The Passion Movie as a Prayer

 

By Dave Sloan

 

 

 

A simple and effective way to transform the suffering of the passion into an experience of ultimate deliverance.

 

 

The brutality depicted in the film "The Passion of the Christ" is far, far shy of the gory and gratuitous bloodshed of many of today's popular movies.  The scourging scene lasts just ten minutes and includes flashbacks and extended cutaways and more footage of the torturers than the tortured.

 

"The Passion" film is considered to be so violent not because it is so violent, but because it seems so violent.  The critics who decry its excessive violence are quite right in that the movie does seem like, does feel like, simply the most gruesome thing anyone has ever seen happen on a movie screen.

 

It seems so horrendous not because of the violence depicted, but because of the person upon whom the violence is inflicted.  The brilliance of the movie is that Jesus is convincingly portrayed as being utterly and absolutely innocent, deserving of no treatment other than love, if not outright worship.

 

From the very first blow landed in the garden it is clear that innocence, purity and perfect love are being assaulted right at their core.  And so it is in a way a good thing that people respond as they do, by finding the movie to be almost unbearably painful to view.

 

But there is a crucial piece missing from this perspective on the movie.  It is good to know who is suffering in this passion.  But it is just as important to know why.  That's the piece missing for those who reject the movie on the basis of its violence.  They fail to make the personal connection between their own salvation and the events of Christ's passion.

 

I've seen the movie three times.  The first two times I found it moving, disturbing, and terribly draining.  I was simply worn out by what I had witnessed.

 

The third time I was alone, and the theater was largely empty.  I was also praying much more the third time.  "For the sake of his sorrowful passion," I prayed, "have mercy on us and on the whole world." 

 

Then, when the scourging scene began, I found myself spontaneously beginning to do something I had in no way planned or anticipated.  Right as the first of the blow of the cane landed on his back, I thought of a sin I had committed just a little earlier in the day--the sin which had driven me first to despair, and then to the realization that I needed to come and see this movie again.  And I considered this particular sin to be the cause of the blow being inflicted upon our Lord.

 

As the next blow was struck, I thought of another of my sins, and again I attributed the punishment being meted out to Jesus as being the consequence of this particular sin.  The blows continued falling, and I continued connecting them very specifically to my own particular sins.

 

I experienced the keenest sense of sorrow for what I had done, for the awful punishment which was the necessary penalty for my sin, and for the suffering endured on my behalf by the one who is love itself.

 

And yet, at the same time, something too big, too much, for words to describe, began to take place within my heart--something perhaps best described as miraculous.  The whole brutal scene was transformed into a pure and perfect melding of justice and of love.

 

I realized that the punishment was fair.  It was in no way excessive or inappropriate that such tortures be exacted in payment for my sin.  The punishment did in fact fit the crime.  I realized that I was being redeemed.  An adequate sacrifice was being performed, and a sufficient price paid, not only for all of the sins I could actually remember, but for all of the sins I ever had or ever could commit.

 

The utter meaninglessness of this crime perpetrated upon an innocent man was transformed into the most meaningful possible act.  Here was a willing sacrifice of the Lord's own body and blood, given up out of love for me and for the purpose of uniting me with him forever.

 

The justice of the payment being exacted in consideration of my sins was perfectly joined with the purpose, the motive of the one making it--which was simply his absolute and infinite love for me, his desire to overcome the great chasm which my sin had opened up between us.

 

I'm very sorry that at no point in the scourging scene did I run out of sins to which to attribute the blows being landed.  But even as I did so attribute them, I experienced great gratitude for what was taking place.  Each blow was being accepted by Christ on my behalf; each blow was overcoming our separation, uniting us ever closer together.

 

The final piece to the puzzle of redeeming this suffering is the understanding that suffering itself is necessary.  Part of the materialism and utilitarianism of our modern culture is an utter failure to appreciate the value and purpose of suffering.  In the eyes of this culture, any suffering at all is simply meaningless, and must be somehow excised from our experience. 

 

The promise of living in this world without suffering is the ultimate lie of the evil one, and the form in which he offers his temptations. 

 

We are promised the comforts of materialism, with its limitless indulgence that stands opposed to the sacrificial sharing of what we have with the ones who truly need it.

 

Abortion promises us the pleasure of sex without the pain and suffering of giving life and nurturing children. 

 

We are promised the pleasure of exciting new relationships without the suffering involved in keeping a vow to lifelong marriage.

 

We are promised the ease of "mercy-killing" our parents without the suffering of caring for them as they age, and as they suffer.

 

We are promised the pleasure of living however we want to live, without the necessity of conforming to any objective truth, and with no price to be paid when we violate that truth.

 

We see this lie reach its final form as Jesus is urged to end his suffering, and come down from his cross. 

 

But Jesus knows the truth.  He knows that the full price for sin must be paid.  He understands that we live in a fallen world, and that the consequence of that is that each of us will suffer and die.

 

What he has done is to offer us a choice as to with whom we will suffer and die.  We can suffer and die with the one who hates us and tempts us with the lie that no suffering is necessary, even as he drags us down into everlasting suffering.  Or we can suffer and die united with the suffering of the one who loves us and has purchased our redemption, thereby gaining for us the promise of eternal union with love itself.

 

When all is said and done, in this world, as in this movie, we're really only faced with two choices.  We can die the death of Gesmas, the tormented thief who persisted in his sin and participated ?till the end in the lies of the evil one.  Or we can die the death of Dismas, acknowledging our own sin and the sinlessness of our Savior, even as we ask him in the midst of his dying to grant us the reward of union with him in his kingdom forever.

 

There is no greater act of love we can perform, nothing greater we can do to mitigate the suffering of our Lord, than to make this request of him.  Nowhere in the portrayal of his passion is his suffering broken as it is when the lost one, Dismas, the good thief, confesses his guilt and asks to be remembered by him in Heaven.  Nowhere, not even in the extraordinary scenes with his mother, is the depth of the Lord's love more palpable than in the moment when he looks upon this crucified man who has had the courage to ask him for paradise.

 

Jesus' eye has been swollen shut from the time he was struck by the soldiers of the High Priest in the Garden of Gethsemane.  The only time we see it open afterwards, the only time he looks with both eyes upon anyone, is as he proclaims the greatest of all possible news to this man who is dying together with him.  Here, suffering reaches it full purpose and meaning.  In the end it is here that we are called as Christians, here and nowhere else that we must go to join with him, and suffer with him, to look into the eyes of our Savior and hear him speak to us the most precious of words, "Amen, I say to you, this day you will be with me in paradise."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A PRAYER THAT TRANSFORMS THE PASSION MOVIE

 

By Dave Sloan

 

(1,129 words)

 

A simple and effective way to transform the suffering of the passion into an experience of ultimate deliverance.

 

 

The brutality depicted in the film "The Passion of the Christ" is far, far shy of the gory and gratuitous bloodshed of many of today's popular movies.  The scourging scene lasts just ten minutes and includes flashbacks and extended cutaways and more footage of the torturers than the tortured.

 

"The Passion" film is considered to be so violent not because it is so violent, but because it seems so violent.  It seems so horrendous not because of the violence depicted, but because of the person upon whom the violence is inflicted. 

 

From the very first blow landed in the garden it is clear that innocence, purity and perfect love are being assaulted right at their core.  And so it is in a way a good thing that people respond as they do, by finding the movie to be almost unbearably painful to view.

 

But there is a crucial piece missing from this perspective on the movie.  It is good to know who is suffering in this passion.  But it is just as important to know why.  That's the piece missing for those who reject the movie on the basis of its violence.  They fail to make the personal connection between their own salvation and the events of Christ's passion.

 

The third time I saw the movie I prayed much more than I had the first two times. Then, when the scourging scene began, I found myself spontaneously beginning to do something I had in no way planned or anticipated.  Right as the first of the blow of the cane landed on his back, I thought of a sin I had committed just a little earlier in the day--the sin which had driven me first to despair, and then to the realization that I needed to come and see this movie again.  And I considered this particular sin to be the cause of the blow being inflicted upon our Lord.

 

As the next blow was struck, I thought of another of my sins, and again I attributed the punishment being meted out to Jesus as being the consequence of this particular sin.  The blows continued falling, and I continued connecting them very specifically to my own particular sins.

 

As I did, an amazing thing began to happen in my heart.  The whole brutal scene was transformed into a pure and perfect melding of justice and of love.

 

I realized that the punishment was fair.  It was in no way excessive or inappropriate that such tortures be exacted in payment for my sin.  The punishment did in fact fit the crime. 

 

The utter meaninglessness of this crime perpetrated upon an innocent man was transformed into the most meaningful possible act.  Here was a willing sacrifice of the Lord's own body and blood, given up out of love for me and for the purpose of uniting me with him forever.

 

I experienced great gratitude for what was taking place.  Each blow was being accepted by Christ on my behalf; each blow was overcoming the separation of sin, and uniting ever closer together.

 

The final piece to the puzzle of redeeming this experience of suffering is the understanding that suffering itself is necessary. 

 

The promise of living in this world without suffering is the ultimate lie of the evil one, and the form in which he offers his temptations. 

 

We are promised the comforts of materialism, with its limitless indulgence that stands opposed to the sharing of what we have with the ones who truly need it.

 

Abortion promises us the pleasure of sex without the pain and suffering of giving life and nurturing children. 

 

We are promised the pleasure of exciting new relationships without the suffering involved in keeping a vow to lifelong marriage.

 

We are promised the ease of "mercy-killing" our parents without the suffering of caring for them as they age, and as they suffer.

 

We are promised the pleasure of living however we want to live, without the necessity of conforming to any objective truth, and with no price to be paid when we violate that truth.

 

We see this lie reach its final form as Jesus is urged to end his suffering, and come down from his cross. 

 

But Jesus knows the truth.  He knows that the full price for sin must be paid.  He understands that we live in a fallen world, and that the consequence of that is that each of us will suffer and die.

 

What he has done is to offer us a choice as to with whom we will suffer and die.  We can suffer and die with the one who hates us and tempts us with the lie that no suffering is necessary, even as he drags us down into everlasting suffering.  Or we can suffer and die united with the suffering of the one who loves and has purchased our redemption, thereby gaining for us the promise of eternal union with love itself.

 

When all is said and done in this world, as in this movie, we're really only faced with two choices.  We can die the death of Gesmas, the tormented thief who persisted in his sin and participated ?till the end in the lies of the evil one.  Or we can die the death of Dismas, acknowledging our own sin and the sinlessness of our Savior, even as we ask him in the midst of his dying to grant us the reward of union with him in his kingdom.

 

There is no greater act of love we can perform, nothing greater we can do to mitigate the suffering of our Lord, than to make this request of him.  Nowhere in the portrayal of his passion is his suffering broken as it is when the lost one, Dismas, the good thief, confesses his guilt and asks to be remembered by him in Heaven. 

 

Jesus' eye has been swollen shut from the time he was struck by the soldiers of the High Priest in the Garden of Gethsemane.  The only time we see it open afterwards, the only time he looks with both eyes upon anyone, is as he proclaims the greatest of all possible news to this man who is sharing in his suffering.  Here, suffering reaches it full purpose and meaning.  In the end it is here that we are called as Christians, here and nowhere else that we must go to join with him, and suffer with him, to look into the eyes of our Savior and hear him speak to us the most precious words, "Amen, I say to you, this day you will be with me in paradise."