Belief

It has always struck me that the Easter week fills the role of 'pagan fertility rite' very well. It is uncannily resonant (if not downright consonant in parts) with Robert Burns's version of the old British folksong, John Barleycorn, for example.

I have seen many movies of the crucifixion before, some compassionate, some agonized (or agonizing), some artistic, and some all of the above. To me, the best representations are those that don't highlight the gore and bloodshed. They cut to the essence of it; the sacrifice of the holy for the unhallowed.

I have good historical reasons for feeling this way. If we were to be historically accurate (for example) about pre-industrial England, we'd have to put more horseshit on the ground than can be found in any film. You wouldn't be able to see Sherlock and Watson in the London fog. And Arthur's brave defence of Celtic Britain would be bogged down by poor equine breeding stock. The story of the Christ doesn't need historical accuracy because no matter how much gore we put in (yes, we know about Roman crucifixions) the blood on-screen cannot sanctify the story any more than it is already sanctified.

John's gospel puts in succinctly. At the end of John's account of the latter part of Easter week, he says that what has been written is 'that you might believe.' That is all there is; the crucifixion and burial occupy a scant, terse 26 verses or so. Read the account yourself to see the difference between Bible and Hollywood.

Hence I am going to go out on the limb of a tree and say this: the accounts given are terse for a reason. They do not sensationalise because of two reasons: 1) it is not necessary to do so - the story speaks for itself; 2) it is not possible to deliver the true impact of Jesus' death and its aftermath, no matter how hard you try. Emotional impact, yes. Spiritual impact, no. The problem is that the former can act as a counterfeit for the latter, and it often does.

So away with all these gloomy meditations on the death of Jesus of Nazareth. "He is not here; He is risen!" says the Good Book. It is a time of joy. With the brethren of the Eastern Churches, we should greet each other thus:

"Χριστος ἀνεστη !"
Christ is risen!

And the response is "Ἀληθως ἀνεστη !"
In truth, (He is) risen.

The Greater Trumps: (18) The Hanged Man

There is a mighty cross in a still place. A man (a Fool?) dangles from it by one foot, with his other ankle tucked behind the suspended knee. On his face is a look of utter calm, total peace. Sometimes, his arms are folded, sometimes they dangle. His pockets are emptying themselves of coins and the other debris one normally finds in pockets. Some of the fallen pieces have begun to form words on the ground, but none of them are readable as yet.

The Hanged Man will depend from his cross for nine days. On the ninth day, he will find Wisdom, say the old myths. Some say he will be harvested, like John Barleycorn. Some say he will gain the knowledge of the future, like Odin on Yggdrasil. Whatever it is, the enlightenment of the Hanged Man is the reason for his odd position, suspended between heaven and earth. With his suspension, he loses his cares and his coins, and comes to be at rest.

This image symbolises Sacrifice - the surrender of all earthly attachments and perspectives. It also symbolises Insight, for the Hanged Man sees himself endlessly, at the centre of the universe for a brief instant before he falls into the sea of knowledge.

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The Hanged Man has always been at or near the centre of the Greater Trumps. I think of this image a lot - the 'surrender that leads to serenity' is what comes to my mind. Yet the Hanged Man isn't hanging there to escape, or to have fun. He is hanging there in order to gain knowledge from the loss of his material attachments. It's hard work.

Here's something from one of my favourite poems, T S Eliot's The Waste Land:

Madame Sosostris, famous clairvoyante,
Had a bad cold, nevertheless
Is known to be the wisest woman in Europe,
With a wicked pack of cards. Here, said she,
Is your card, the drowned Phoenician Sailor,
(Those are pearls that were his eyes. Look!)
Here is Belladonna, the Lady of the Rocks,
The lady of situations.
Here is the man with three staves, and here the Wheel,
And here is the one-eyed merchant, and this card,
Which is blank, is something he carries on his back,
Which I am forbidden to see. I do not find
The Hanged Man. Fear death by water.
I see crowds of people, walking round in a ring.
Thank you. If you see dear Mrs. Equitone,
Tell her I bring the horoscope myself:
One must be so careful these days.

Why was the Hanged Man not found? The answer is clear - in a wasteland, there is no wisdom to be had, even with sacrifice.