THE PASSION IN 8 SCENES

                       #1--The Donkey (Luke 19:28-38)
                                     
    
      I always wanted to be important. My mama, bless her braying soul, told me to mind my business, keep my head down and do what my owner told me to do.
    "But I have a white coat!" I would tell her, certain it set me apart. No other donkeys had white coats--theirs were gray or grayish brown, dull as the earth we walked on, carrying baskets of kindling to start fires or baskets of vegetables to sell at the market in Jerusalem.

    One day--I could not tell the difference: it was either daylight and hot, or nighttime and cool--a young fellow ran up to me and grabbed my rope.
     "I have need of him," he said to my owner, whose eyebrows rose in astonishment. Then he nodded; something about the young man's words told him not to quarrel.
     He led me down to the road to Jerusalem. A tall man in a brown robe looked at me, took my nose in both hands, and flew softly into my nostrils. His breath was sweet as rosemary.
     As he swung his leg up over my back, I suddenly knew--this was what I had been made for--to carry this man into the city. Which I did, dodging the branches thrown onto the road and walking carefully over the cloaks spread on the stones. As I walked, people lining the road cried out loudly,
     "Hosannah, hosannah, blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord!"


                                         #2   THE STONES (LUKE: 19-40)

     --WHAT IS THAT?(A ROSE-COLORED STONES SAID IN A GRAVELY VOICE)
      --WHAT IS WHAT? (A SOLID BLACK STONE GRUMBLED) THAT VIBRATION WITHIN. SOMEONE IS RIDING OVER MY BACK.
     --OF COURSE SOMEONE IS RIDING OVER YOU, YOU DOLT! WE ARE STONES IN A ROMAN ROAD TO JERUSALEM.
     --BUT THIS IS DIFFERENT. CAN'T YOU TELL? HEAR THE CRIES AND GLAD SOUNDS.
     --THE BLACK STONE NOTED THE CLICKING OF HOOVES ON HIS BACK, A DONKEY HE ASSUMED. BUT WHAT WAS IT CARRYING? TO HIS HARD BACK IT FELT LIKE LIGHT, LIKE THE SKY, LIKE A BEATING HEART.
     --THEN CAME SHOUTING, CURSES, AND COMMANDS FOR THE PEOPLE TO BE SILENT. OVER THE CROWD CAME A VOICE:
     --"I TELL YOU, IF THEY KEPT QUIET THESE VERY STONES WOULD CRY OUT!"
     --AND SO THEY DID: BLACK STONE, GRAY STONE, MOTTLED ROCK, CHIPPED STONE--
     "HOSANNAH, HOSANNAH, BLESSED IS HE WHO COMES IN THE NAME OF THE LORD!"

                                        #3   THE TEMPLE (LUKE 19:45)

        I was sitting in the Temple, as my father once did, as his father did before him, tending our birds in twig cages for the Temple sacrifice. I buy them from an old man who snares them in a nearby olive grove. I called out,
     "Beautiful doves to offer in our Temple--lovely song birds to lay at the feet of the Most High--pretty doves for our Lord."
     A sudden wind blew through the open door. Was it a dust tornado, as I once saw in the desert?  A holy wind meant to smite us for our sins?
     A tall man in a dusty brown robe carrying a whip strode into the central area and lashed out with the whip, overturning the tables of the money-changers, scattering the cages, and shouting:
     "My house will be a house of prayer, but you have made it a den of thieves!"

     He slashed right and left until all had fled, all scattered. Sweat rolled down his face, and his eyes burned like coals. Turning, he left the Temple, leaving me behind with broken cages, scattered birds, and no coins left.  Who was this man? Was he Jesus, the one everyone was talking about? The Temple priests would be enraged by this, angry as the wind which blew into the Temple, fierce as the whip which destroyed us.

                      #4  Bread At the Passover (Luke 22: 19-20) 

    I am a small loaf of bread, baked in a street oven near this room--the Cenacle they call it. Someone asked for "the upper room," and men gathered around a low table. A man with strong fingers broke me into chunks and put us in a basket. He had a flagon of wine by his side, as a companion leaned against his chest. I felt sense love and sorrow from both of them.
     "This is my body which is given up for you: do this in remembrance of me." The man with strong fingers lifted a piece of us up and put it in the basket.

     He poured wine into a clay cup saying, "This cup is the new covenant in my blood, which is poured out for you." He passed the flagon, and all drank from it.
     Then, with shaking fingers, the man took the last bit of bread, dipped it in wine, and gave it to another, saying, "...woe to that man who betrays the son of man! It would be better for him if he had not been born."
     Someone snatched the bread, ate, and his lips were like fire around me as he fled the room. And what of me, the lowly piece of bread? I was inside of him now in bleak darkness, in a horror of desire.

                   #5  Praying In the Garden (Luke 22:39-46)

      The air was cooler at the end of the day when olive trees swayed in the breeze. He saw the leaves turn inside out, gleaming silver in moonlight. It did not cheer him, though once it would have.

     As if drunk on wine, his disciples fell one by one to the ground and slept. Only one stayed awake--a woman hidden behind a tree, holding out her hand.  He did not see her, and Jesus wondered if this was another temptation, like the three he had survived in the desert. To be alone, at the very end?
     Gasping for air, sweat dripping from his brow, he knelt and prayed, "Father, if it be your will let this cup pass from me. But not as I will but as you will."
     He could see the cup before him--thick, dull iron with dark liquid sloshing over its rim. It looked like poison. It smelled like suffering. It was his death.
     Jesus wept tears of blood, shaking the shoulder of one disciple, "Could you not watch with me one hour?"
     Then he turned suddenly as a being of light with shining wings came down to stand beside him, one hand on his shoulder. Comfort and strength flowed into Jesus.
     All too soon, torches flared, metal clanked, and soldiers invaded the garden. "The one I kiss is the one you must take," said a man, kissing Jesus' cheek.  He jumped back as if burned.

     Soldiers surrounded Jesus and forced him down the hill, away from the olive trees, away from the ground with his blood and from the woman with outstretched hands.

                              #6  The Crown of Thorns 

        A  sweaty Roman soldier just cut a length of my thorn bush for some purpose. He smelled of garlic and fear. He twisted me into a circle with my thorns pointing down.
     He carried me to a shouting crowd while a man was tied to a post.  Romans lashed him with barbed metal whips until his blood soaked the ground. People in the crowd groaned and wept, though some cheered.
     The soldiers untied him, spread a red cloak over his bloody shoulders, and jammed me on top of his head. My thorns dug into him, and he shivered and moaned.

     Some from the crowd called, "Look at the king of the Jews now! Look at his crown."
     Another solider lifted a heavy length of wood onto the man's shoulders and pushed him forward--sweating, bloody, thorns dug in, wounds on his body, and having to drag this terrible weight. He gasped and breathed one word over and over, "Father, father, father."

                      #7  The Road of Tears (Luke 22:63-71)

     My body was one long cry. One step forward, another, the cross digging into my wounds.  Pain at first, then numbness, more pain, and I fell to the ground. Three times I fell, my mouth in the dust.
     A woman ran forward with a cloth and wiped my face. My pain lessened for a moment. A man tried to give me water, but a soldier dashed the cup to the ground.
     Another man ran forward and took half of the wooden weight on his shoulder. I sighed then. Together we dragged my death all the way to Golgotha.

     To the side, through my sweat and tears, I saw Mary, my mother; the Magdalen, my special disciple; and other women who had stayed with me.  They could do nothing except look at me with love; that helped strengthen me for the final trial.

                     #8   Crucify Him! (Luke 23: 32-38; 50-55)

       They laid the crosspiece of the crucifix on the ground. A soldier placed Jesus' arms on it and hammered nails into his wrists. He screamed.
     Then the soldiers lifted him onto the post, fitting the crosspiece into the slot. Another hammered two nails into his feet. And he screamed again, louder this time.

     Over the top of the crucifix someone had written in Latin, "King of the Jews"--INRI.  Jesus looked down at me, the one who first saw his risen body. Tears ran down his face, and his mouth sagged. I waited with the other women. All the men had fled, except for John.
     I began to breathe with my Lord, sucking in sir as if it could help him breathe. I knew a crucified man suffocates, the weight of his body crushing his lungs.  
     Untold time later he whispered, "I thirst." A soldier dipped a rag in vinegar and held it to Jesus' lips.  Then he cried out, "My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?"
     We women wailed as his last breath and words fled into the sky.
     Another soldier broke his legs, as is the custom, to make sure Jesus was dead. We knew that already.
     At sunset, with help, we lowered him to the ground, pried out the nails, wrapped him in linen, and put him on a plank. We carried our burden to Joseph of Arimathea's tomb, and stumbled all the way, slipping on our tears.

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     But this is not the end of the story. The disciples, the women, Jesus' followers, all thought this was the end of his ministry and his life. They were wrong. Come to church next week to hear the rest of the story. Spoiler alert: It ends far better than anyone could have dreamed.