Turning Down the Colours of Holy Week

One of my favourite “coffee table” books is the catalogue of a 1990s exhibition of photos taken by some of the people who, in the 1940s, established Magnum Photos as a collective of photojournalists. Still in existence today, its archive includes many of the most iconic images of the intervening years.

Almost all of the photos in the book are in black and white and that is what I love about them. There is something about a photo, picture, or a drawing which, with the colour stripped from it, captures the essence of its subject and its setting.

The tiniest details which, in a coloured image, might get lost amongst a mass of other shades and shadows become easier to see somehow when the picture is in monochrome. Everything, despite the lack of colour seems more vivid. We’re forced to look more closely at the image as we make choices about out what is most important and what our reactions to that are.

I’ve found this to be true especially of textures: for example, the lines or scars on someone’s skin, or the folds of a garment.

The paintings we’re used to seeing which show the events of Holy Week are in colour generally and, though frequently sad and hard to look at, very beautiful.

I’m a great fan of the Ignatian practice of putting myself into the scene when reading about events in the Bible. This Holy Week I’ve found myself imagining the various familiar scenes stripped of all their layers of colour. So, in what I’m seeing around me, I’m not distracted by the colours of peoples’ clothes or of the buildings or the landscape etc. Instead, by concentrating on the textures of things and how they would feel to me if I could touch them, everything seems very raw and I experience things at a simpler and more intuitive level.

In just thinking about some of the scenes of Palm Sunday and Holy Week: I’ve ‘felt’ the tough hairiness of the colt’s back on which Jesus was sitting as he entered Jerusalem; the clouds of dust created by the frightened birds and animals and the coins rolling around in the temple precincts as Jesus drove out the merchants; the viscosity of the perfumed oil with which Jesus’ feet were anointed; the roughness of the earthenware platters and vessels and the rustic bread he broke to share with his disciples and the dry, perhaps stony, ground on which Jesus knelt to pray in the Garden of Gethsemane. I’ve felt, in both an emotional and physical sense that I’m in those scenes as I’ve read or heard them read.

It’s easy to picture in black and white Jesus struggling to walk his broken body to Calvary, because of the sadness of that journey. Everything seems to be very grey at this point with little or no prospect of light returning. Yet, against this, my attention is drawn to the things which do stand out: the cross, back breaking in its solidity though rough-hewn and splintered, and the spiky crown of thorns. The thought of how these things would have felt in this context is both chilling, yet strangely reassuring. A heavy piece of wood and some prickly thorns are something I can imagine trying and failing to hold onto.

As Jesus goes through his long, agonising crucifixion, the lines of pain etching deeper into his face and the faces of his followers as time moves on, and the drops of black staining the monochrome dust beneath the cross with his blood show, far more clearly than colour would, the humanity of his suffering and draw me closer to this terrible scene.

Today, Maundy Thursday, the darkness at the entrance to his tomb leading to a bright angelic presence and the good news that Jesus has risen, await us on Easter Sunday. It seems right then that the images and stories revert to full, glorious colour.

I’ve found it really helpful to ‘go back to basics’ this Holy Week and to reach out and touch, through my imagination, at least some of the things Jesus touched during the final part of his human life and, by touching, draw closer to him, who has reached out and touched me and continues to do so.

Why not try this out yourself, particularly if you enjoy stripping things back to basics? Have a happy and blessed Easter.