PASSION SUNDAY – YEAR B
JESUS, A MAN, NOT A SUPERMAN
The cross was the instrument of the cruelest and most horrible tortures; it was the capital punishment reserved for bandits, rebellious slaves, the margins of society, guilty of heinous crimes. Cicero, the Roman orator and writer who lived in the first century B.C., speaks of it as ‘a punishment whose very name must be removed, not only from the person of Roman citizens but also from their thoughts, their eyes and their ears.’
Are you professing to be followers of a crucifix? A madness! A shame, a choice contrary to common sense. To the Corinthians, Paul writes: "The Jews ask for miracles and the Greeks seek wisdom; but we, we preach a crucified Christ, a scandal to the Jews, foolishness to the Gentiles" (1 Cor 1:22-23).
From the beginning of their history, Christians have chosen symbols of their faith. On graves we find the anchor, the fish, the fisherman, the shepherd, but not the cross. For a long time, they showed a certain modesty in recognizing themselves in the cross. It wasn't until the fourth century A.D. that it became the symbol par excellence, and people began to make crosses out of the most precious metals and to set them with pearls.
During Holy Week, this symbol will be proposed for our contemplation. To venerate the cross does not mean to bow down in front of a material object or to dwell on the sorrowful aspect of Jesus' passion. The cross indicates a choice of life, that of the gift of self. Contemplating it means taking it as a point of reference for every decision.
"I will follow you wherever you go—the bride tells her beloved."
First Reading: Isaiah 50:4-7
In the first reading of the feast of the Baptism of the Lord, we met a mysterious character who enters the scene in the second part of the book of Isaiah. He is the ‘Servant of the Lord.’ In today's passage, he introduces himself and speaks. First, he describes the mission that has been entrusted to him: he is sent to proclaim a message of consolation to those who are sad and without hope (v. 4).
Those who have gone astray on paths that are not good and cannot find their way back to the right direction, those shrouded in darkness and groping in the dark need not fear: from him, they will not hear reproaches and threats, but only words of comfort. Then he clarifies how he will carry out his mission (vv. 4-5). The Lord has given him an ear that can hear and a mouth that can communicate. What he heard was not pleasant, but he did not compromise, he did not back down, and he was able to endure (v. 5).
Finally, he tells what happened to him, and what the consequences of his consistency were. He faithfully communicated the message entrusted to him and was beaten, insulted, and slapped; they spat in his face, but he did not react and continued to trust in the Lord (v. 7).
If one reflects, especially on the last part of the reading, one is spontaneously led to liken this Servant to Jesus. Immediately after the Passover, Christians made this connection. As the ‘Servant of the Lord,’ Christ listened to the Father, spoke words of consolation and hope, gave comfort to the disheartened and marginalized, and his life came to a dramatic end (cf. Mt 27:27-31).
It is not enough to contemplate and admire Jesus' fidelity, to be moved by what he suffered, to feel outraged at the injustices he endured, and to bow before some hero who, even today, dares to face the same painful experience as the Lord's Servant. Not a few heroes, but every believer is called to reproduce in himself the figure of this ‘Servant’: to keep listening to the word of God, to translate into action what he has heard, and to be willing to bear the consequences.
Second Reading: Philippians 2:6-11
The community in Philippi was outstanding, and Paul was proud of it, but, as is often the case, there was also a bit of envy among Christians. Some tried to draw attention to themselves, wanted to lord it over others and impose their will. Because of this situation Paul, in the first part of his letter, makes a heartfelt recommendation: “I beg of you, make me very happy; have one love, one spirit, one feeling, do nothing through rivalry or vain conceit. Do not seek your own interest, but rather that of others” (Phil 2:2-4).
To better imprint this teaching on the minds and hearts of the Philippians, Paul presents the example of Christ. He does so by quoting a wonderful hymn known in many of the Christian communities of the first century.
In two stanzas, the hymn tells the story of Jesus. He already existed before becoming man; by becoming incarnate, he ‘emptied himself’ of his divine greatness and accepted entering an existence enslaved to death. He became forever like us: he took on our weakness, our ignorance, our frailty, our passions, our feelings, and our human condition. He appeared before our eyes in the humility of the most despised of men, the slave, the one to whom the Romans reserved the ignominious torment of the cross (vv. 6-8). But the path he walked did not end with humiliation and death on the cross.
The second part of the hymn (vv. 9-11) sings of the glory to which he was elevated: the Father raised him up, pointed him out as a model for every person, and gave him power and dominion over every creature. All humanity will eventually be united to him, and at that moment, God's plan will be fulfilled.
Gospel: Mark 14:1-15,47
All the evangelists dedicate a lot of space to the passion and death of Jesus. The facts are basically the same, even if they are narrated differently and with different perspectives. Each evangelist then inserts episodes, details, and underlinings into the narrative that are his own and that reveal his attention and interest in specific catechetical themes, considered significant and urgent for his own community. The version of the passion narrative that is proposed to us today is the one according to Mark. In our commentary, we will limit ourselves to highlighting specific aspects.
The first significant element is Jesus' lack of reaction to Judas' kiss and the violent gesture made by one of those present (Mk 14:46-49). While the other evangelists report some words of the Master to Judas: "Judas, with a kiss do you betray the son of man?" (Lk 22:48) and to Peter, "Put your sword back in its scabbard!" (Mt 26:52), Mark presents Jesus who does not rebel against events that he cannot prevent, who accepts almost passively what is happening to him and who, in the end, concludes, "Let the Scriptures be fulfilled!" (Mk 14:49).
The evangelist portrays a meek and unarmed Jesus who hands himself over to his enemies without reacting. He points to this fact to sustain the faith of the Christians of his communities, sorely tried by persecution. The Father did not reserve a privileged treatment for his Son. He did not spare him from the injustices, betrayals and dramas that affect other people. Like him, the disciples too will have to deal with falsehood, hypocrisy, pretense and violence. This is the fate of the righteous, often destined to be victims of the malice of the wicked, as it is announced in the Scriptures (Ps 37:14; 71:11).
In Mark, Jesus does not dignify with a word of disapproval Peter's discomposed and senseless gesture: his use of the sword is so far from the principles of the Gospel that it does not even deserve to be considered. The disciple who, like Peter, believes he can resolve injustices by resorting to violence only complicates situations and then must flee... Those who use violence always distance themselves from the Master and plunge into the darkness of the night.
All the evangelists tell us that as soon as the disciples realized that Jesus did not react, did not fight, did not invite them to fight, they fled. Only Mark records a curious detail: "But a young man followed him, clothed only with a sheet; they stopped him, but he left the sheet and ran away naked" (Mk 14:51-52). The detail is truly marginal and may have been inserted by the evangelist as an autobiographical trait: tradition has identified that boy as Mark himself.
However, the somewhat comical scene of the young man running away naked reproduces, in the evangelist's intention, the nonchalant behavior of many Christians who quickly fail in their commitments. To follow the Master, the apostles had abandoned everything (Mk 10:28); now, when they realize that the goal of their journey is the gift of life, they abandon everything. This time, however, not to follow the Master but to flee. This is what happens—Mark insinuates—to Christians as well: called, at times, to face life's adversities in an evangelical way, to avoid risks, they abandon the baptismal garment that identifies them and renounces the courageous choices that their faith imposes.
All the evangelists note that the crowds gradually broke away from Jesus after an initial enthusiastic welcome, who eventually remained alone with the twelve. These, in turn, at the moment of the decisive choice, fled. However, no one emphasizes the solitude of Christ during the passion as much as Mark. Reading the other Gospels, one always finds someone who stands beside Jesus or who takes a position in his favor: an angel in Gethsemane (Lk 22:43), a disciple or Pilate's wife during the trial (Jn 18:15; Mt 27:19), a large crowd and a group of women on the way to Calvary (Lk 23:27-31); his mother, his beloved disciple, some friends, the good thief (Jn 19:25; Lk 23:40).
In Mark, there is no one at all: Jesus is betrayed by the crowd that prefers Barabbas; he is mocked, beaten, and humiliated by the soldiers; he is insulted by passers-by and by the leaders of the people present at the moment of his crucifixion. Around him was the darkness. Only at the end after his death has been told, it was noted: "There were also some women watching from afar" (Mk 15:40-41).
Completely alone, Jesus felt the anguish of someone who, though sure of having committed himself to the right cause, feels defeated. His cry: "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me" (Mk 15:34) seems scandalous, but it expresses his inner drama. At the moment of death, he experienced impotence, failure in the struggle against injustice, lies and oppression exercised by religious and political power.
Those who commit themselves to live their faith consistently—this is Mark's message to the Christians of his communities—must take into account that, at the crucial moment, they will be left alone, they may be betrayed by their friends and rejected by their own family, they may feel abandoned by God and come to ask themselves whether it was worth suffering so much only to find themselves defeated. In these moments, they will be able to cry out to the Father, but in order not to fall into the abyss of despair, they will have to cry out with Jesus. Only in this way will they receive an answer to their anguished questions.
Another characteristic of Mark's account is the insistence on Jesus' very human reactions to death. Only Mark notes that Jesus, in the Garden of Olives, realizing that they were looking for him to put him to death, "began to feel great distress and anguish" (Mk 14:33). The other evangelists avoid presenting us with a fearful Jesus, almost shaken by a terror he can control only with difficulty. History is full of heroes who have faced death with serenity and contempt for suffering. Jesus is not among them. He cried, was afraid, and looked for someone who understood him and was close to him in the moment of the most dramatic choice of his life.
It is consoling that the events unfolded as Mark tells us: contemplating this Jesus as a man, not a superman, our companion in suffering, who experienced, like us, how hard and difficult it is to obey the Father, we feel encouraged to follow him.
In Mark's account of the Passion, Jesus is always silent. To the religious authorities who ask him if he is the messiah and Pilate, who wants to know if he is king, he simply replies: "Yes, I am." (Mk 14:62; 15:2). Nothing more. During the trial, not a single word comes out of his mouth. He remains silent in the face of insults, provocations, and lies and says nothing back (Mk 14:61; 15:4-5). He knows that those who want to condemn him are aware of his innocence. He is aware that his enemies have already decreed his death and that it is not worth lowering himself to their level, accepting a discussion that would not change anything.
There is a silence that is a sign of weakness and lack of courage: the silence of those who do not intervene to denounce injustice because they are afraid of losing friends, getting into trouble, or making enemies of the people who matter. On the other hand, silence is a sign of the strength of mind: the silence of those who do not react to provocation, who does not flinch in the face of arrogance, insult or slander. It is the noble silence of one who is convinced of his loyalty and righteousness and is confident that the just cause he is fighting will eventually triumph.
The Christian is not a coward who resigns himself, who does not fight against evil; he strives to establish truth and justice, but he is also one who, like the Master, has the strength to keep silent, refusing to resort to the unfair means employed by his adversaries: slander, lies, violence. He does not fear defeat, nor does he worry about the victory of his enemies: he knows that their triumph is fleeting.
Only Mark, referring to Jesus' prayer to the Father, records the Aramaic appellation he used: ‘Abba, Father!’ (Mk 14:36). ‘Abba’ corresponds to one of the many terms which, even in our country, children use to address their parents. The rabbis said: ‘When a child begins to taste wheat (that is, when he is weaned), he learns to say 'abba' (father) and 'imma' (mother).’ Adults avoided this childish expression, but it was revived when the father grew old, when, having become a grandfather, he needed assistance and more affection. Abba, therefore, expressed confidence and tenderness.
In the Gospels, this term occurs only here. Jesus uses it in the most dramatic moment of his life when, after having asked the Father to spare him such a difficult trial, he confidently abandons himself into his hands. It is an invitation never to doubt, even in the most absurd situations, the love of God and always to remember that he is Abba.
The climax of the entire Passion narrative of Jesus, according to Mark, is the centurion's profession of faith at the foot of the cross: "When the centurion saw Jesus dying like that, he said, 'This man was indeed the son of God'" (Mk 15:39).
From the beginning of Mark's Gospel, the crowds and the disciples ask themselves about Jesus; they wonder who he is (Mk 1:27; 4:41; 6:2-3,14-15). However, no one manages to grasp his true identity. When someone proclaims him messiah, he immediately intervenes to impose silence (Mk 1:44; 3:12): his identity must not be revealed, the secret must be kept until the end, because only after his death and resurrection will it be possible to understand who he really is.
What is surprising is that the discovery and proclamation of Jesus ‘Son of God’ is not made by one of the apostles or a disciple but by a pagan. It is on the lips of a foreign soldier that we find the formula, disconcerting in its purity, that the first Christians employed to proclaim their faith in Christ. And what opened the centurion's eyes and made him recognize in that condemned man the ‘Son of God’ were not the earthquake, the darkening of the sun or some other prodigy, but how Jesus had died: by giving a loud cry, the cry of the righteous one spoken of in the book of Psalms (Ps 22:3,6,25). What he had not succeeded in obtaining by calming the sea waves, healing the sick, multiplying the loaves, Jesus now receives with the gift of life. It is with the miracle of his life shaped only by love that he converts the pagan centurion.
In this context, the meaning of the veil of the temple that "was torn in two, from top to bottom" (Mk 15:38) becomes apparent. This is not information. There was no miraculous breaking of the curtain that served as a dividing wall between the Holy and the Holy of Holies (Ex 26:33), just as, at the moment of Jesus' baptism, the heavens were not materially ‘torn.’ Mark is recounting a far greater miracle: a miracle of a spiritual order. At the beginning of his public life, the heavens ‘were rent asunder,’ that is, peace and communication were restored between heaven, God's dwelling place, and earth, the home of people. Now Jesus' supreme gesture of love has broken down all barriers, even on earth.
In the Holy of Holies, considered the dwelling place of the Lord, only the high priest had access, once a year, on the solemn day of the feast of atonement for sins. Now every person, both Jew and pagan, like the centurion, can freely enter and leave the Holy of Holies because it is the home of his Father. God can no longer be imagined as distant, inaccessible; even the greatest sinner can confidently approach him, knowing that he is his son.
After the death of Jesus, all the evangelists introduce Joseph of Arimathea, the authoritative member of the Sanhedrin who went to Pilate to obtain authorization to bury the Crucifix. Only Mark, however, specifies that his was a courageous gesture (15:43). To declare oneself a disciple of Jesus when the crowds were acclaiming him was easy, but presenting oneself as his friend before the authority that had condemned him to death required great courage. Joseph of Arimathea is, for Mark, a reminder to those inconstant, opportunistic, weak disciples who do not dare to profess their faith, who are ashamed of the moral values taught by Christ and who, to avoid annoyance or even just not to be laughed at, easily adapt to current morality.