Author: CCW

“And a sword shall pierce through thy own soul; that the
thoughts of many hearts may be revealed.”

And so it begins and ends, in the ending that never ends. Palm Sunday marks the beginning of Holy Week yet looks to the end or purpose of the journey in Christ’s Resurrection but only through the Cross and Passion of Christ. It is really a week-long liturgy. We greet Christ as he enters Jerusalem with cries of “Hosanna”. But our cries of rejoicing quickly turn to shouts of “Let him be crucified”. Yet the shouts of violence give place to sorrow and sadness. Are we to be left simply in the sorrows of our hearts? Or does sorrow or contrition lead to the possibilities of repentance? Holy Week takes us from the cries of rejoicing to the sorrows of our hearts but then to the glorious songs of Alleluias. Such is the pageant and wonder of Holy Week, if we have the hearts and minds to think and feel; in short, to be pierced.

It has been my custom to take a Scriptural passage as the matrix for all our Holy Week and Easter meditations. Simeon’s prophecy, which we heard at Candlemas, anticipates the Passion and its meaning. He says to Mary, “Behold, this child is set for the fall and rising again of many in Israel; and for a sign which shall be spoken against;” then to her he says, that “a sword shall pierce through thy own soul also; that the thoughts of many hearts may be revealed.” Mary, as the Annunciation this past week shows, is the source of Christ’s pure and true humanity. As Augustine teaches, she is the symbol of the Church. Her vocation is the vocation of our humanity in its purity and truth: “Be it unto me according to thy word.” That means our complete attention to all of the words of the Passion as indicated in Simeon’s prophecy. Only so can we feel the thought of the deep meaning of Christ’s Passion; in an image it means being pierced.

There are, the poet George Herbert says, “two vast spacious things” that we are meant to learn and contemplate, “yet few there are that sound them.” What are they? “Sinne and Love”. The challenge of Holy Week for us is to sound the depths of sin and love in our own hearts as revealed through Christ’s Passion. Holy Week is the spectacle of our betrayals, on the one hand, and the spectacle of the redemptive love of Christ, on the other hand. We are bidden to contemplate the dialectical motions, the to-and-fro of our hearts, in going from joy to sorrow and then to glory. Hosanna, Crucify, Alleluia.

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“Be it unto me according to thy word”

Mary’s response to the divine will announced to her by the Angel Gabriel is the epitome of the Christian Faith, a firm but emphatic “yes” to God through whom God becomes human. It is impossible to think of Mary apart from Christ or Christ apart from Mary. She is “the pure source of his pure humanity” (Irenaeus) as ordained from before the foundation of the world; in other words, divinely ordered. She is, in the words of the Chalcedonian Definition of the Council of Ephesus (451), Theotokos, “the Mother of God.” What that means goes to the heart of the understanding of Christ’s Incarnation.

The Annunciation is the moment in time of Christ’s conception. He is made man through “the Virgin Mary, the Mother of God, Theotokos, according to his manhood”, his “human nature (κατα την ανθροποτητα),” just as Christ is the eternal Son “begotten of his Father according to his Godhead” (κατα την θεοτητα) (Chalcedonian Definition). She is not the mother of the Godhead, the source of divinity, the maker of God, as it were, for that would negate humanity itself. Mary as Theotokos, literally God-bearer, belongs to the gathering into unity of all of the images about Jesus Christ’s divinity and humanity understood in their mutual integrity and revealed to us in Christ. Mary is the chosen vessel of his becoming human and incarnate, that is to say, in the flesh, while remaining absolutely and eternally God. The maker of God to us, it could be said, in ways that belong only to poetic licence.

The emphasis on Mary as Virgin and Mother is the witness of Scripture and Creed to the essential doctrine of the Incarnation and the Trinity; the two are inseparable. Mary plays an essential role in the economy of salvation and in the life of prayer. Her “yes” to God is the inverse and the overcoming of the sin of Adam and Eve. Ave is, as the Fathers note, the reverse of Eve. But she is not passive or unengaged in the work of human redemption. She “conceived by the Holy Ghost”, as the Apostles’ Creed states, yet, in Luke’s account, the Angel clearly says “thou shalt conceive in thy womb and bring forth a Son,” echoing the lesson from Isaiah. She conceived but without the aid of a man. She did not simply receive like a passive vessel, a mere conduit. She is an active agent in the work of human redemption that looks back to creation itself as spoken into existence by God. What comes from God to her is actively embraced and engaged by her. In her “yes” is the proto-evangelium of Genesis fulfilled, a prophecy of the hope and longing for redemption that “her seed shall bruise thy [the serpent’s] head” even as he “shall bruise his heel,”a reference to Christ and his Passion. Nor is this some sort of gnostic deception, a matter of her and our being deceived. Her Annunciation is non recipiet et non decipiet sed concipiet, as Andrewes summarizes.

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“He is the Mediator of the new covenant … by means of death”

Venantius Fortunatus’ hymns, Vexilla Regis and Pange Lingua, were originally written for the commemoration of the relics of the true Cross brought to Poitiers in southern France in the 6th century. They have become an integral part of Passion Sunday which marks the beginning of deep Lent or Passiontide. His hymns are a commentary on the Cross and Passion of Christ particularly as expressed in the readings for this Sunday. They contribute to the Paradox of the Passion that is before us.

In Percy Dearmer’s version of Vexilla Regis, “The Royal Banners forward go,/ the Cross shines forth in mystic glow,/ where he, the Life, did death endure,/ and by that death did life procure … Fulfilled is all his words foretold … He reigns and triumphs from the Tree” (Hymn # 128). The Tree, symbolic of the Cross and Christ’s crucifixion, is not shame or ignominy but “proclaims the Prince of Glory now”. Its branches bear “the priceless treasure, freely spent,/ To pay for man’s enfranchisement.” The Cross is the emblem of salvation, personified in Pange Lingua as the “Faithful Cross … the noblest Tree”, the express “Symbol of the world’s redemption” (Hymn # 129).

The hymns illustrate the meaning of the Passion of Christ. They comment in part on the readings from Hebrews and the Gospel from Matthew today. Hebrews is a theological treatise on the mystery of human redemption concentrated in this passage. Christ is both priest and victim, “the High Priest of good things to come” who “by his own blood entered in once into the holy place, having obtained eternal redemption for us.” By his blood outpoured and his death on the Cross, he is “the Mediator of the new covenant” that “they which are called might receive the promise of eternal inheritance.” He is Mediator not because he stands between but because he unites in himself God and Man. Here is theology in its most proper sense as a form of our thinking upon and engaging with the images that belong to the language of Scripture.

The images in Scripture and hymn highlight the paradox of salvation. The focus is on the Cross, yet in the liturgical traditions, the Altar Cross is veiled, present but not fully seen, there but not fully understood. “We see but in a glass darkly” and yet we see something. “The Cross shines forth in mystic glow,” literally, fulget crucis mysterium. Such is “the mystery of the cross,” but what is at issue is the understanding. We sing in Pange Lingua “that engagement of the struggle glorious” that results in the “triumph on the trophy of the cross” which proclaims “how the world’s redeemer was, sacrificed, victorious.” His kingdom is not a worldly kingdom of human making but the redeeming of our humanity through his embrace of human sin and death. His death is ‘the death of death.’ It makes visible the triumph of life over all and every culture of death such as our own. This is the paradox of death becoming the means to eternal life. How? we might ask.

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