My Take on 'The Passion of The Christ'

WARNING: A little mushy (okay, a lot more mushy) than what you guys are used to, but it's my faith we're talking about here. So sit down, shut up, and read.

I watched it last night. 'The Passion of The Christ', I mean.

There was no build-up like 'Jesus Christ, Superstar' and no insane mind-boggling finale like 'The Last Temptation'. It went straight into the praying at the Garden of gesthemani and continued all the way til Jesus' final breath. No details spared.

And I can't explain it, but somehow, it was like doing the stations of the cross, only instead of words in your mind to console Jesus and tell God how you want to be so much like the Son of Man, these are pictures. That didn't stop. They just went on and on and on. And sometimes, you just could not help but turn away from the horror of it all. Oh God, more horrific than I ever imagined. And it became a bit more horrible because I knew what was going to happen next. When he fell the first time, I knew he would fall two more times. When he was scourged at the pillar, I knew that he would not die, because he was still going to be crowned with thorns, and then crucified. When he said 'Father, forgive them, they know not what they do', you remembered that when he died, his side would be pierced, just so they were sure he was dead. And you knew this all had to happen. And you knew it like it was your own flesh and blood. Your own body. Your own life. Because, in a sense, it was.

It was my life. The life that any Catholic aimed for. To live life for others, carry his own cross and never fear death for beyond it was Eternal Life. Things that I have known since I was 8. Things engraved in my mind by education, strengthened by religion, lived by conviction. Values and spirituality that all had its roots from His life, His teachings, His love. Things I felt proud of. Things I'd get into arguments for. Things I was sure I was ready to die for. And then I doubted. Like Thomas, I doubted. Did I believe because I needed to believe in something? Did I pray because I needed to hear myself believe that someone could and would help me? And then I jumped. And oh boy, was it a freefall, sky-high, adrenaline-pumping, screaming amazing jump. Because I believed. I suddenly let go and just believed. And did not care. And just told myself 'Live your life the way you know He would want you to live it.'

Then human nature took over. Dead brain cells. Appeals for appreciation. Desperate attempts at feeling loved and desperate attempts to cover up rejection. Time passed and I became lax in my faith. And then this film. Like cold water after agonizing seconds of writhing on the hot desert sand with thirst. Only much more bearable and less painful. But brought me to tears when I watched it. Covered my ears. Shut my eyes. Bit my lip so I wouldn't scream in pain. It was too much. So much more than any man could bear. Alone. But then again, He was never alone.

Now, I'm thinking, if he could go through all that, why can't I give up smoking just for these 40 days (cut me some slack here, 'Hello my name is Sade, and I am a Nicotine Addict'...Happy?). It won't hurt as much...In fact, it won't even reach a tenth of the pain he went through. And He would be with me. Plus, this was for my own good. To stop my addiction with nicotine. My self-abuse. My self non-love.

So it was a brutally refreshing much-needed reminder-slash-wake-up-call for me. And it was a good movie as far as my non-Catholic boyfriend knew. Good enough for his non-roots. God enough for all of mine.

Hopefully, this renewed pump will last me until the next good sensible Catholic movie.