A church organist in Petersburg, Virginia
in 1953 is first person to come up with the idea of turning Leonardo da Vinci’s
famous painting of the Last Supper into a dramatic production. Ernest Emurian, a Methodist pastor, takes the
idea and runs with it, developing soliloquies for the twelve Apostles. Each is a response to Jesus’ statement, “One
of you will betray me.” Apostle after
Apostle ‘unfreezes’ from the depiction of the painting, tells his story, and
asks “Is it I, Lord? Is it I?” Emurian calls his drama “A Living Picture of
the Last Supper,” and it premieres on Palm Sunday
night in 1954 at Elm Avenue Methodist Church in Portsmouth, Virginia. Over the course of the next few years the
drama is published and presented all over Virginia and North Carolina before
becoming a national phenomenon.
Every year, the church I grew up in put on a
production of “A Living Picture of the Last Supper.” The men of the church memorized their
speeches, grew beards, put on makeup, and donned costumes for what was always an
impressive presentation. It is a
production replicated in tens of thousands of churches over the years,
including the parish I served in Richmond.
The haunting question, “Is it I, Lord?
Is it I?” is remembered by every person who has participated in it or
attended it.
“Is it I, Lord?
Is it I?” For eleven of the
disciples, the answer (of course) is ‘no’, but it might as well be ‘yes’
because each character is deeply flawed and riddled with sin. It is hard to calculate the influence Emurian’s drama has had on shaping the spirituality
of Holy Week, but surely its impact has been significant. It directs us to ask, “When have I, like
Judas, betrayed my Lord?” “When have I,
like Peter, denied him?” From this
perspective, the goal and purpose of Holy Week (and especially Good Friday) is
to make us feel really, really, really bad about our sins and the purpose of
our gathering here at this hour is to muster in us the deepest possible remorse.
Growing up and well into my adult life, this is how I
approached Holy Week and Good Friday. No
one taught me to do this. The message
just somehow seeped in. But more and
more I come to Holy Week, and especially to this service, identifying with the
people who stand at the foot of the cross.
Some of them are there doing their job.
Of these, some are callous and indifferent while others have maintained their
humanity while tasked with doing something completely inhumane. Simon of Cyrene did not expect to be here at
all. He is in Jerusalem to observe the
Passover but is forced to help Jesus.
And now, standing at the foot of the cross, he surely is smeared with Jesus’
blood and traumatized by what has happened.
And then there is the disciple Jesus loves, Jesus’ own mother, and
several other women who are followers of Jesus.
Their pain, their shock, their horror, is unimaginable.
The English writer Margaret Hebblethwaite makes this
observation:
The
extraordinary fact about the people gathered around the cross, who abandon all
their duties for the day simply to be with Jesus, looking at him, is that they
are changed by the experience. Just
seeing, doing nothing, turns out to be for them a revolutionary experience, so
that afterwards they see things differently and, no doubt, will act
differently. They have not wasted their
time doing nothing, but they have allowed themselves to be changed. Before the death of Jesus we are told how
everyone was mooching and taunting him.
Now, his agony over, a change has come over the scene. The centurion does not cry, “Now you can
never be king, now you are dead!” but rather praises God saying, “Certainly
this man was innocent.” And the
multitudes beat their breasts in repentance.
Judgments are altered, people see things in a different light, and they
feel both sorrow for their sinfulness and praise for God’s goodness.
Hebblethwaite likens what they are doing at the cross
to a contemplative practice known as prayers of simple regard, or the prayer of
just watching. This kind of prayer does
not require words, merely attention to what is happening around you. “Wait here.”
“Watch.” “Stay awake.” “Pray.”
These words of Jesus to his disciples in the garden before he is
arrested now take on new meaning and new spiritual significance for me. Now they are my goal and focus for Holy Week
and Good Friday. Be here. Show up.
Pay attention. Allow the liturgy and
the Scriptures and the experience to have their way with me. Perhaps it will lead me to deeper remorse,
but more and more I find this does not seem to be lone destination.
At Wednesday
night’s service of Tenebrae we listened to a reading from St. Augustine’s Treatise on the Psalms. In it, he encourages his readers to “place
ourselves beside [the psalmist], that, by sharing his tribulation, we may also
join in his prayer.” This now is my
aim during Holy Week. I just want to
walk and wait with Jesus. Typically, I
don’t come away from this beating my chest – miserable sinner that I am – but touched
in some way, changed somehow, and deeply grateful for what I have experienced.
I am always struck by how the Good Friday liturgy
takes us from standing at the cross to offering up the Solemn Collects. The meaning is obvious. Once Jesus’ work in this world comes to an
end our work begins. We respond to his
death by offering prayers for the church, for the world, for those who suffer, and
for those who have not received the Gospel.
The collects conclude with one of my favorite prayers:
Let
the whole world see and know that things which were cast down are being raised
up, and things which had grown old are being made new, and that all things are
being brought to their perfection by him through whom all things were made.
It is a hopeful prayer which anticipates the
Resurrection. It is worth noting it is offered
at this service as well as at ordinations.
Jesus’ death and the ordination of every deacon, priest, and bishop is a
sign our Lord’s work continues on through us.
Perhaps the best way to approach Good Friday then is to watch, to wait,
to weep, and then to act.
