Passion

Palm Sunday is one of my favorite Masses of the year. I love the tradition of the palms, and the priest’s blessing upon them. I love singing King of Glory during the processional, as we recreate Jesus’ joyful entrance into Jerusalem only a week before He is put to death.

In particular, I am always moved by the reading of the Passion, which Catholics (and probably other denominations) traditionally listen to on Palm Sunday. This year we listened to St. Mark’s passion story. I think it is particularly beautiful.

And this year, I was more emotional than usual. I could almost feel Christ’s fear as He prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane, asking God to free Him from the horrific hours ahead. I could understand His frustration when He asked the angry crowd why they had to make such a production about arresting Him. “Day after day I was with you teaching in the temple area, yet you did not arrest me,” Jesus said. And as I listened to the priest cry out Jesus’ final words, “Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani (my God, my God, why have you forsaken me), my heart broke as I imagined His mother below, wanting to take it all away from Him, as any mother would.

When Bill and I were in Rome, we visited the Church of Santa Croce in Gerusalemme (the holy cross in Jerusalem). That church contains a number of passion relics supposedly brought back to Rome by St. Helen, the mother of Constantine. Included in the relics are a piece of the true cross on which was inscribed Jesus, King of the Jews; some of the nails and some of the thorns; and a part of the cross on which hung the good thief who died next to Jesus. Also located in that church is an exact replica of the Shroud of Turin, which is believed to be the shroud that covered Jesus in His tomb (the original is located in Turin, Italy).

The thing in that church, however, that impacted me most was a crucifix that someone made using the image on the Shroud of Turin, thereby exactly duplicating the way that Jesus hung on the cross. The body on this cross was twisted, with the arms clearly broken and the shoulder obviously out of joint. The body was covered in blood. I have looked at crucifixes all of my life. Jesus always hangs on the cross in the same way – His arms stretched out and His face hung to the side. When I saw the image on this crucifix, I realized that almost without a doubt, this is what Jesus must have looked like. Of course his arms broke and his shoulders buckled. Death by crucifixion is supposed to be one of the most horrifying ways to die. The crucifix in this church literally took my breath away, and I unexpectedly began to cry.

It reminded me that Jesus’ death for our sins must never be taken for granted.