Easter Post – The Man With The Ugly Head

Sean O’Shea shares some reflections on the significance of Easter, the growing intolerance towards religious imagery and the sad fate of “The Man With the Ugly Head”

Anyone who has had the ambiguous benefits of a Catholic upbringing may at Eastertide find their imaginations curling around some of the old images, rituals and sacred mysteries. In my experience the Catholic Church certainly overworked the sorrowful mysteries and missed out somewhat on the joyful ones, leaving its devotees somewhat ill equipped for full participation in the “Happiness Society”. Also, being told at an early age that it was our sins that killed Jesus seemed to give us a criminal record before we had the chance to make a balls of things for ourselves.

An advantage of the Catholic faith, however, and of the Christian tradition in general, is that it does imbue you with some sense of empathy for those who suffer or are oppressed. Also, you are reminded that you are here for a short stay and that your prime responsibility is to care for others and the planet.

Easter was originally the name of the Germanic goddess of the dawn or spring, and when Christianity was introduced among the Germanic peoples the name became attached to the feast of the Pasch. As the story goes, on the eve of the Pasch the Lord was crucified and he rose on the morning after, although I think in some accounts he completely disappeared for some days, like the proverbial drunken sailor, and who could blame him!

This was the most dramatic part of the liturgical calendar and will always survive in my memory, though I have long since ceased to attend church (except for musical events) and don’t really know how much of the ritual has survived various modernisations.

On Ash Wednesday the priest would bless the ashes made from the burning of the previous year’s palm and mark the foreheads of the faithful, saying:

Remember man thou art but dust, and unto dust thou shalt return.

The statues in church, including the crucifix, used to be covered with purple shrouds. On Good Friday the priest would slowly uncover the crucifix, firstly just exposing the wood, then the right arm of Christ and then the entire figure. The ritual had the quality of a bizarre strip tease.

At the door of the church some small pieces of wood were kindled with flint and steel. This fire was blessed with incense and used to light a large candle, the Paschal candle, marked with the sign of the cross and the Greek letters Alpha and Omega, following the Apocalypse where the Lord is represented as calling himself Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end. The light symbolising the resurrection was then passed to all the faithful who held smaller candles high in the air as they sang together: Lumen Christi – light of the world.

Behold the wood of the cross on which the salvation of the world has hung.

It was a moving and unforgettable piece of theatre.

I write of it as if it is already history and I do wonder how long this liturgy, or what’s left of it, can survive the secular tsunami, which seems hell bent on eliminating all Gods except usury and power.

In 2009 a panel of seven judges in Strasbourg said the display of Christian crosses, which is common but not mandatory in Italian schools, violated the principle of secular education and might be “disturbing” for children from other faiths. It upheld a charge filed by a Finnish woman with Italian citizenship, who complained that her children had to attend a state school in northern Italy, which had crucifixes in every classroom. The court said in its ruling that: “the presence of the crucifix could be … disturbing for pupils who practised other religions or were atheists, particularly if they belonged to religious minorities.” The court awarded her 5,000 euros in moral damages. British Airways has ruled that its employees were not to wear crucifix necklaces at work – although I believe they subsequently revised this position. The controversy continues today.

In the same year The Guardian reported how a large crucifix was removed from a church in West Sussex because it was found “unsettling” for young children. Following four years of negotiations it was transferred to a local museum. The ten-foot figure was the work of artist Edward Bainbridge Copnall and had been given to the church in 1963. It was made of coal dust and resin and was described as cutting-edge. Subsequently artist Angela Godfrey was commissioned to design a new cross which would present a positive image of Jesus rather than one of pain and suffering.

I have still to visit and inspect the “Happy Jesus”, if he was ever created, and to see how Angela rose to the challenge of portraying how a man who had been crucified might manage to look hopeful.

Though I am an irredeemable agnostic and appreciate that these are complex matters, this tide of intolerance and the apparent denial of the tragic dimensions of existence, on the part of some sections of secular society and sections of the religious community as well, does grate with me.

In response to this event I felt inspired to write the following lyric.

The Man with the Ugly Head

A storm is blowing in Paradise
The angels they have fled
And Jesus who was hanging here
They say that he is dead

The children found him scary
The adults said he bled
And the padre who took care of him
Said he had an ugly head

He was made of dust and resin
They said he was cutting-edge
But his face it showed him suffering
They want happiness instead

The figure that replaces him
Will have a smile upon its face
It will be made of stainless steel they say
And of pain there’ll be no trace

The flowers that dressed the altar
Upon the floor they lie
The candle box is empty
The water font is dry

The padre’s on extended leave
In a lighthouse west of Rye
And all the sacred mysteries
We’re told we must decry

As the winds subside in Paradise
We look but no one’s there
The holy faces we once saw
Are cracked beyond repair

Jesus is on the wall again
In a dusty old museum
But no one comes to see him there
In his lonely mausoleum

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