The Vigil

Good Friday sermon: Guilt by Association

Aaron Harvey did not grow up where I did. He grew up in Lincoln Park, in southeast San Diego, the territory of the Lincoln Park Bloods.

Aaron, who is black, grew up with his three siblings just streets away from both sets of grandparents, who had themselves moved into the area with their kids in the 1950s before gangs came to dominate the neighborhood.

By his high school graduation, Aaron had become a documented gang member in the eyes of the state. All such documentation required was three instances of either being seen affiliating with documented gang members; displaying hand gestures affiliated with a gang; frequenting gang areas; wearing gang dress; or having gang tattoos. He had been photographed by police twice for talking with friends who happened to be other documented gang members outside his grandparents’ house, and, on his Facebook page, he had flashed gang signs for the Lincoln Park Bloods, an “L.” Unfortunately for Aaron and many of his now-documented friends, this “L” is also a sign of school pride for the Lincoln High Hornets. And on Facebook he was wearing green -- the color of the Bloods . . . and the Hornets.

Residing in California’s gang database is itself no crime, but it may soon become one. Aaron and fifteen others were arrested and are being tried for “conspiracy” in killings by Lincoln Park Bloods gang members though prosecutors admit that those arrested had nothing to do with and had no knowledge of the crimes. Rather, their conspiracy charges stem from the prosecution’s assertion that these men benefited from the crimes in the form of street cred. While a judge recently dismissed Aaron’s case, it may still be appealed by the District Attorney. Could it be that Aaron’s real crime was growing up in Lincoln Park?

This 27-year old has been stopped by police over fifty times in his life, stops that often involved being handcuffed while waiting in the back of a police car. He has no criminal record.

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Now I’ve been stopped by the police one time in my life, for speeding, but the officer eventually let me go without a ticket. My other encounter with the police came during my senior prank in high school in Rancho San Diego in East County. I helped envision and carry out the plan in which a group of us arrived at school early and parked our cars around the circumference of the parking lot, so that as students arrived they began parking all the way up the emergency access way to the school, creating a traffic nightmare for the sheriff’s deputies to detangle that morning. We blocked access, even emergency access, to a public high school on a school day, and no one got in trouble. It was a good thing Aaron never tried this at Lincoln High.

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In tonight’s Passion story there is an easy-to-miss detail. Jesus has just been arrested, his allies scatter, and only Simon Peter and “another disciple,” whom tradition holds is John, follow to see what would become of their beloved teacher. Apparently John is “known to the high priest,” which gets him and Peter through the gate at the high priest’s residence. Peter is immediately suspected of belonging to Jesus’ troublemaking band, and his denials begin. But where does John go? Why doesn’t anyone question him? Indeed, John disappears from the text as the narrative focuses on Peter’s betrayal and Jesus’ mock trial. It’s easy to imagine John shaking a few hands and sliding easily into the back of the dark room where Jesus is being accused. If he was known to the high priest, surely other rulers and priests associated with the Temple knew him, too.

But what does it mean that John didn’t say a word while he witnessed the hours-long harangues and false testimonies, the internal religious debates and the rulers’ deliberations as to how best to present Jesus as a political threat to the Romans that demanded crucifixion? Could John have used his social influence to stop this building capital case against his Lord? And what does it mean that I didn’t say a word, didn’t show up to the vigil, didn’t even post on Facebook, to support Aaron Harvey as he faced his charges of conspiracy? Could I have joined others in using my social influence to stop the DA’s use of a new guilt-by-association approach to prosecuting documented gang members?

Many of you may not feel that you enjoy the same social privileges that I do as an educated, white, straight, male, American citizen. And most of Jesus’ disciples presumably did not enjoy the social privileges of John. But what did those other disciples say or do in the crowd that morning when Pilate asked which prisoner to release? Did they yell “Crucify him!” too? Surely they were there, feeling safe enough for the moment among the many. What if they had raised their voices together? Perhaps others may have, too?

I wonder if we, together, will raise our voices and our collective social influence to stand against racial bias in our justice system? Will we comprehend the systemic ways the Ferguson police department discriminated against their African American neighbors, will we hear the racist song chanted from a fraternity in Oklahoma, will we see the bus filled with Central American refugee mothers and children turned away in Murrieta as the police did nothing, and will we say, enough? In the name of God, enough!

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We might this time. We might next time. Because there will be a next time. Jesus knew his, and our work, would continue -- which is why from the cross he connected John with Mary, his mother. He knew we’d still need family and friends and that we’d need to muster all the social influence we could as his disciples in the years ahead, for a movement’s power depends on its people -- even the cowardly, the ones who were in the room and remained silent, even those who yelled “Crucify him!” to save their own skins -- even disciples like us.

The fact is, I didn’t speak up for Aaron because I was afraid, I am afraid, to die. I don’t mean this as much in the literal as the figurative sense: I mean I’m afraid of dying to my ego, to my position, to my money, to all that I hold on to when I stay silent, when I do nothing, when I help maintain the status quo that benefits me. Isn’t that the true conspiracy? Isn’t that the true guilt-by-association? Ah, but there are no federal marshals knocking down my door.

No Roman soldiers or Temple police ever came for John, either. Even the one that Jesus called the beloved disciple watched in silence as our Savior was condemned to death. John, too, was afraid to die.

Jesus took up his cross with courage and care, and hung upon it in pain and in love. Under his cross, I find myself next to John and Mary and Aaron Harvey and our District Attorney, seeking healing, seeking salvation. From his cross, Jesus calls us into deeper relationship with each other, for such relationships are the powerful foundation of his movement of love and justice and peace in this hurting world. And because Jesus knew what would happen next, he prayed and is praying for our courage, for it is not easy to make justice whole in this time and place. And on the hard wood of the cross he held up our fear of death in all its forms to see what God would make of it -- what God would make of fear, what God would make of death.

The Rev. Colin Mathewson

Walk with the Suffering Station 15: Hope

Our Dean the Very Rev Penny Bridges offered one of the meditations on the 24th Annual Walk with the Suffering, a down-town Stations of the Cross.  Chris Harris shares his photos to accompany Penny's reflection.

We have come to the final station in our journey, and we are back at the Rescue Mission. Back where we started. estamos de nuevo donde empezamos. Back where Jesus was condemned, where he began his final journey, dismissed, disregarded, despised and rejected. But like any journey, even when we return home, we return changed. Ahora hemos sido transformados. We have walked the way of the Cross. We have entered into the shame and pain of the God-man who was unjustly condemned, tortured, and executed. We have prayed with and for those who are dismissed, disregarded, despised and rejected every day in our own city. We have been changed by our participation. Hemos sido transformados.

Today we have prayed for our city. Hoy hemos orado para nuestra ciudad. This is how prayer works. We may imagine that we pray to change God's mind - to change the behavior of those we condemn, or to change the physical reality of the world. But in fact, our prayer changes us. When we align ourselves with the downtrodden, the abused, the abandoned, we are aligning ourselves with Christ. He looks down from the cross in grief on a world where schoolchildren and college students are massacred, where families risk death to cross borders, where governments seek to destroy their own people. His heart breaks for the world. And when we enter into prayer, when we get a glimpse of the world from the vantage point of the Cross, our hearts are broken open too, and the love of God pours in. While we have returned to the starting point, we are not at the place where we began. We have traveled a spiral, the winding and beautiful shape of the spiritual life. Prayer takes us to a new place. La oracion nos lleva a un nuevo lugar.

At the end of the Good Friday story, Jesus dies and is laid in a tomb in a garden. Not in a desert but in a garden. Gardens are places where life begins and flourishes. A garden is a place, above all, of hope. As an unskilled gardener myself, I depend on hope to overcome my repeated experience of failure. Today we hope. Esperamos. We hope for the renewal of life. We know that this isn't the end of the story. We know that Easter lies ahead, that the tomb will be empty and that love will win the day. Esperamos.

We hope, and we wait, because Good Friday is not the end, it is the beginning. El Viernes Santo no es el fin, pero es el principio. Death, even unjust, unnecessary death, is never the end of the story, but only a gateway to a more abundant life. Love wins the day. The love that brought us here today to pray in community will bring us to new life, new hope, new joy. We wait, because we know Easter is coming. Esperamos, porque sabemos que la Pascua viene.

We wait and we hope. Esperamos. We pray for our city and for our world. Oramos para nuestra ciudad. Our hearts are broken today, but joy lies just ahead. La alegria viene pronto. And we have been changed, hemos sido transformados, by this journey. Thanks be to God. Demos gracias a Dios.

Let us pray.

God of life and hope, we give you thanks for this time of prayer and solidarity. We pray for all those who serve others and for those in need who are served. We pray for those who are overlooked, or rejected, or disrespected. We pray for victims of terrorism, war, famine and drought. We pray that our hearts will be changed and that you will guide us all to work for your Kingdom to be established on earth as it is in heaven. Give us patience and hope, courage and imagination as we seek to be your agents of reconciliation in the world. We ask this in your holy name. Amen.

Good Friday

Maundy Thursday

Tenebrae

Good Friday.

Antonio Ciseri's (1821-1891) depiction of Pontius Pilate presenting a scourged Christ to the people Ecce homo! (Behold the man!). From Wikipedia.  

Serving in the Shadows: Tenebrae from an Acolyte's Perspective

 I may have discovered the best kept secret about serving as an acolyte at St. Paul’s Cathedral.

It was the Wednesday before Easter, when I was asked to serve as an acolyte during the Tenebrae service, which was scheduled to take place in a few short hours. I agreed, even though it meant I had to cancel other plans. I’m glad I did because I received quite a treat.  I showed up at the appointed time and rehearsed with the vergers and acolytes.

During this beautiful service of Tenebrae, which means “shadows” or “darkness” in Latin, the gentlemen of the choir sing in a candlelit cathedral, while the vergers and acolytes extinguish the candles one by one. The service of darkness is a moving and meditative filled with Gregorian chant and readings. The service bulletin said Tenebrae dates back to medieval times and provides an extended meditation on the events in the life of Jesus Christ between the last supper and the resurrection.

 Apart from the singing and reading, the most conspicuous feature of this service is the gradual extinguishing of candles and other lights in the church until just a single is hidden from view. The main candles are situated in an apex-shaped wooden stand that is located right behind the altar. At a critical point toward the end of the service, an acolyte (this year, yours truly) takes the final candle out of its perch and slowly slides down the back of the wooden stand behind the altar, hiding the candle behind it. The candle represents the light of Christ, which was hidden for three days prior to rising again.

There I crouched behind the altar, in the center of the choir, on the floor.

The service bulletin explains that the “musical base of the services is ‘The Lamentations of Jeremiah,’ scored for unaccompanied male voices, altos, tenors and basses, by Thomas Tallis,” the composer for the court of King Henry VIII and his successors. “This work is thought to date from 1585 and is regarded as probably Tallis’ final composition. A highly respected dramatic piece, it contains wonderful melodies, finely wrought counterpoint and surprising dissonances and cross relations. For its wealth of invention and expressive intensity, it is unique not only in Tallis’ repertoire, but in English Renaissance music as a whole.”

 As I crouched in almost complete darkness, I found myself in a prime location for listening. Cascading waterfalls of beautiful counterpoint washed over me in that holy moment, transporting me to transcendent bliss. The five-part choir of male voices flowing over me in the darkness is an experience that defined my Easter. As I struggle with the beliefs of my childhood about Jesus being raised from the dead, and my own journey to be aware of the parts of myself that are in need of resurrection, I accepted as a free gift from God, the melancholic, beautiful voices in the darkness.

 All too soon it was over and I was slowly sliding back to an upright position where I reset the candle in the apex, representing Christ’s resurrection. We exited the Cathedral guided only by the light of that candle.

 Now that’s a good day as an acolyte.

Hannah Wilder

Two Nights in Church

I know the hymn by heart. It’s one that we repeated during my youth as the ‘Communion Hymn’, but to a different tune than we find in the Episcopal Hymnal 1982. Now when I sing it at St. Paul’s, I show off by not referring to the hymnbook for any of its stanzas, amazing anyone standing beside me. Once someone asked me if I knew all of the hymns by heart, having watched and heard me sing every word of “When I Survey the Wondrous Cross” from memory and without a single mistake.

Showing off like that is a trap. I’m concentrating so much on getting the words right that I don’t pay much attention to what they mean.

That is, until two nights ago during Good Friday Service.

There is something so startling, so profoundly frightening and horrifying, so undeniably heart-wrenching when the ‘the wood of the cross’ is brought before us and then allowed to hit the bottom of its stand with a great and booming thud. It was as if I could feel the pain of that moment when ‘the young prince of Glory’ must have felt unutterable agony as the weight of his own body tore at the nails that restrained him.

It is a moment in the service that rips at every emotion, that breaks down every barrier that I like to think I have set up between me and real feelings, that dissolves before my eyes all that I imagine is so very precious in my pompous life, and at that moment, I ‘pour contempt on all my pride.’ I was reduced to tears, not only because I shared his agony, but because I saw my own.

It has taken me some time over the nearly thirty years of being an Episcopalian to come to terms with some of the church’s rituals, but when I went forward and touched the wood of the cross, kneeling in tears before what it represented, all notions of being aloof and decidedly outside that particular ritual vanished, and I didn’t care who saw my naked emotions displayed. They were honest ones, and they had two parts.

“See from his head, his hands, his feet, sorry and love flow mingled down!” That line from the hymn only begins to describe the violence and cruelty, not to to speak of the unutterable pain from a beating that likely tore off a great deal of his skin (see Mel Gibson’s The Passion of The Christ for a graphic portrayal of how Roman executions took place), and then to be nailed to the cross, naked (yes, naked. That loin cloth that shows up in art to cover Jesus’ private parts wouldn’t have been allowed according to Roman sources that describe the procedure), all concentrated my vision of what he gave up, the sacrifice he willingly made. It is the horror that is recreated in the darkened church on Good Friday when ‘the wood of the cross’ makes that horrifying thud that brings the finality of death to reality.

But it is a good death, mine I mean. I feel the passing away of attitudes and notions that I have built into the walls and cornerstones of my life, and I watch them crumble. Verse 3 of the hymn comes back to me: “Did ere such love and sorrow meet, or thorns compose so rich a crown?” Now I am glad that my memory serves me, and instead of showing off to a pew-mate, the words sink into my mind, and I cannot stop the tears. Unabashedly weeping.

The second part waited until Easter Vigil when we celebrate the new fire of resurrection, and I couple the scene of death on Good Friday with the joy of Easter. Just as there are many kinds of death, even as we live on, there are many kinds of resurrections. My own and therefore immediate sense of resurrection continues to happen as my body heals from a car accident. I have already commented about the love displayed toward me by my church family and others not in the church, and that too is a kind of resurrection, one of my being reminded of how love works.

If St. Paul did not believe in the bodily resurrection of Jesus, and many scholars agree that he did not, he did affirm that the resurrection occurred in a way that transforms us, and I adhere to what he says. I feel daily the resurrection of my healing, and although I suffered something of a severe spasm during the Easter Vigil and had to be brought a cushion, I know that my healing goes on, and that I get stronger every day.

All we have to do is allow ourselves to die to our pride, or sense of self, our puffed up ways of thinking about other people, our barriers that prevent us from seeing the possibility of love. I let myself die two nights ago in the presence of the wood of the cross, and I acknowledge a resurrection that was celebrated last night, but only one of many resurrections that happen every day, allowing me to bask in a love ‘so amazing so divine, (that it) demands my soul, my life, my all.”


Robert Heylmun
Easter Day 2012

EASTER

When the sabbath was over, Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James, and Salome bought spices, so that they might go and anoint Jesus. And very early on the first day of the week, when the sun had risen, they went to the tomb. They had been saying to one another, "Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb?" When they looked up, they saw that the stone, which was very large, had already been rolled back. As they entered the tomb, they saw a young man, dressed in a white robe, sitting on the right side; and they were alarmed. But he said to them, "Do not be alarmed; you are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has been raised; he is not here. Look, there is the place they laid him. But go, tell his disciples and Peter that he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him, just as he told you." So they went out and fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.

Mark 16:1-8

ANGELICO, Fra

Resurrection of Christ and Women at the Tomb  1440-42 

Convento di San Marco, Florence

Web Gallery of Art

Good Friday

Jesus went out with his disciples across the Kidron valley to a place where there was a garden, which he and his disciples entered. Now Judas, who betrayed him, also knew the place, because Jesus often met there with his disciples. So Judas brought a detachment of soldiers together with police from the chief priests and the Pharisees, and they came there with lanterns and torches and weapons. Then Jesus, knowing all that was to happen to him, came forward and asked them, "Whom are you looking for?" They answered, "Jesus of Nazareth." Jesus replied, "I am he." Judas, who betrayed him, was standing with them. When Jesus said to them, "I am he," they stepped back and fell to the ground. Again he asked them, "Whom are you looking for?" And they said, "Jesus of Nazareth." Jesus answered, "I told you that I am he. So if you are looking for me, let these men go." This was to fulfill the word that he had spoken, "I did not lose a single one of those whom you gave me." Then Simon Peter, who had a sword, drew it, struck the high priest's slave, and cut off his right ear. The slave's name was Malchus. Jesus said to Peter, "Put your sword back into its sheath. Am I not to drink the cup that the Father has given me?"

                                                                                                                        John 18:1-19:42

CARAVAGGIO

Taking of Christ c. 1598

 National Gallery of Ireland, Dublin

Web Gallery of Art

 

Maundy Thursday

And during supper Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands, and that he had come from God and was going to God, got up from the table, took off his outer robe, and tied a towel around himself. Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples' feet and to wipe them with the towel that was tied around him. ....

After he had washed their feet, had put on his robe, and had returned to the table, he said to them, "Do you know what I have done to you? You call me Teacher and Lord--and you are right, for that is what I am. So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another's feet. For I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you. Very truly, I tell you, servants are not greater than their master, nor are messengers greater than the one who sent them. If you know these things, you are blessed if you do them.


John 13:1-5, 12-17

TINTORETTO

Christ Washing the Feet of His Disciples (detail) c. 1547

Museo del Prado, Madrid

Web Gallery of Art

Tenebrae

At supper with his friends, Jesus was troubled in spirit, and declared, "Very truly, I tell you, one of you will betray me." The disciples looked at one another, uncertain of whom he was speaking. One of his disciples-- the one whom Jesus loved-- was reclining next to him; Simon Peter therefore motioned to him to ask Jesus of whom he was speaking. So while reclining next to Jesus, he asked him, "Lord, who is it?" Jesus answered, "It is the one to whom I give this piece of bread when I have dipped it in the dish." So when he had dipped the piece of bread, he gave it to Judas son of Simon Iscariot. After he received the piece of bread, Satan entered into him. Jesus said to him, "Do quickly what you are going to do." Now no one at the table knew why he said this to him. Some thought that, because Judas had the common purse, Jesus was telling him, "Buy what we need for the festival"; or, that he should give something to the poor. So, after receiving the piece of bread, he immediately went out. And it was night.

                                   John 13:21-32

From Wikipedia:  Tenebrae (Latin for 'shadows' or 'darkness') is a Christian religious service celebrated by the Western Church on the evening before or early morning of Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and Holy Saturday, which are the last three days of Holy Week. The distinctive ceremony of Tenebrae is the gradual extinguishing of candles while a series of readings and psalms are chanted or recited.


Art:
LEONARDO da Vinci
Head of Judas
Musées de Strasbourg, Strasbourg

Soup's on! New recipe page.

After Maundy Thursday, there was a simple yet sumptuous meal of home-made soup in the Great Hall. The wide variety was impressive, and very tasty! People at the tables were comparing favorites and asking for recipes and it was suggested that we collect and share those recipes.

Thus is born the blog Soup Recipe Page! If you made a soup for Maundy Thursday, or if you have one you WOULD make if you had a chance, please send it to the blog at stpaulblog@gmail.com along with a picture of yourself. We'll add it to the soup page, which will be accessed via a tab at the top of the blog.

There is something so communal and comforting in a hot bowl of soup, don't you think?

Easter Vigil

O God, through your Son you have bestowed upon your people the brightness of your light: Sanctify this new fire, and grant that in this Paschal feast we may so burn with heavenly desires, that with pure minds we may attain to the festival of everlasting light; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Book of Common Prayer

Good Friday

Then he delivered Him to them to be crucified. Then they took Jesus and led Him away. And He, bearing His cross, went out to a place called the Place of a Skull, which is called in Hebrew, Golgotha, where they crucified Him, and two others with Him, one on either side, and Jesus in the center.
John 19 16-18

Maundy Thursday

The Lord Jesus, after he had supped with his disciples and had washed their feet, said to them, "Do you know what I, your Lord and Master, have done to you? I have given you an example, that you should do as I have done."

Peace is my last gift to you, my own peace I now leave with you; peace which the world cannot give, I give to you.

I give you a new commandment: Love one another as I have loved you.

Peace is my last gift to you, my own peace I now leave with you; peace which the world cannot give, I give to you.

By this shall the world know that you are my disciples: That you have love for one another.

Book of Common Prayer

Ashes, Easter and Remembering

I recently had the joy of meeting with an elderly member of St Paul’s who can’t come to church due to her inability to drive. She lives alone, surrounded by pictures of SPC and former clergy of the cathedral on her walls that date back at least 50 years. Her love and caring for our church home jumped out at me immediately upon entering her living room. These photos help her remember how she was and still is connected to the cathedral over many, many years of history and changes.

This lady was instrumental in establishing the Columbarium many years ago and told me she has reserved a spot for her ashes there when she dies. When I spoke with her earlier this week, she told me she wants her ashes to reside high above the other spots where no one will be able to see her plot or inscription. The reason for this, she told me, is that she has no family or close friends left anymore who would want to visit her or remember her when entering or exiting the cathedral. She went on to tell me that from this high point in the columbarium, she will be able to gaze down on everyone in her beloved cathedral, giving her much joy and pleasure for as long as the building stands.

Upon hearing this, my eyes teared up, I couldn’t talk, and the lady asked me if I was still there on the phone. After a minute or so, I replied that she had just told me something very dear and meaningful that I would never forget about selflessness and love.

Forgetting is something I am painfully aware of this week. You see, I just experienced a rather serious incident while landing my plane over in Borrego Springs on Palm Sunday. I had attended services at St Paul’s that morning and received a call from my mother that I needed to get down to the desert earlier than I thought for my aunt’s birthday party. Because I was in a rush to get there on time from San Diego, I jumped in the plane at Montgomery field and took off right after church on Palm Sunday. During my approach to the little Borrego airport, I forgot to extend my landing gear and heard the awful grinding scrape of metal on asphalt runway as the plane touched down. In my haste, I had forgotten to use my checklist for landing and failed to pull the switch to extend the landing gear. This is the first incident I have experienced like this in over 40 years of aviation and flying. It was, to say the least, extremely embarrassing and humiliating since I had to spend about 5 hours dealing with the FAA and NTSB that same day.

Today I am dealing with feelings about both literal and figurative ashes. My contact with a dear member of our cathedral has taught me a lesson about memory and remembering, which contrasts so starkly with my own forgetfulness while flying. This woman is a blessing and gift which have caused me to pause, slow down and catch my breath. Ashes remind us not only of our own mortality, but also of our humanity, stupidity and carelessness while we are still alive in this world of ours.

I find myself today still in Ash Wednesday, hearing the words “Remember you are dust and to dust you shall return”. No one can dispute this fact – whether believer, atheist or agnostic. Ashes are not a tenet of faith, but rather a sad, sober, and sometimes depressing fact of our lives which we forget so much of the time.

It is difficult to approach Easter Sunday for me this week. The idea of the resurrection seems so far away and difficult to believe in. It is hard for me to understand what people mean when they say to me, George - “I believe in the literal, physical resurrection of Jesus”. All I can do is re-read the Gospel account and ponder it in my heart – hoping that one day, I will fully understand what it’s all about.

In the final analysis, I have only two guides to help me understand and grapple with the meaning of Easter Sunday: my new friend’s firm belief and faith that she will be looking down on all of us from her elevated plot in the Columbarium after her death, and the Gospel story itself of Easter morning which relates God’s promise to us of His assurance of eternal Life.

My goal this week and for the rest of my life is not to forget again. To remember to use checklists, and to recall (after forgetting again) the promise of new life through Jesus’ death and resurrection. I think I realize this week how critically important both of these are to me now.

George Kuhrts

Palm Sunday

A very large crowd spread their cloaks on the road, and others cut branches from the trees and spread them on the road. The crowds that went ahead of him and that followed were shouting,
"Hosanna to the Son of David!
Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!
Hosanna in the highest heaven!"

When he entered Jerusalem, the whole city was in turmoil, asking, "Who is this?"

The crowds were saying, "This is the prophet Jesus from Nazareth in Galilee."

Matthew 21:8-11

Photos from Palm Sunday 2011 on the Cathedral flicker Site

Good Friday

So they took Jesus; and carrying the cross by himself, he went out to what is called The Place of the Skull, which in Hebrew is called Golgotha. There they crucified him, and with him two others, one on either side, with Jesus between them. Pilate also had an inscription written and put on the cross. It read, "Jesus of Nazareth, the King of the Jews." Many of the Jews read this inscription, because the place where Jesus was crucified was near the city; and it was written in Hebrew, in Latin, and in Greek. Then the chief priests of the Jews said to Pilate, "Do not write, 'The King of the Jews,' but, 'This man said, I am King of the Jews.'" Pilate answered, "What I have written I have written."

John 18.



Hieronymous Bosch, Christ Carrying the Cross, 1485-1490