Holy Week with Jesus

Fr Gerard Condon, director of the office for mission and ministry in the diocese of Cloyne, reminds us that Holy Week reveals the Christian mysteries in ways that are ever ancient, ever new.

Each year, as we approach Holy Week, a colleague of mine likes to remark, ‘It was alright for Jesus. He only had to do this once. We have to get through it every year!’ Preparing the Holy Week liturgies can be something of an ordeal, especially in our post-pandemic Church, where parish volunteers are thinner on the ground. But it would be a shame to succumb to liturgical minimalism for this highpoint in the Church’s calendar.

The passion, death and resurrection of Jesus will never fail to touch us, as we open our minds and hearts to its mystery. It is the privilege of parish teams to lead their congregations into that space (often through the moments of liturgical silence) where we remember the passion of Jesus in the original sense of that Greek word anamnesis: not just the commemoration of an historical event, but the making visible of its saving grace in our time. As the opening address for the Palm Sunday Mass puts it:

‘United with him in his suffering on the cross, may we share his resurrection and new life.’

In a sense, we were all there in Jerusalem for that final Passover Week of Jesus of Nazareth. Most biblical scholars think that it occurred in April of the year AD 30. Jesus had a growing sense that his mission to establish the kingdom of God would only be accomplished by laying down his life as a ransom for many (Mk 10:45). He identified himself with the suffering servant of the prophet Isaiah (Isa 42–53), the one who would paradoxically establish God’s reign by succumbing to its opposing forces. Later, those who witnessed his resurrection would see him as the new Lamb of God. He had died near the Temple, the place which honoured the original Hebrew covenant, as a sign that he was setting up a new model of divine redemption, a freedom from sin and death that would surpass the Exodus from Egypt. At the Last Supper, Jesus invited his followers to celebrate this new covenant with him, not just through the Passover ritual but by becoming servants to each other (Jn 13:1–13).

It all happened in a culture completely alien to our own. Still, we can identify with the protagonists of the story. Perhaps, this year, you will find yourself among the curious onlookers, the crowds who cheered Jesus as he arrived into Jerusalem only to jeer him days later, after he had been condemned by the religious and civil authorities. Being a fair weather follower of Jesus is relatively easy!

Perhaps you can identify with Pontius Pilate and his wife (mentioned only in the Gospel of Matthew, 27:19). They saw in Jesus a ‘righteous man’ but did little to prevent his agony. Worse still, they transferred their blame to others. How many times do we ‘wash our hands’ of personal responsibility, often through neglect or laziness or some clever legal device?

Perhaps you should recognise yourself among the heroes of the story, those who were moved with compassion at the sight of human suffering. Simon of Cyrene became a dutiful helper of Jesus on the road to Calvary, his help was ‘enlisted’ (Mt 27:32). You may be like the ‘daughters of Jerusalem’ (Lk 23:28–31) whose sympathy, like their tears, flowed more freely. Perhaps, this year, you have been like Joseph of Arimathea (Mt 27:57–60) by providing assistance to someone at the time of their family funeral. Grief may have visited your own house, and, in your thoughts, you find yourself standing with Mary, who kept vigil by the cross as her Son was dying.

One of the graces of Holy Week is the freedom it gives to express our shortcomings. The experience of human failure is well represented by the betrayal of Judas Iscariot and his overwhelming sense of regret (Mt 27:3–6) as well as the denials of Peter, which were followed by ‘bitter weeping’ (Mt 26:75). We have all been there. We have played our part in the sins that were placed upon Christ’s shoulders (1 Pet 2:24). Listening to the passion narratives, we can express our sorrow in the knowledge that, as Easter Sunday dawned, no human failing could contain God’s glory.

We might also associate our situation in life with that of Christ. His soul was sorrowful at his impending death, just as we dread ours. Yet, throughout his passion, Jesus showed courage and a dignity that stemmed from his trust in divine providence. We must remember that the Gospels were composed several decades after the resurrection. The disciples put the meaning of Christ’s passion and death into the broader context of salvation history. They recognised that God’s plan had not been fulfilled by an all-conquering Messiah, like King David, nor would there be a dramatic restoration of Israel, like that envisaged in the Book of Daniel.

The gospel writers had delved deeper into the Hebrew Testament, realising that God’s promise would be revealed in a more surprising way, through the death of his Anointed One. In Christ, God fully entered into the human experience of mortality, so as to change its meaning by his resurrection. With St Paul we can say in triumph, ‘Death, where is your sting?’ (1 Cor 15:55)

One of my favourite characters from the passion narratives is the Roman centurion, mentioned in all four Gospels and whom tradition calls Longinus. He was so impressed by the manner of Jesus’ death that he came to recognise him as ‘truly son of God’ (Mt 27:54). His conversion experience that day came as a surprise. May we approach this Holy Week, not with jaded familiarity, but a willingness to meet Jesus again, as if for the first time.

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April 2023 relink.messenger.ie