The woman who defied the empire

Love versus hate. Resilience versus fragility. Strength versus weakness. Loyalty versus treachery. Hope versus despair.

During the upcoming popular and liturgical celebrations of the Feast of Our Lady of Sorrows this Friday, and the Passion and Resurrection of the Lord the following week, we will continuously oscillate between these opposing, powerful emotions.

Given that, during these celebrations, many will be consumed by pity for the suffering Jesus, why is ‘pity’ absent from the list I just proposed? The reason is simple: these celebrations are not about pity. Pity is often reserved for losers but Jesus is no loser. On these sacred days for all Christians, we do not commemorate His defeat as defeat there was not; but we celebrate His victory – and ours, if we follow Him.

When faced with the women of Jerusalem weeping and pitying him, Jesus was not appreciative. He retorted: “Do not weep for me, but weep for yourselves and for your children.” In contrast, He was more appreciative of Veronica, as communicated to us in an extra-biblical story. Veronica rose above pity by taking concrete action.

On that fateful Friday, one woman defied the mighty Roman Empire and risked the wrath of the Jewish establishment. She pushed through the crowds and ignored the commands of Roman soldiers ordering her not to approach the condemned person. Veronica approached Jesus and wiped His face, offering Him a few moments of solace through her tender, loving care. She could not stop the injustice but she refused to be complicit in it. Her courage to stand up and be counted was both an act of human mercy and political defiance.

The legendary Veronica reminds me of the many modern-day Veronicas who courageously defy evil and cruel institutions. I hold dear the images of those who rebelled against Vladimir Putin’s murderous regime by placing flowers on the tomb of the martyred Alexei Navalny. Theirs was a simple yet momentous gesture as the regime knew the deeper significance of their rebellious action.

The Roman, Jewish and Russian regimes sought to erase their victims from memory. Yet, both Veronica and those placing flowers on Navalny’s tomb sent a clear message to the oppressors: “You can kill his body but his soul keeps marching on.” Their action also meant: “We will continue the mission.”

This is the mettle of those millions who truly care for justice, even at personal sacrifice. They act, even if their actions are symbolic and, for the cynics, useless. Others, of weaker mettle, cry, pity and offer countless excuses for inaction. They justify their passivity with reasons like family, jobs, societal status or financial obligations. By their ignoble silence, they provide the building blocks that the unjust and the corrupt use to construct their edifice.

Veronica was not alone. His mother, along with other women and John, walked with Him, publicly shamed by the powerful who believed that their word was the final word and that His story would be buried under the dust of history. How wrong they were!

Pontius Pilate is the eternal example of the horrors of populism that plague modern society- Fr Joe Borg

It is consoling and heartening to know that the Passion and Resurrection story – as well as its continuation in contemporary society – is not reserved for heroes alone.

Pontius Pilate eternally represents contemporary politicians or public officials who trade principles for the comfort of power. Pilate bowed to populism but, today, many politicians foment it to stay in power. Pilate is, thus, the eternal example of the horrors of populism that plague modern society.

The crowds symbolise the multitudes who allow themselves to be manipulated, though, sometimes, they manipulate others. They may fall prey to politicians, media personalities, religious leaders, or, unwittingly, even to the AI algorithms which shepherd the crowds into think-alike silos. They let themselves be used to hurl insult, abuse and hate on whoever does not agree with them. Just scroll down Facebook to get the feel of what I mean.

Judas serves as a perpetual reminder of the corrupting power of money. Sometimes it’s vast wealth; at other times, it’s smaller perks and benefits. Millions today suffer hunger and all sorts of pain because the wealthiest man in the world’s richest country chose to serve a president, halting aid to the poorest of the poor. Even Judas might have balked at such evil.

The Passion story also has a place for us Peters – we who love the Lord but falter on our way and publicly deny Him. Acknowledging our sins allows us to savour the goodness of God’s loving mercy.

The climax of the Passion story is the Resurrection: the victory of light over darkness, love over hate, conviction over convenience. Because this is an eminently religious story, it is also an exceedingly political story. It is here and now that we start the construction of a society worthy of the children of God.

Are these just well-meaning but inane dreams? I do not think so. Is it not true that the Roman Empire, built on force and violence, no longer exists while the community Jesus founded on love and forgiveness now numbers 2.38 billion people?

What I am proposing is a re-reading of the events of 2,000 years ago to gain a deeper understanding.

What we celebrate is not merely (or mainly) a commemoration of a past event. It is a programme for living today our humanity inspired by Christianity.

Christ is not the past. He is the present and the future of humanity.

You do not have to be as brave as the woman who defied the empire. But if you want to make Him your present and your future, you cannot be neutral when faced by injustice, hate, corruption and discrimination.