My Passion perspective
Last year, I played the role of Jesus in my church's Easter production. The scene in the Garden of Gethsemane remains vivid in my memory. I remember trying to understand what Jesus must have been feeling, praying to His Father as His disciples slept, knowing that He was about to lose His lifeline, His connection to the Father. That He sweat drops of blood testifies to the extreme stress He felt at the time, probably greater stress experienced by any man before or since. I can't imagine.
I remember standing on the stage at the front of my church, kneeling in prayer and sensing the presence of the actor portraying Judas behind me and to my left. Having read the script and rehearsed the play, I knew why he was there. I knew what would come next. He would kiss my cheek, cueing an angry mob and a couple of Roman soldiers to rush down the aisle, tackle me, and pretend to beat me. I knew that every member of the mob would play the part well, exhibiting pure hostility in the feigned beating. I also knew that the mob members sometimes got carried away, sometimes misjudged where to safely aim a realistic-looking blow, sometimes slipped up in the excitement of the moment. I had bruises from rehearsal to prove it. It was scary, hearing them run at me from the darkness of the house and knowing the impact was imminent. If I had turned and run, they probably would not have pursued me. If I had put my hands up and told them to stop, they probably would have stopped. I could have stopped it, but that would have ruined everything.
After the last performance, I inventoried my injuries. I had two abrasions on my forehead, a scab on my right elbow, a couple of bruises on my legs, and an invisible wound on my left knee that remained tender for another month or two.
My wife and I saw The Passion Saturday night. Some people say that the movie made the historical events leading up to the crucifixion more real to them. It did that for me in a way. It gave me a better idea of the extent of Jesus' physical pain than I've had. It humanized Mary, Peter, and John for me. Most of all, though, it filled in the gaps of knowledge left by my experience in the play. Compared to the pain Jesus endured, my injuries hurt no more than an eye-blink. I'm sure that as He prayed in the garden, He knew every blow He would receive with far more certainty than what I could gather from my script. I'm sure that in the garden He felt more fear and stress than I will ever know. I'm sure He could have stopped His attackers with more authority and effectiveness than I could ever dream of. But He didn't. That would have ruined everything.
The Passion didn't really give me any new insight into the importance or meaning of the crucifixion. What it did do was inspire me to redouble my efforts to be more like Jesus, carrying out His Father's plan no matter what the personal cost.
