Recently, I was fortunate to be able to take a brief trip to Barcelona for a research project (more on that to come). I spent as much time as I could at Antoni Gaudí’s marvel, La Sagrada Família (more on that, as well).
The entire basilica is a marvel, a deeply spiritual and prophetic building. This Holy Week, I thought it would be appropriate to share some photos of the Façana de la Passió, the Passion Facade. The sculptures broadly follow Gaudí’s instructions, though they are the work of Josep Maria Subirachs. If anything, the sculptures are even more harsh and austere than Gaudí’s original sketches. The hardness of the work is actually in keeping with Gaudí’s instructions.
Jesus crowned with thorns, 18th century, Molave wood, San Augustin Museum, Manila
We have reached the final days of Lent. Five weeks ago, this penitential season began with an emphasis on prayer, fasting, and almsgiving. The austere sign of ashes reminded us of our mortality and challenged us to conversion. Prayer, fasting, and almsgiving are the classic means of conversion. Perhaps we have examined our lives, sought to grow in certain virtues, and made personal resolutions. And perhaps now, at the end of these five weeks of Lent, we realize that we have grown—or that we have not been very faithful to our resolutions. Or, more likely, we find that the results have been mixed: some growth, some failure.
In any case, we have reached a new moment. You may have noticed that, in this week’s liturgy, we have stopped using the Lenten prefaces at the beginning of the Eucharistic prayer and have begun to use the Passion preface. And today’s readings strongly orient us toward the Passion. Jeremiah speaks of slander and betrayal, and we naturally think of the sufferings that the Lord will face within a week. In the Gospel, opposition to Jesus grows, becoming increasingly violent, and his identity becomes clearer. It is no longer possible to maintain a moderate position toward him. It is no longer possible to respect him simply as a good teacher, a prophet, or a philosopher with interesting ideas: he is either the Son of God or a blasphemer. Everyone must choose.
This is the moment in Lent when we forget ourselves. Even our desire for conversion takes a back seat, because our attention is focused entirely on Jesus. Perhaps at this very moment, even our unsuccessful resolutions and failures help us understand how much we need a Savior. We are leaving the time of resolutions and moral growth and entering the time of the Savior. This time is his. It is the time of the Son of God, the time of the One who is greater than John and all the prophets, the time of our only Lord and only Savior. Thanks to our efforts—or perhaps despite our efforts—we have arrived here, at this moment. But this is the time of Jesus.
Today is unofficially known as “Spy Wednesday” on the Church calendar because the Gospel reading recounts the story of Judas’s betrayal. I spent this Lent doing the 30-day Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius Loyola, and, for me, the most moving part of the retreat was contemplating the Lord’s Passion, in which, through the liturgy, we participate during Holy Week.
There is much to say about the retreat and much to say about Holy Week–but having been away for over a month, I also have a fair bit of catching up to do. So for now, I’ll share just one thought.
Until we reach Easter Sunday, this week is incredibly dark. Judas is present at the Last Supper and his impending betrayal colors everything else. Even before the Lord’s arrest, Jesus suffers because of his disciple’s mendacity. Peter’s courage and good intentions fail. The physical torture–scourging, beating, the nails, exposure and slow suffocation on the cross–is inhuman, enough to turn one’s stomach just thinking about it. And then, the cravenness of Pilate, the calculated cruelty of Jerusalem’s religious leaders, the callous and fickle crowd. What is most sobering of all is the realization that there is some of Judas and Pilate and Peter in each one of us. The Lord suffers for our sins.
“True reverence for the Lord’s passion means fixing the eyes of our heart on Jesus crucified and recognizing in him our own humanity.
“The earth–our earthly nature–should tremble at the suffering of its Redeemer…. No one, however weak, is denied a share in the victory of the cross. No one is beyond the help of the prayer of Christ. His prayer brought benefit to the multitude that raged against him. How much more does it bring to those who turn to him in repentance… Everything that he did or suffered was for our salvation: he wanted his body to share the goodness of its head.
“First of all, in taking our human nature while remaining God, so that the Word became man, he left no member of the human race, the unbeliever excepted, without a share in his mercy. Who does not share a common nature with Christ if he has welcomed Christ, who took our nature, and is reborn in the Spirit through whom Christ was conceived?
“Again, who cannot recognize in Christ his own infirmities? Who would not recognize that Christ’s eating and sleeping, his sadness and his shedding of tears of love are marks of the nature of a slave? …
“The body that lay lifeless in the tomb is ours. The body that rose again on the third day is ours. The body that ascended above all the heights of heaven to the right hand of the Father’s glory is ours. If then we walk in the way of his commandments, and are not ashamed to acknowledge the price he paid for our salvation in a lowly body, we too are to rise to share his glory.”
Tony Lusvardi, S.J. 