by Shelley Fowler
My physical body is sitting at the computer table. My eyes are looking at a blank page on the monitor. Shiloh’s furry head is resting upon my left foot. And sitting on the table is a cup of green tea which is rapidly cooling with each sip. The wash machine just finished its rinse cycle and there are almost muted voices radiating from the television.
And yet, my mind has taken me far away from this table, this monitor, the tepid tea and Shiloh’s warmth upon my foot. The past has bumped against the present, and I can not only see but also feel with such clarity that which once meant so much to not only me, but my entire family – the sadness and then the joy of Easter. And my remembrance comes with the sensation of once again being that little chubby girl with long brown hair and eyes to match who embraced the story with such innocent faith, wonder and gladness. (Note: the gladness came only after we got Jesus off the cross and resurrected!)
For the first eleven years of my life, our family participated in the Easter Pageant – an outdoor passion play played out against the backdrop of the rugged hills near Kenton, Oklahoma. The first two acts were evening performances on Thursday and Friday evening. The final one – the grand finale – took place on Easter morning.
Mom’s assignment was to add her beautiful voice with those of many others as they huddled together in a concrete “lean-to” half submerged in the ground and in front of the grassy slope where people would sit in their cars and watch the action taking place across the span of the hillside filled with boulders, grass and spiny cactus. Daddy was always a disciple, dressed in a robe and head covering made from brightly-colored satin. As for the four Fowler kids, we were part of the mob who stoned Jesus as he hefted the cross upon his shoulder and dragged it to the top of the hill.
I still get a queasy feeling thinking about my childhood role. Even though sponges the color and size of stones had been strewn along our path to be used in lieu of the real thing, I remember tears sliding down my cheeks as I attempted to ‘stay in character’ by picking up ‘rocks’ and throwing them at Jesus’ back. I also remember being unable to shout with even a modicum of conviction, “Crucify Him, Crucify Him!” (I took it to heart as a little girl; I still take it to heart as a grown woman. How much Jesus suffered to prove his love for me…and you.)
Act One – The Crucifixion – culminated amid the boulders on top of the hill and just before sunset. I can still hear the creaking of the wood as ropes, held in the hands of the guards, slowly raised the cross holding Jesus’ body. I remember being so impressed how the western sky would suddenly be filled with bright orange light, creating a black silhouette of that cross and the outline of Jesus’ body. I also remember feeling very sad and empty.
(Flash back to the present. I am trying very hard to remember Friday’s evening performance. I guess it’s because the mob was no longer needed and I wasn’t paying attention, because I have no active remembrance of Act Two!)
But that’s definitely not the case when it comes to the sweet flow of childhood memories surrounding the Sunday morning performance of the Easter Pageant!
Mom and Daddy would wake us long before the sun thought of rising. We’d all sleepily crawl in the old red station wagon and head out to the pageant grounds, situated about thirty miles west of town. Mom would head to the choir pit, Daddy would go to the wardrobe shack and we kids would transfer to Mamaw‘s car, where we’d be given cups of foamy hot chocolate and a snack.
Then we’d impatiently wait for the moment in the story when Jesus and the disciples (Daddy) would appear on a northern outcropping of rocks. By then the sun had reached the horizon, and I can still envision the disciple’s colorful robes playing against its light. The men gathered around the risen Jesus, who was clad in a brilliantly white satin robe, as he spoke “The Sermon on the Mount”.
The last moment of the Easter Pageant was my favorite, and it always brought with it a miracle. As the choir would begin singing “The Hallelujah Chorus” the morning sun, on perfect cue, would shine directly upon Jesus standing on the hillside with his arms outstretched to the world. Touched by the morning breeze and the radiance of all that sunlight, his white robe would begin to shimmer. And then it appeared as though he truly ascended unto heaven! For with one breath Jesus was standing there. And with the next, he was gone!
I still get goosebumps when I remember that glorious moment.
