The greatest story ever told

COMMENT

NOW here’s a question: if your life story were to be made into an opera, what type of opera would it be? Would it be a tragedy, or a comedy: or maybe a romance, or even an epic drama in three acts?

I ask this because last year I was commissioned by the St Magnus International Festival to write a libretto for an opera about Orkney’s patron saint, Magnus, whose martyrdom took place 900 years ago. It was to be a community project, involving local singers, actors and choirs as well as one or two professional soloists from elsewhere. It was profoundly moving to see young people from local schools participate in the re-enactment of the foundational drama of Orkney’s patron saint, all in the inspiring environment of Orkney’s historic St Magnus Cathedral.

The Magnus martyrdom story is very powerful, with many echoes of the sacrfice of Jesus Christ. No wonder the story of Christ’s life, death and resurrection has been described as “the greatest story ever told”. The dramatic power of the Holy Week narrative is truly breathtaking.

There would have been two processions on that first Palm Sunday. Pilate and his men, sun glinting of their armour, would have made an impressive display of power as they headed into the centre of Jerusalem, ready to sort out any trouble makers.

Another leader, unarmed, riding a donkey (a symbol of peace and lowliness) and representing a kingdom of a radically dif erent kind, would have been a strange sight.

In fact, Jesus’s entry into Jerusalem was a brilliant piece of carefully-staged street theatre. In going into the Holy City on a donkey, Jesus was claiming to be a new kind of Messiah. In staging the scene, Jesus had left nothing to chance. He had arranged it all beforehand. A donkey? Password, “The Master needs it”.

The knives were out for Jesus. He had upset the religious establishment by kissing lepers and eating with sinners and declaring that the love of God was for everyone, without exception.

Next scene: knowing that the eyes of the religious and political police were on him, Jesus strode into the Temple, the holiest place in all Israel, and threw out the money changers, in a dramatic, prophetic gesture. For the sake of the nation this Jesus must die.

The drama of the Upper Room – “This is my body, broken for you” – was followed by the terrible betrayal in Gethsemane. Then on to Calvary and a saving death of unspeakable horror and unspeakable beauty, even in the midst of disi gurement.

The cross upon which our Lord was crucfied puts a question mark against all pretensions of power, all kingdoms of this world. That cross and Easter’s empty tomb are the signs and symbols of our radical freedom in Christ.

That cross and Easter’s empty tomb are the signs and symbols of our radical freedom in Christ.

This is a truly phenomenal story, and the churches must learn to tell it anew, in fresh ways. The presentation of the good news should follow the Gospel’s formative dramatic shape. Here’s a suggestion: churches of all denominations should get together and utilise the creative talents of the wider community to stage powerful street theatre. And even opera. Arias may reach the parts that other forms of communication don’t touch. Start now for next year. It may change the music of your life.

The Story of Magnus Erlendsson, written by Ron Ferguson in collaboration with composer Dr Gemma McGregor, has been nominated for a New Music Scotland Award.

This article appears in the April 2018 Issue of Life and Work

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