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Passion (Palm) Sunday - Sr. Nuala Cotter
April 17, 2011/Passion (Palm) Sunday
Matthew 21 : 1-11
Matthew 26:14-27:66
You’re asking me what I know about those days – it was a good long time ago, you know, and I ain’t as young as I used to be. Everyone says old folks have trouble remembering things– what day is it, who’s the emperor, what did you eat for breakfast, blah blah blah. All those silly things that people go on and on about when they’re talking with us grannies and grampies. But ask me about something important, Mister, and I can be just as sharp as they are, maybe sharper, because I seen some things – well, sir, it’s like they’re burned into my memory. So sit down and listen up, and I’ll tell you my story.
It was on a Thursday when it all began…or no, wait, I’m getting ahead of myself : really, it was on the Sunday before the Thursday, when two of his friends borrowed the donkey and her colt so that he could ride into Jerusalem. It seems to me now that he just rode the mother while the little one trotted alongside, but it was hard to see that day because it was wall to wall people out there. It felt like just about the whole city was there waiting for him, cheering as he rode in, spreading branches and even their cloaks on the road before him. Everyone was saying the same thing : “This is Jesus the prophet, from Nazareth in Galilee.”
Everyone felt good, everyone felt excited. Him going into the city on the donkey’s back was like something right out of the prophets. I ain’t an educated person, Mister, as you can see, but I can tell you that everybody knew that something was up. It was like the old songs had come to life. “Hosanna !” was the cheer going around ; that means something like “Blessing !” It was like we were all sharing in a great and blessed moment, like we were winners again, after being such losers for so many generations.
But then, something went wrong –at least we thought so, though it sounded like he knew already what was going to happen. Like, for example, just before he come into the city. He was out in Bethany, at the house of the leper, Simon, and it seems that while they were at table, this woman comes in and anoints his head with oil. One person told me later that the aroma filled the whole house – it wasn’t something she’d picked up at Uncle Abe’s Bargain Bazaar, I can tell you that. Naturally, people were shocked (You ever notice, Mister, how much some folks like being shocked ?), but he told them not to get upset. And why not ? Well, he said, she was anointing him for his burial. I guess that kind of put a damper on the party ! But I heard that he was always saying things like that, so most of the time his friends just didn’t really pay attention – you know how it is : “in one ear and out the other.” That was the time when he said that what she done would be remembered forever – a bit hard to believe for a lot of folks, considering that she was only a woman. But I’m a woman, too, and when I heard about that, long after the whole thing was all over, I understood. There was something so crazy about what she done and so loving that I found myself wishing it had been me – though I’ve got to say that an alabaster jar of costly nard ain’t never been seen in my little house !
So that was one dinner – he loved eating out – and then there was the other one on the Thursday I mentioned earlier. It’s kind of a contrast, if you ask me, because unlike the one at Simon’s, where that woman was so free and so loving, at this dinner I’m talking about, on the Thursday night, the man who already had the blood money in his pocket had the nerve to ask if he was the one who would betray him. Of course, he knew quite well what this guy’s little game was, and told him so. But he didn’t go and hide, either, just kept on his way, which led to a place called Gethsemane. I know you’re not from around here, so I’ll just tell you straight out that that name means “Oil Press.” And I tell you, Mister, he sure was pressed that night, according to the people who were there – not that they hung around very long, of course, but afterward they pieced the story together. He was in some anguish that night, praying hard to God— he called him his Father – anyway, he prayed to his Father to let the upcoming trial pass him by. Meanwhile, his friends were snoring away nearby, a big help to him in his agony. He prayed, too, that his Father’s will would be done. And would you believe it ? That was when his betrayer arrived. This fellow gives him a big kiss on the cheek to mark him for the folks he’d brought with him : a large crowd armed to the teeth, as well as the big shots from the Temple. Those were the same gentlemen who’d paid that snake off in the first place, by the way. Like goes to like –that’s what my old granny used to say.
Anyway, there they were, ready to grab him and drag him away. There was a lot of confusion and shouting, but he was calm through it all, even telling someone who pulled his sword to put it away. He said : “all who take up the sword will perish by the sword.” He also said that this was all happening so that the prophets’ words could be fulfilled. It seems that it was just about then that everyone ran away – they just hightailed it out of there. I don’t know if that was part of the prophets’ words or not, but I do know that they all disappeared into the night. You might wonder how I know all that – well, people sometimes talk about things they’re ashamed of, you know, and then – well, I don’t want to get ahead of myself, but I will say that he forgave them and they came to know that and believe it. That gave them what you might call the grace to tell the truth about their actions and to move on from them. But that’s a lot later in this story. Right now it’s about that Thursday night into Friday morning.
They dragged him downtown to the Sanhedrin, which was a kind of religious court, and they began to trot out the false witnesses against him. All kinds of stupid, obvious lies, but he said nothing back about any of it. Meanwhile, the big fisherman who was his best friend had kind of got his manhood back, so he went down there to see what he could see, but as soon as he opened his mouth people knew he was a country boy from up north. They said, “You too were with him,” but he cursed and swore his way out of that mighty quick, I can tell you…three times, in fact. This was something his friend had told him would happen, and when it did, he went away and cried like his heart was broken. I guess it was. He told me that, you know, long afterward. Such a big tough man but that broken heart of his turned him into a big gentle man, I’d say. But that came later, too.
I’m getting to the worst part now, Mister, so bear with me. The Sanhedrin couldn’t put nobody to death, much as they would have liked to, so they sent him to the Roman governor, Pilate. Mothers around here still use his name to scare their kids when they act up – that gives you an idea of what he was like back then. Pilate put on a nice little show for everyone, asking whether he should release him or Barabbas, who was a murderer, and everyone shouted : “We want Barabbas, not this one !” And then they shouted : “Crucify him ! Crucify him !”
You want to know how I know all that ? Where did I hear about that ? What my sources are ? Well, like I said, this is the worst part, but I’ve got to tell the truth : I was one of those people shouting outside Pilate’s palace. Yes, I was. It was like a fever. We all had it, and nothing would cure it except the death of this one man who never done nothin’ except heal the sick and feed the hungry and tell a few stories.
So, yes, sir, I was there, and I asked for his death. I ain’t proud of it, but it’s the truth. I can see you’re kind of disgusted, Mister, and I don’t blame you, but wait a minute, don’t get up and go just yet. I’ve got a little more to tell, and while it’s tough I want to tell you about it.
I sobered up real quick after all that. Not sure why. The big fisherman used to say that it was the work of that stuff I mentioned earlier, grace, and that seems about right to me. When you’ve made a mess of things, grace can do a lot for you, especially making you know the truth. Almost as soon as I shouted all those horrible things I knew I done wrong and I wanted to make it right. That was grace, I think. I think grace probably set me following him up to Golgotha, too, twisting along behind him on those narrow streets, watching him fall a couple of times, listening to all the things people were shouting at him. It was hard to watch the Roman soldiers stripping him and nailing him to the wood, then hoisting that cross bar onto the tree trunk sunk deep in the ground, but I done it. It kind of felt like a way to say “sorry.” When that thing landed in its socket there was a fearful thud and a terrible moan from him, hanging there. I stood off a ways then and watched him die. There was other women there, too – real friends of his, who’d come from up north with him and who’d looked after him and his men. They accepted me – I didn’t tell them then about what I done ; that came much later.
He died crying out some part of one of our old prayer-songs – sounded like he was in torment and despair. After that, the whole place started to rattle and shake and go dark ; I was scared silly and thought that maybe his Father was going to destroy us right then and there. But then it cleared and calmed and all that was left was his poor dead body hanging on the tree.
They brought him down after it was all over. I heard the women keening over him and saw his mother holding him like she must have when he was a child. Then they took his body, wrapped it in a clean shroud, and laid it down in a new tomb cut from the rock. They rolled a big old stone acrost the front and went away. But Mary Magdalene and the other Mary stayed behind and I stayed, too, mostly just out of sorrow for helping to put him there, but also because I felt a kind of comfort just being with those two. It was real quiet then. Later, Pilate put a guard on the tomb to make sure that nobody would take the body. Night came down and we stayed, waiting on morning, Really, I don’t know what we thought we were waiting for, but there we were, waiting there in the silence and the sadness.
Well, Mister, that’s my story of that Thursday and Friday and the Saturday, too. It’s sad for sure, and even now I tremble when I think about my own small piece of it. But the story don’t end there. You should talk to some other folks who can tell you what happened on the third day – I don’t like to put words to that part of it. Maybe I’ll just end by saying that that Friday broke my heart, but the Sunday…well, that Sunday put it back together in a new way.
Sr. Nuala Cotter, ra
Worcester - USA
14/04/2011
Remonter