The story of the Passion is so familiar, so overpowering, that usually I have little to say about it, feeling that I can have nothing to add that is new, and not wanting to simply repeat old platitudes. It is for this reason that I was happy this year to acknowledge the season without venturing to say too much on my own account, by simply running pointers to Kittredge Cherry’s series at Jesus in Love. However, a funny thing happened, while doing so - I developed some ideas of my own, which while not new (how many ideas are?), are new to me, and have dominated my reflections for the past day or two. These ideas, which come from a few verses in Matthew’s passion that are familiar but often overlooked, I now share with you.

“The Temple Veil Was Torn”: An End to Religious Caste and Rule Books

For the first of these, the spark came from an observation by Fr Tony Lester in his Palm Sunday homily in Soho last week, referring to the climactic moment of the passion. We all remember about the earthquake and the darkness, but he drew our attention to a little feature that we know, but overlook:

⁵¹ At that moment the curtain of the temple was torn in two from top to bottom. - Matt 57:51

What he emphasised, which modern Christians easily overlook, is that this veil was keeping secluded innermost holy of holies, accessible only by the High Priest on the holiest days of the year. At this moment, the precise instant of Christ’s death, the veil which kept it isolated and removed from the people, was destroyed as a barrier.

As I reflect on this further, I am struck by how the Jewish religious establishment had become obsessed with religious castes and purity and religious rules, symbolised by the elaborate rules around the temple and the veil. In his life, Jesus replaced these artificial constructs with a more important, far simpler doctrine of love. In doing so, he was challenging the status and privilege of the religious establishment - which is why he got up their noses so much that they had to put an end to him. Seen from this perspective, the rending of the veil becomes an enormously powerful and hopeful symbol: at the precise moment of the death on the cross, which was intended to preserve the trappings of the priestly caste and their rules - their symbols are most dramatically destroyed.

The early Christians followed Jesus in their inclusivity, welcome to all, and emphasis on community over doctrine and rank - but those who have acquired power in the Church have steadily sought to re-establish precisely the same kind of authoritarian, rule-book religion that the passion destroyed, and to reinstate a dual caste system: the familiar priestly caste with its layers of clerical and episcopal rank, and a sexual caste system that places (celibate) prelates at the apex of purity, followed by lay virgins, then fertile married couples, and sexual transgressors way down below. The challenge that we face, inspired by the rending of the temple veil, is to challenge the Church to set aside these artificial constructs, and re-establish the kind of Church that Christ left behind - not the one that he resisted.

When I shared a first draft of these thoughts with my colleague Bart, he responded with some words I would like to share, in turn, with you:

Way back in my theology days I had come across this fantastic book written if I’m not mistaken by Germain Grisez (working on the thoughts of René Girard) all about the book of Hebrews and the contrasting paradigms between the Old and the New Testaments…… I would say that the key paradigm shift is that regarding holiness. The requirement of holiness changes dramatically from old to new, and the rending of the veil is THE symbol of this paradigm shift. If holiness (wholeness, remember?) is the desired final state for humankind, the how-to-go-about-it is so different from old to new that that is why I wonder if the old was just there to make the new stand in sharp relief.

Holiness in the OT is understood in terms of separation, which in turn is gained by an ever more complex system of rites and laws (whence: The Law). The end result is disastrous as more and more persons are shoved out of the Temple (the earthly abode of a holy God). Holiness in the NT is another thing altogether. The opposite is true, that is, that a Holy God jumps the gap to reach out to humankind - in love. So love becomes the new paradigm; not separation, not ritual purity, not caste, not the Law. NT holiness is embracing of the other, of the different, of the unhuggable, the queer, the “unclean”. In the act of embracing the other, Love changes the other and makes him/her whole/holy.

The Dead Awaken, the Resurrection Begins

The second part of my reflection came from the verses that immediately follow the one quoted above, and likewise a verse that is familiar, but often overlooked.

The earth shook, the rocks split ⁵² and the tombs broke open. The bodies of many holy people who had died were raised to life. ⁵³ They came out of the tombs after Jesus’ resurrection and^[e] went into the holy city and appeared to many people. - Matt 57:52 - 53.

For Jesus Christ, we celebrate the resurrection on the third day - but for the wider community, resurrection began at the precise moment of Christ’s death: in the midst of death, is life. For queer Christians, it is common to see in the passion and death of Jesus a mirror our own persecution by civil and religious authorities. This is visually presented to us Blanchard, as shared with us at Jesus in Love, and is told in words by several writers, some of which I discussed earlier today.

For now though, I want to concentrate on the Good News behind the passion, even without waiting for the more usual celebration of the Resurrection on Easter Sunday.

As the verses from Matthew show, the resurrection of the church begins at the moment of Christ’s death. Responding to my thoughts, Bart referred me to John’s Gospel:

That is precisely the point John makes in his gospel, and the basis for what is called Johannine theology. John sees in the pouring out of water and blood from Jesus’ side on the Cross the birth/baptism of the Church, the giving of the Holy Spirit being hidden in John’s ever mysterious turns of phrase: “he bowed his head and gave up his spirit” (Jn 19:30). Scripture scholars today point to John’s gospel as the gospel that rolls into one Jesus’ death, resurrection, ascension and giving of the Spirit. It’s as if they all took place in one event. Thus, there’s no real time-lapse.

- and this resurrection for the Church occurs by sweeping away the old, creaking structure of religious (and sexual) castes and the complex rule-based religion, to be replaced by a community of believers and a Gospel of love.

Physical, emotional and spiritual violence against queer men and women continues, as we know, in many forms and many places, even today: but in these acts of crucifixion too, there is resurrection. Every act of violence produces a reaction, and strengthens our will and ability to resist - and frequently brings us straight allies. Thomas Bohache has drawn a connection between the crucifixion and the death of Matthew Shepard - but contends that

there was “something redemptive” in Matthew’s experience, inasmuch as it did not go unnoticed….. The horror and brutality of his death, the perpetrators’ insistence that he “had it coming” because he had “come on” to them, and the media circus created by the hate-mongers at his funeral, served to bring the issue of queer-bashing into the public consciousness.

-Bohache, ”Matthew”, in The Queer Bible Commentary

The Queer Lesson in the Resurrection

There are many ways in which queer Christians have suffered death at the hands of the powerful in the churches, either directly or indirectly. This has been literal, in the form of the persecution by the Inquisition and later, and in modern times in the Nazi gay holocaust, countless queer bashing murders under the cover of religious righteousness, and the suicides of gay teens which have been provoked by religious hatred. It has also been figurative, as the death by silencing of our community, our acquiescence in invisibility in church, and the spiritual suicides that have been provoked by religious guilt, leading us to deny and suppress our emotional lives.

We can do nothing about the physical deaths that have already occurred, but we can and must do something about the figurative deaths, and the potential (but preventable) physical deaths to come. We as a community must resist our continuing murder, and force out resurrection. We must find new life, becoming visible and making our voices heard. Following our resurrection, that is we must follow the example of the dead who were awakened and the moment of Christ’s death: like them, we must go into the holy city (of the church), and appear to many people. We must insist that the veil has indeed been torn, there are no more deep divisions of caste in the church, neither clerical nor sexual.

Like Nehemiah, we must rebuild God’s church. Like the disciples on the journey back from Emmaus, we must take the Gospel message of love and inclusion back to the priestly castes and rule-book Christians who have obscured it.

We must tear, again, the veil.