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Passion of The Christ ... I've seen the film.

© Arthur C. Ruger

Last night, my wife and I drove to Astoria to see The Passion of The Christ. After months of buildup, controversy and scenes of viewers leaving theatres tearfully, we finally decided to drive 40 miles to the Columbia River and cross the 5-mile bridge into Astoria, Oregon. We did not have to stand in line for the 6:00 pm Saturday night showing. There were less than 20 people waiting for the film to begin and perhaps another 20 or so came in before the film began.

I sat quietly eating Dots and Milk Duds, apprehensive about how I was going to react to the film because of what I'd already seen and heard. If Free Willie made me cry, what was going to happen to me tonight? My wife, having forgotten to bring a kerchief, stepped into the rest room briefly for a handful of tissues - just in case.

Having been a Bible reader for most of my adult life, as the film began I recognized immediately the location of the opening scene in Gethsemane. But its smoke and full moon were much more tangible on screen than anything I had previously conjured up in my imagination.

I began to calm somewhat as I realized that we were about to take up the gospel stories beginning with the famous moment in the Garden when Jesus was wont to shrink away from what lay ahead and asked the Father to remove the cup. I found myself simultaneously thinking ahead of scenes to come, appreciating the power and skill of the film-making itself, and beginning to release my feelings as I watched.

Only one tearful moment arrived during my viewing of the film - the moment when Mary makes her way to touch Jesus while he struggled with his cross. The flashback to the child Jesus falling down and Mary rushing to comfort her son evoked a surge of emotion for me. I had survived the arrest, the beatings, the mockery and the scourging without feeling an urge to weep but it seemed that a mother's tenderness and a son's agony was too much to bear.

There's a place in the film that portrays the creation of the Shroud of Turin and it was then that I understood Gibson's Catholicism and why others have called this film a Catholic Gift to Christianity. We were watching Catholicism's 14 Stations of the Cross.

I am indebted to a web site: Joseph's Catholic Webatorium

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