I didn’t understand what all the shouting was about at first. I’d gone for a walk to try and clear my head, to get a change of scenery, to try and calm my nerves and get some space from the clamour and head noise.
I thought perhaps it was a riot, or that there was a demonstration. My head, tired as it was, spun through potentialities of terrorist bombs or maybe an accident. There were sirens, and police in protective gear, and there were many, many people, all ignoring the repeated ‘there’s nothing here to see” ’s.
I was tempted to turn around and walk in the other direction. This was not what I needed right now. Living in the city had its perks, but mass hysteria was not one of them, and the bustle and excitement of the crowds was doing nothing for my jarred nerves.
Something didn’t make sense. If there had been a disaster, why was everyone so enthiastic? Why were people fighting to get a view? Shouldn’t they be running, or screaming, or at least poised to back off if their curiousity looked like it would prove mortally dangerous? Then I wondered if they were watching out for some film star, making an impromptu appearance in our small South London borough. or maybe it was the Queen’s car or something? but would that really cause all this furore?
I gave up on my hope for a peaceful wander and stood at the back of the crowd, trying to get an idea of what was happening. I wondered how many other people had just been going about the busyness of a weekend and got caught up in the excitement. I heard snatches of conversation – apparently some religious figure was marching into the city, straight up the A3, and right into town. I still didn’t understand what all the fuss was about, never having gone in for that religious stuff much. To be honest I thought it caused more problems then it solved.
I waited for what felt like an hour. More people thronged in behind, and I couldn’t have retreated then even if I’d wanted to. People were saying that this was Jesus, that he was going to march in and change everything. Rumours that he was going to overthrow the Government abounded, helicopters circled overhead, clearly expecting chaos. The tension in the waiting ranks of police was tangible.
And then, there he was. I think I’d expected some sort of cavalcade, maybe some horses, maybe an open topped car, or one of those glass things the Pope rides in. I’d expected armoured protective glass; surely if you were going to march on a city you’d need that kind of thing. I expected him to be shouting about hell and damnation and stuff, or at least decrying the government and the state of the nation. As it was, the whole thing messed with my head.
Firstly, he was riding on a donkey. Just imagine with me for a minute what that looked like – a lone figure, riding the wrong way up the A3. Riding slowly, deliberately, past Barclays sat on a donkey. The other thing was that he wasn’t saying anything – no shouting, no hell and damnation, no whipping up the crowds into fury and violence. Everyone started shouting stuff – calling his name and welcoming him – I think they were hoping that would make him do something, do anything except keep riding at that slow and maddening pace, without saying a word.
Many thoughts circled in my mind as I watched the scene. The confusion I’d been trying to distract myself from was still there and still clamouring. If this man was God, why the bizarre set up, why the weird donkey thing? Surely it was a missed opportunity – if I was God and I had all these people watching me, I wouldn’t miss the chance to show off some of my powers! And surely that was the whole thing about religion – it promised a lot but delievered little. If he was marching on London to bring about transformation and change, he wasn’t going about it in a very logical way.
I tried to be angry with this Jesus man, as he walked on, out of my view, up the hill towards the town hall. I tried to heap all the rage I was feeling about the world onto his shoulders. I wanted to scream at him for doing nothing, saying nothing, for not answering the prayers I had whispered late in the night when there was noone else to hear, he made no sense to me.
But for the rest of the afternoon, and that night, when darkness fell again, the thing I remembered most about the strange procession was Jesus’ face. I guessed I’d expected superiority, power, judgement; but what I’d seen was humility, compassion, sadness even. His face was set on the path set before him, but even in his passing it felt like he’d seen every person in that crowd, and communicated something individually to each of us. Instead of looking into the face of an authoritarian conqueror, it felt like I’d seen the expression of a sorrowful lover, a man heartbroken and longing for reconciliation, and his humanity had done something to soothe my own doubt and pain and loss.