back in New Jersey, bereft of the billion stars, I attend the first event in a Theology 101 lecture series, courtesy of the Roman Catholic Church. Palm Sunday Mass reminds patrons of Christ's Passion — of Peter's three denials, Judas's betrayal, Jesus's cross-bearing, and His faith and forgiveness in the face of death.
"Passion" comes from the Latin word pati, which means "to suffer." Caught up in the sweeping platitudes of secular society, we've forgotten the suffering that attends passion. Passion is not ecstasy, euphoria, or bliss. Passion is meaningful pain; it is an agony worth enduring. If you are passionate about something, you are willing to withstand what's required to accomplish your end.
Think of any athlete or artist. How many missteps, bombs, false starts, and rejections did they experience before reaching their goals? Think of any relationship you've had. How many challenging conversations, tinges of jealousy, and bouts of inadequacy did you overcome so that you could grow closer to your partner? Any passion — whether artistic, romantic, or religious — is a mix of suffering and pleasure. But not simple pleasures — passion points to higher pleasures, ones that are rooted in your values and give meaning to existence.
The Passion of Christ is an account of His suffering, and it is the account of His accomplishment. It is at once tragic and climactic, somber and triumphant.
Palm Sunday marks the start of the Catholic Holy Week, during which believers walk with Christ toward His death, anticipating His resurrection on Easter Sunday. At this Roman Catholic service, we stand, listen, and read along to the story, which begins at the Last Supper and ends with Jesus's death. I catch details I hadn't remembered, like how Judas identifies Jesus by kissing Him. (And I now understand the idiom "the kiss of death.")
I am engrossed in the powerful story and inspired by Jesus's resolve and commitment to His mission. But one thing distracts me from the story and taints its insights. In this reading of Matthew 26:14–27:66, there are four speaking parts: the narrator, Jesus, the apostles, and we are cast as the voice of the Jews and Romans condemning Christ to death — the crowd.
I refuse to read the lines assigned to us, the people in the pews, for this casting reinforces my least favorite tenet of the Christian faith: we are fallen, sinful creatures, unworthy of God's grace by our good deeds alone. We must be saved by Christ and ask for the Father's mercy if we are to be worthy of eternal life. The church crowd reads as the mob, condemning the Son of God, which suggests that we have a natural, unshakable kinship with these cruel people of another time and place. We are no different than them, which is why we take their part in the story. In unison, a packed house reads the bolded lines:
"He deserves to die."
"Let him be crucified!"
"Let him be crucified!"
I was inspired by the story of Christ's Passion but uncomfortable with my casting in its retelling. Yet, there is a way to reconcile this conflict. I should emulate Christ by understanding and accepting the suffering required to achieve worthy ends. But I should not act as if I deserve to suffer. I am not a fallen, sinful creature. The suffering I experience in life is not a punishment. Suffering is amoral; it is simply part of life. It is part of striving toward something meaningful, toward something I value. Suffering is an inseparable part of passion.
Springboard:
What is something you're passionate about? Does that passion give meaning to your suffering?
Springboard: What is something you're passionate about? Does that passion give meaning to your suffering?
I'm passionate about my relationships. I take pride and find joy in the depth of the connections I share with people in my life. Often, I become closer to a friend, family member, or my partner because of challenging — even painful — conversations.
Those conversations are a form of suffering I find meaningful because they serve as a vehicle to a better understanding and deeper connection between two people, which is a worthy end.
If suffering is “part of striving toward something meaningful, toward something we value,” then what does shame mean to you? Is shame when one commits an act that goes against their values? When one suffers because they view their action as personally immoral (relative to what they define as personally moral)?