[Image transcript: A series of tweets from Aleksei!!! On Wheels (@ai_valentin). They read:
Strap in, folks, because this is a cautionary tale about letting teenagers too smart for their own good write theology without oversight.
So my grandparents on my mom’s side were Catholic, and at the time, I had a Catholic boyfriend. So I ended up doing lots of random stuff at the parish because, well, boyfriend. I ended up befriending all the artsy, queer Catholic kids who were afraid to come out. Shock.
The youth group leader decided that the Passion Week play they did every year needed a revamp. I had just done a production of Joseph and the Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat with them and helped do staging and re-writes to make it work for the cast.
So this nice nun asked me.
As relevant backstory, my grandparents had enrolled me in CCD classes when I was in middle school, hoping that maybe I’d turn out Catholic somehow. I got kicked out for asking questions that were too complicated for the teachers.
Apparently, everyone in this parish had forgotten that I was the kid who wanted to debate the Arian heresy at age 12, as the nature of Christ’s divinity seemed a reasonable topic of inquiry to me.
Like I said, first mistake.
So here I am, 16 or so, and I’m told: write a series of monologues from the perspective of different characters present for the Passion of Jesus: Pilate, the Virgin Mary, John the beloved Disciple, Mary Magdalene, Longinus, Peter, the thieves at the crucifixion, and Judas.
Now, mind you, I was really into Jesus Christ Superstar at the time. And I was voraciously reading Gnostic Gospels, Biblical archaeology, all kinds of stuff. This is not going to produce a good Catholic script.
So I ask the nice nun if there’s any guidelines I should adhere to?
Read: how much freedom of interpretation do I have?
She tells me, “Just write something really engaging. Make them feel like people you can understand. You’re a good writer, I’m sure you’ll think of something.
Well, I was entirely chuffed. I was 16, I liked having my ego flattered. So I went to work.
I went to the library, I read all kinds of sources and gospels that didn’t make it into the canon. I read all kinds of texts. I read the Gospel of Thomas. I read Josephus.
And then I started writing.
Pilate was a monster who was all too happy to execute a Jewish rebel who represented a threat to Rome because Roman authority had to be absolute in order to repress the zealots to revolt against Caesar.
The Virgin Mary was co-suffering with her son, vicariously experiencing the pain of crucifixion only without the release of death. She was a living martyr, redeeming the world through suffering in it, not leaving it.
John was in love with Jesus. Full-out romantically in love with Jesus. Want to kiss his wounds and let the spirit transcend the flesh that had betrayed them all.
Mary Magdalene was a converted priestess of Ishtar who was the sacred vessel carrying the faith in Christ’s resurrection, unwilling to flee from the cross or the tomb, because she was an embodiment of the Divine Feminine, unafraid of death.
And then there was Judas.
I had to make the greatest traitor in Western literary canon, up there with Cassius and Brutus, into someone human. Relatable. Understandable.
That’s what the nice nun wanted.
I wrote Judas chosen by God to betray Christ as a part of the great work of salvation. That Judas, like Mary, had accepted God’s commission to participate in the mission of Jesus. Because without Judas’s betrayal, Christ would not be crucified.
Judas created salvation with a kiss.
I took a little bit from Jesus Christ Superstar – it ended with Judas unable to cope with what God had asked of him and thus killing himself, trusting that God would redeem him into Heaven for doing the terrible thing God had asked out of him.
And inadvertently, I wrote a Passion Play that culminated with the death of Judas making salvation possible through sacred betrayal.
I’d read something like this somewhere in my research and it had stuck with me.
What I’d read was a 3rd century heresy that saw Judas as a sacred agent of God, destined to make Jesus’ sacrificial death on the cross possible.
Well, the nice nun was DELIGHTED. It was the most engaging Passion Play she’d ever read! It was so original!
We went right into rehearsal. Nobody mentioned the changes to the parish priest.
The guy playing Judas was amazing. He was holy madness and despair onstage. We orchestrated it so well, used lighting and music to make it dramatic – we put John 19:41 from JCS behind his monologue.
You know. The music behind Jesus’ crucifixion.
There were three performances. One on the Saturday before Holy Week, one on Good Friday, and one on Holy Saturday. They were PACKED.
People were raving about it. Nobody had ever seen such a good Passion Play!
People from other churches showed up. Another church asked me to write a Passion Play for them, just a little less Catholic, please?
Nobody mentioned the Gnostic heresy of Judas being the ultimate saviour by offering up Christ to the cross.
I wrote another one! I was getting good at this!
Mary Magdelene was the first Evangelist! She understood Judas’ mission and stood watch at his suicide and at the cross alike!
Another church wanted that version! People wanted to have Passion Plays outside of Easter Week!
I was spreading Gnostic heresies across the entire county and nobody seemed to notice.
Well, it got a little too popular.
The nice nun got a letter from the archbishop asking why she was allowing the youth group to perform heresy for the entire parish and did she know another parish wanted to do it?
My grandparents and the parish priest called me into his office and asked me to explain how I’d written this play.
In other words: did I know I was spreading heresy?
“I just wanted to make it make sense why someone would betray someone they live and think is God. If God has to die to save humanity, and that death had to be the crucifixion, then why wasn’t making that happen a holy act?
Sister said to make it understandable!”
This was when I was told, very firmly, that my Passion Play needed to be re-written for next year.
They had someone from the archdiocese send me a list of heresies I’d written and had to correct.
I said that I stood by my work and that other churches liked it. And I had sources!
That was when I was told, very firmly, not to come back to youth group.
When the Passion Play was staged next year at the parish, it FLOPPED.
Everyone was calling the pastor wanting to know what happened to the Good Version From Last Year?
A bunch of people went to the Methodist church that staged my Protestant version.
The priest had to send out a letter telling people not to go to any of my Passion Plays because they were heresy and would endanger their immortal souls.
That was when my grandparents stopped hoping I’d become a Catholic.
Honestly, I think they were relieved when I formally converted to Judaism. I couldn’t infect any more parishes with artistically compelling Gnostic heresies.
So the moral of the story:
Don’t ask a mostly Jewish kid more fluent in Biblical studies than you at age 16 to write a compelling, relatable Passion Play.
You will end up with Gnostics in your parish and Catholic authorities really don’t like that, surprisingly.]
