Ponder His Passion: Via Dolorosa
good friday: voices from the VIA DOLOROSA
These monologues were written by Sister the year before she entered the monastery. She hopes they will help you in your own meditation and prayer on this day dedicated to accompanying Christ in His sufferings. May the Passion of Our Lord Jesus Christ be ever in our hearts!
The stage is bare and dimly lit, except for a spotlight in the center. As each character speaks, he or she stands in the light, then afterwards retreats downstage and stands silently.
Enter PONTIUS PILATE.
Ecce Homo, by Antonio Ciseri
PILATE: Well, what else was I supposed to do? Tiberius put me in charge of this province because he knew I was the man for the job, but I’ve had reason to doubt his judgment more than once. Cursed Jews, always grumbling about something or other. When they’re not threatening to revolt, they’re making a scene about these hairsplitting religious debates. It wouldn’t bother me if they’d just keep to themselves, but no, they want to drag me into this.
And this poor fellow — I don’t see the point of them getting so worked up about him. Whatever blasphemy nonsense they’ve cooked up . . . (he kneads his forehead) Curse it all, why did they have to bring it to me? I’m a Roman governor, not an arbitrator of their blasted Law! Judge him yourselves! Leave me to the little fraction of peace I have.
(Beat) I know what you’re thinking, and I thought it too. And I tried to tell them he was innocent! But they already had the verdict decided, and they weren’t going to leave until I did something. Have you ever seen a Jewish mob? It’s like watching all the wrath of their famously angry God explode at once, and woe to anyone who stands in the way! Then they had the nerve to accuse him of inciting rebellion when that disgusting brute Barabbas was right there for comparison. “You are not a Friend of Caesar if you free him,” they said. (Awkward pause — we can see his nervousness) It’s ridiculous, but with things as bad as they are, I really don’t want to attract the wrong sort of attention from the Emperor.
(Straightens up, donning an unconvincing air of nobility) So yes, I let them crucify him. It’s far from the most honorable thing I’ve ever done, but I’ve got too much on my plate to worry about it any more. The people have what they wanted, and now I can focus on — on getting this state in order. (kneads forehead) But the way he looked at me . . . like he was in control. Yet he wouldn’t even try to defend himself. And all this nonsense about his kingdom, and his father, and the truth . . . what is truth? (retreats, shaking his head)
Enter SOLDIER
SOLDIER: (arms crossed) I have been across the Empire in the line of duty, and I’ve seen many a strange thing between Hispana and Cappodocia, but nothing like this. They always told me the Jews were an odd people, slaughtering and burning up perfectly good oxen, refusing to do the slightest bit of work on their holy day, constantly ranting about their messiah. But I didn’t think even they would go as far as this.
I was supposed to be standing watch at the Praetorium, but then Lucretius came up and said he’d need a few reinforcements — what an understatement. I had scarcely stepped out into the street when I was nearly knocked to the ground by the mob. They were all shouting and gesturing at a man the other soldiers were guarding. He was a sight, all cuts and bruises and dried blood. It looked like the governor had had him scourged. I’m not one to concern myself about prisoners, but there was something strange about him . . . maybe it was the fact that he didn’t seem concerned about himself at all.
Lucretius told me that they were crucifying him, but when I asked why, he couldn’t really explain. Some religious affair that had gotten out of hand, he said. (Beat) He knew as well as I did there was no reason to kill the man. And crucifixion . . . like I said, I don’t worry much about prisoners, but that’s an awfully brutal way to die for an offense like that. (Shrugs) But orders are orders, so we strapped the crossbeam on his shoulders and headed out to Golgotha, trying to keep the crowd from killing him before we had the chance to. (Retreats)
Enter MARY
MARY: I still remember the night he was born. I remember holding him in my arms for the first time, praising the LORD for His goodness beyond my wildest dreams. I thought I had loved him before I saw him, but when our eyes first met, it was as if I’d never known what love was. His eyes were so dark and serious, even as a baby. We’ve spent so many good times together. . . (Pauses, looks into the distance with a tearless yet profoundly sad expression)
(Looking back abruptly, shaking her head) Oh, it’s been like living in my worst nightmare. There was shouting everywhere, and they were all so angry. What had he ever done to them but good? I even saw one man whose child he had healed, cursing along with the rest of the crowd. John kept trying to reassure me, but he was as upset as I was. Then I saw my son approaching slowly, so slowly. He was covered with blood, his head was bowed, and he was barely able to stand with the heavy weight of the wood on his shoulders. I couldn’t help myself — I let out a cry.
Suddenly he turned and looked at me. Those were the same dark eyes, the same serious expression, recognizable even in his battered and bruised face. That moment lasted for a lifetime as we gazed at each other. (Beat) I saw that my pain made him hurt all the more, but I could do nothing but weep. Just before the soldier shoved him forward, he gave me the smallest of smiles. “The Father’s will,” he whispered under the roaring of the crowd, and then he was off again. And suddenly I felt a deep peace, a peace words cannot explain.
(Smiling faintly through tears) I will trust in the LORD. (retreats)
Enter SIMON OF CYRENE
SIMON: I didn’t want any trouble, any attention — I was just trying to get home. But I’m not halfway there when I run into this huge crowd that’s blocking all the streets, screaming and carrying on about “the blasphemer.” I tried my best to keep going, but it was slow work. Just as I was finally making some headway, I heard the yelling get louder.
When I turned around, there he was, poor guy, with a group of soldiers. I remember thinking, he’s not gonna make it — he’s gonna fall. And sure enough, he caught his foot one one of the paving stones and went down, smack! (He smacks his hands for emphasis) The big ol’ crossbeam on his shoulders made it even worse. It hurt just to watch him try and get up, but I knew better than to try and do anything. When the Romans are in charge, you stay out of the way. I was just moving along when suddenly one of the soldiers comes up and grabs me by the arm — “Hey, you look strong! Come and help carry so he doesn’t die on the way.”
Me? Are you kidding me? But no matter what I said, he wouldn’t let me go in peace. Eventually I had to just grit my teeth and do it. The thing was heavy for someone in fairly good shape like myself, let alone this guy who was so beat up he could barely stand. We made it all the way to the edge of the city, and I tried and failed the whole time to block out the crowd shouting curses at him and me. I wished I could tell them, “I didn’t choose this!” Eventually they let me go, and none too soon. I was really shook up and ready to just forget about it all.
(Long pause) I don’t know what made me look back, but I did. And there he was, staring at me. He didn’t say a word, but suddenly I realized that I could never just forget this. I went home . . . but I was a changed man. (retreats)
Enter VERONICA
The Veil of Veronica, by Domenico Fetti
VERONICA: (tearful) I have never felt so alone in my entire life. In the middle of that angry, yelling, pushing crowd, it was like I was the only one who had the slightest bit of compassion. The man was innocent! I’d heard him speak many times before, and the idea of him inciting rebellion. . . it’s absurd! Did they feel no shame accusing him of blasphemy when he clearly loved God more than they ever would?
(Pulling herself together) As I said, I felt very alone as I watched him walk down that long, long street. And what was more, I felt utterly helpless. What was someone like me to do? Nobody would listen to the lone voice in a crowd. But the closer he got, the more I realized I had to do something. But what?
As his bruised, bloodied, dirt-covered face drew level with mine, it came to me. I suppose it was a foolish thing to do; it wasn’t as if it really made him feel any better, but I couldn’t stand to see his face so covered with filth. So I leaned out, took my veil — my priceless sea-silk veil, what was I thinking? — and wiped off his face. Of course the soldiers shoved me back with a curse, and the crowd jeered at me, but when I caught his thankful eyes, it was all worth it.
The rest of the day was a blur, and when I got back home I realized I was still clutching the veil. I un-crumpled it, intending to wash it, when — (Struggling to restrain her emotions, she shakily unfolds a veil she is holding to reveal an image of a man’s face. Still weeping, she retreats.)
Enter LONGINUS
The Confession of St. Longinus, by James Tissot
LONGINUS: Crucifixion is never a pretty thing. (beat) First there are the screams, then the curses, then the gasps, then the rattle, and after a day or so it’s finally over and we can get on to the next batch. Oh, and of course there are always the crowds. The Jews may recoil with horror at our gladiatorial games, but there’s no use denying they’ll come to see a bloody spectacle too, especially if it’s at the expense of someone unpopular.
I guess that’s why so many turned up this evening — well, afternoon, I guess, but it was so dark it was hard to tell. We had a couple of robbers, but most of the crowd was focused on abusing the other man. I don’t pretend to take any interest in Hebrew politics, but everyone had heard about him. The prophet, the blasphemer, the messiah, the rebel — depends on who you ask.
He was remarkable for a Jew. He refused the painkiller, but I don’t think I heard a single complaint from him. He did say a few things — in Aramaic, which I don’t know too well, but I got a couple of phrases. He was asking someone to — to forgive us. (Swallows) He didn’t pay any attention to the people yelling at him, although he did say something to his mother who was standing there. (Beat) I have to say, any woman who can do what she did has my respect.
The only time I heard him yell was right at the end. It was sudden and loud, and everyone went quiet for a minute so the sound just kept echoing and echoing. Then it happened. There was an earthquake, and rocks started splitting, and everyone was running around screaming in total pandemonium. It was all we could do to keep our horses from bolting. By the time everything had calmed down, it was getting on into the evening and we needed to wrap things up. We broke the robbers’ legs, but the other man was already dead, so I just pierced his heart to make sure. All the sudden he was bleeding again. I’m not one to get squeamish around blood, but something about that just hit me and I — I don’t know what came over me. I couldn’t move for the longest time. Just kept staring at my lance, at the blood on it, at the dead man hanging there. (Looks down, shaking his head.)
(Looks up suddenly) I don’t know what it all meant, but I know one thing. (points his finger towards the audience) That man was innocent! And may the gods forgive me for killing him. (retreats)
Enter JOSEPH OF ARIMATHEA.
JOSEPH: I always thought I would be right beside him when he led us to the new Promised Land. When he spoke to us, we could just see the Kingdom coming, and we didn’t need his miracles to tell us he was the Messiah. He opened the Prophets to us in a new way, and it was as if the LORD himself were there teaching us. We knew, whatever the difficulties, one day he would bring us to victory.
And today . . . I buried him. I buried him, and I buried all my hopes, all my dreams, all my thoughts of a bright future. Our Messiah is dead — we killed him! We killed the prophets and now we have put to death our final hope! Oh, may the LORD forgive His people! (Long pause, as he is weeping)
(Pulling himself together) The least I could do was make sure his body was not disrespected. Pilate allowed Nicodemus and me to take it and bring it to a tomb I had planned to be my own. We couldn’t even give him a proper burial because the Sabbath was so near, so we just wrapped him with the spices John and Mary brought. The final thud of the stone rolling closed echoed in my mind for the rest of the day, and it echoes even now.
We can only hope in the LORD, that He will have mercy and send another to complete His work on earth. Heaven knows we don’t deserve it . . . but we shall perish without it. (retreats)
After a long pause, enter MARY MAGDALENE, running.
MARY: (to other characters, who turn and look at her in surprise) Oh, you won’t believe what I have seen! He is —
Lights up. All gasp.
Curtain.
