THE PASSION AND THE FURY

Yesterday, we spent the better part of our day scouting movie theaters for the first available screening of Mel Gibson's controversial movie, "The Passion of the Christ".

Our first stop was Brenden Theater in downtown Modesto. We got there at 2:50 PM, well before the 3:20 matinee, but the long lines told us everything we had to know. Even at that early hour, the 3:20 and 4:20 shows were already sold out. We bought tickets for the next available screening, which wasn't until 6:20 that evening, and resigned ourselves to finding other things to do to while away the time.

My husband, Lorenzo, wanted to go home to find me something else to wear. This little outing was a big deal to us, our first date in what seems to be ages. Unfortunately, I had to dress for it hurriedly because his sister, Selina, and her husband, Gino, arrived early for our double date. Lorenzo was in the process of picking out a nice maternity outfit for me when they rang the bell, and I knew he was somewhat piqued at their promptness. I was tickled pink at my husband's concern. Since our relationship started, he had always looked to me as his fashion consultant. It was nice to be at the receiving end for a change. Sadly, our two companions didn't seem to be too receptive to the idea of going all the way home for a wardrobe change. Oh well...

Instead I suggested that we check out other movie houses in the area for an earlier show. The second theater we went to wasn't much better. They were all sold out until the 9PM screening. There was one last place left, another Cineplex down the road, in the nearby town of Riverbank. We got there at 3:30, and snatched up 4 tickets for the 4:55 matinee. We called up Brenden, and upon being assured we could return our tickets for a full cash refund, settled in for mochas at the JavaStar house cafe.

We didn't get to sip our lattes at leisure. Even before the clock struck four, the line outside Theater 9 had already snaked its way past us. We reluctantly left our table and joined the queue. Lorenzo gallantly told his sister and me to sit at a nearby bench while he held our place in line. Gino went to the concession stand to buy hot dogs, popcorn and sodas. We ended up eating our movie fare even before the movie started, but considering how much blood and gore we were exposed to during the film, I was glad we ate early.

At about ten minutes to five, people started emptying out into the hallway from Theater 9. I figured these were viewers from the last screening of "Passion", but I had to be sure.

I flagged a woman passing in front of me. "Excuse me," I asked, "what movie did you see?"

"Jesus," she replied. Close enough. At least our long wait was over. In a few minutes, we would be filing into the theater and witnessing the most talked-about movie these days. I turned an observing eye at the slow procession in front of me. Most of the women were red-eyed. I check our concession box for napkins, and see a huge wad between the popcorn and the soda. Good. We were covered in that department.

The people were still coming out of the theater. I stopped another woman and asked her another question: "Was it violent?" I had heard conflicting reports about the movie, and I wanted a first-hand account. As I expected, a quick "yes" was the reply.

I was getting more curious by the second. The question that was REALLY uppermost in my mind was "Is the movie anti-Semitic?" but this was hardly the most PC of questions. Instead, I formulated a more innocuous question:

"Did you think it was an accurate representation of the Historic Christ?"

I was scanning the faces to fish out the random bible scholar and was about to flag my next respondent when my sister-in-law hissed something in my ear. "Sandali na lang, bibigyan na kita ng mike!" I guess I was getting carried away with all my queries. I had to remind myself that I wasn't a news personality anymore. My days of polling vox populi were over.

The long line started moving forward. With a sigh of relief, we joined our husbands and filed into Theater 9. After choosing plum seats toward the rear, we settled in for the show.

What we witnessed was a re-enactment of Jesus' last day. And through it all, the blood and gore escalated, from His betrayal at the Garden of Gethsemane to His crucifixion at the cross of Calvary.

It was a well-made and well-acted film. But having said that, there were still a few things about the movie that bothered me.

First of all, I came out of the experience remarkably untouched. Sure, I shed a few tears during the most brutal sequences, what self-professed Christian wouldn't? But somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew that Jim Caviezel wasn't really getting the beating of the century. I could envision various alalays running to his aid to wipe the fake blood and gore off as soon as Mel Gibson yelled, "CUT!" It also bothered me that every time I saw that creepy-looking actor who portrayed Satan, I was reminded of Marilyn Manson. Frankly, I WANTED to be moved by the whole thing. I wanted to feel what my Mother felt when we watched "Jesus of Nazareth", shamelessly crying and holding us close during that infamous baby-killing scene.

Actually, to be totally fair, I DID have one such moment. Amid all the violence, one simple scene stayed in my mind, made more remarkable by the very absence of blood and gore. It was Mary's flashback sequence, when she ran to her child, Jesus, after he fell. As a mother, this image brought out the most primal protective instinct from within me. The child-actor they used was also tow-headed like my baby boy, Troy. I could imagine my sweet toddler stumbling and hurting himself, and I wanted to beam myself out of that theater so I could protect Troy from ever falling, carrying my beloved baby in my arms for the rest of his life if need be.

(Moved by motherly urges, I called my babysitter, Brenda, on the cell, and asked about my precious boys. To my relief, they were fine. I told her not to let them run around anyway, just for good measure.)

I admire Mel Gibson, who once again shows his mettle as a director, and Jim Caviezel, whose versatility and range is unquestioned. I did not think the movie was anti-Semitic. In fact, for a religious movie, Gibson does not proselytize, and for that he deserves kudos. Instead, the director took on the role of objective reporter, showing events as they happened without sugar-coating the nasty stuff. If the Jews who favor boycotting the film think otherwise, they can just deal with it. They cannot change the facts: Jesus was born a Jew, raised a Jew, and was condemned to death by His very own people, who refused to believe He was the Moshiach (Messiah) sent to deliver them to the Promised Land. To this day, many people of Jewish faith are still waiting for their Moshiach to enter the gates of Jerusalem in a white horse. What the movie tells them, in essence, is that they've already missed the boat. And they do not like to hear this, especially coming from goyim (Gentiles) like Mel Gibson.

I know what I'm talking about because I, too, was once married to a Jewish man, and our son is still being raised in a proper Jewish manner. In a couple of years, Max will be having his Bar Mitzvah, and I will be part of the ceremony, because I am his mother. Apart from that, I have always had qualms about raising my child in a religion that looks at Jesus Christ as a mere mortal. A Holy Man, a Prophet even, but not the one and only Messiah.

Such is the basis of all the controversy surrounding the film. Still, there is no denying that this movie, which has raised so much passion and fury, is Oscar material. However, that also spells out its largest limitation. With all the research behind it, I'm sure it's by far the most realistic film portrayal of what happened the day Jesus died. But with all the hue and cry, all the boycotts and ballyhoos, it is, after all, only a movie. And if you really think about it, can a reenactment of an event over twenty centuries past really be that accurate?

I know it sounds pretty jaded, but I don't need a big-budget cinematic version of Jesus' last day to remind me of His ultimate sacrifice. Quite frankly, I have felt more moving experiences while singing His praises in church. It was that profound, "make-your-skin-crawl" feeling of awe I was expecting to feel, but didn't quite achieve while watching the movie. If anything, the graphic depiction of violence demeaned the whole experience, trivializing the very Passion which the director hoped to convey. I don't need to see each open wound, each lash of the whip, each slow tormented step down the Via Dolorosa, in order to feel the extent of His suffering. I don't need a Hollywood movie to remind me. I already knew this when I accepted Him as my personal Lord and Savior. And when I was baptized by immersion, in accordance with His commandment, I symbolically died with Him and was resurrected with Him. Now THAT'S a moving experience.

If anything, I hope the Lord uses this movie as a tool to touch the lives of those who have yet to hear His most important message: The only way to the Father is through the Son. In Christ ALONE can we find salvation. I hope this movie moves people to read more about Jesus' life, His teachings, and the main reason for His death, "so that whosoever believeth in Him shall not perish, but have everlasting life." (John 3:16)

You can look this up in the best resource material the Lord provided us, the Holy Bible. Sure, the Good Book, which predates that first Good Friday by many millenia, is also said to be based partly on conjecture. But Christians the world over have that one all-important ingredient to fill in the gaps in credibility.

It's called FAITH.