THE MOCKING OF CHRIST

A MYSTERY.

* O My people, what have I done unto thee, or wherein have I wearied thee? Testify against me.
THE REPROACHES.

* So man made God in his own image.
THE BOOK OF GENESIS (adapted).

A HALL.

PERSONA DEI:

I AM God Who all men made,
And in human form obeyed,
Till at last I was betrayed
To hand of wicked men;
They have judged Me now to die
And prepare to crucify . . .
Yet I will save their souls thereby
And soon shall rise again.
See now how these make mock of Me!
They have not so much charity
To leave Me to My grief . . .
But they shall crown Me as their King
And work full many a hateful thing,
And never a one of them shall bring
To Me the least relief.
How have I merited, say, how,
That on this wise they use Me now
Who did them so much good?
Have I not visited My vine
That it should give Me gall for wine?
Who then hath understood?

---

But see, these soldiers now draw near
To bruise and buffet, gibe and jeer
And hale Me to the rood.

FIRST SOLDIER:

Say brothers, what thing shall we do
Until this judgment be gone through?
We must make some good sport.

SECOND SOLDIER:

Let's dice.

THIRD SOLDIER:

I have too thin a purse.

FIRST SOLDIER:

Drink.

SECOND SOLDIER:

Why, the wine's as thin.

THIRD SOLDIER:

Aye, worse.

SECOND SOLDIER:

And here's a prisoner twice as thin . . .
I'll tell you what we shall begin.

ALL:

What's that?

SECOND SOLDIER:

We'll play now in this hall
At: Jesus Christ is Lord of all.

ALL:

Well thought on! Fair and finely hit!
Come on! We'll make the prisoner "It" . . .
Here is a chair for Him to sit.

* They set Christ in the centre and go out. They return, in order, dancing and mumming. All sing the chorus, dancing about the chair.

POPE:

Here come I with a robe of red
And a crown to adorn His head,
The key of heaven, the key of hell,
And the world's treasure-house as well.

* He setteth the robe upon Him, thrusteth the tiara over His eyes, and giveth Him three keys.

CHORUS:

Let us sing, whate'er befall:
Jesus Christ is Lord of all.

* They bow the knee.

---

EMPEROR:

Here's a crown of another style,
Sword and sceptre for His hands,

* He giveth temporal crown, sword and sceptre.

POPE:

Lest He use them though, meanwhile
Tie Him up with fetter-bands.

* They fetter Him.

CHORUS:

Let us sing, whate'er befall:
Jesus Christ is Lord of all.

* They bow the knee.

KING:

I am on Tom Tiddler's ground, etc.,
Picking up gold and silver.

POPE:

Hence, begone thou scurvy swine,
Gold and silver all are mine.

* Pope and King run together and fight. They dodge about the chair. Their blows miss each other and fall upon Christ. They dance back to back and separate.

KING:

Black and white, black and white,
Parchment is a pretty sight;
Who keeps quiet and serves the King
Can't go wrong in anything.

* He binds a charter upon Christ's mouth.

CHORUS:

Let us sing, whate'er befall:
Jesus Christ is Lord of all!

* They bow the knee to Christ and to King.

PREACHER:

Here's a better crown,
Here's a better gown,
Pull the old ones down.

* He putteth upon Christ a black gown and a shovel hat.

Take good heed and look
You still speak by the Book . . .

---

Never say a word
But what we've always heard.

* He setteth a Bible in His hand.

CHORUS:

Let us sing, whate'er befall:
Jesus Christ is Lord of all.

* Here the people shall not bow the knee, but pull off their hats.

BISHOP:

In respectable gaiters which button up tight
He might walk in the precincts on Sunday,
While His innate good taste will remind Him it's quite
Shocking form to be found there on Monday.

* He setteth upon Christ a bishop's apron and gaiters.

CHORUS:

Let us sing, whate'er befall:
Jesus Christ is Lord of all.

* They bow the knee.

CATHEDRAL ORGANIST:

Sire, if You should wish to speak
At any moment of the week,
Kindly hit a decent A . . .
(Plagal Amens I will play);
Here we use the Magdalen Psalter . . .
No, I see no cause to alter.

* He placeth a psalter in Christ's hand, and conducts the singing of the chorus.

CHORUS:

Let us sing, whate'er befall:
Jesus Christ is Lord of all.

* They bow the knee.

FIRST CURATE:

* He setteth a tea-cup in Christ's hand.

Gossip and tea! gossip and tea!
Communicants' class at a quarter-past-three.

---

Oh dear! Mrs. Kidgup smells strongly of gin,
And this is God's house . . . no, she must not come in!
Magdalen? Yes, yes, but that's in the Bible,
And a quite special case . . . if it wasn't a libel.

CHORUS:

Let us sing, whate'er befall:
Jesus Christ is Lord of all.

* They bow the knee.

SECOND CURATE:

* He giveth Christ a cricket-bat and pads, and beateth Him boisterously upon the back.

Here we are again, hurray!
Keep your shoulders square and play!
That's the way that heaven is won . . .
Well hit my lad! Again, Sir . . . run!

CHORUS:

Let us sing, whate'er befall:
Jesus Christ is Lord of all.

* They bow the knee.

RESPECTABLE GENTLEMAN:

Hail, our Chairman of Committee,
Much respected in the city!
Tied up tight He will not irk us! . . .
Now we'll regulate the workhouse.

* They dance about Christ and wind Him up in red tape.

CHORUS:

Let us sing, whate'er befall:
Jesus Christ is Lord of all.

* They bow gravely.

PATRIOT:

The Son of God goes forth to war
A kingly crown to gain . . .

---

We'll rake in something less or more
By following in His train.

* He setteth on Him a helmet.

CHORUS:

Let us sing, whate'er befall:
Jesus Christ is Lord of all.

* They salute Him soldierly.

PATRIOT OF ANOTHER NATIONALITY:

That helmet's not the proper sort . . .
Makes Him look like poor old Jah . . .
To be a modern God He ought
To wear such weapons as mine are.

* He setteth on Him a helmet of another fashion.

CHORUS:

Let us sing, whate'er befall:
Jesus Christ is Lord of all.

* The Patriots squabble and spit on each other and on Christ.

SENTIMENTAL PERSON:

Gentle Jesus mild and meek
Smooth Your hair down neat and sleek;
I am sure You did not say:
"Tasteless salt is cast away" . . .
Jesus, that would never do,
Or what would become of You?

* He parts Christ's hair in the middle.

CHORUS:

Let us sing, whate'er befall:
Jesus Christ is Lord of all.

* They bow the knee.

A MUMMER:

Ho! stand away there! form a ring about!
Here comes the King of Fools with all his rout.

* Cometh in a Higher Critic, habited as the Roy des Sotz, with his masque.

---

DIONYSUS: (On an ass, with Fauns and Bacchae.)

Dionysiacs you've heard of . . .
Centuries cannot disperse us,
Crown Him, crown Him, pluck His beard off
And invest Him with the thyrsus.
Though His priests and flock despise us,
Still He's only Dionysus,
Riding high on the twin asses
Ere the summer solstice passes.

* He plucketh Christ by the beard and setteth the thyrsus in His hand.

OSIRIS:

Bring hither the white crown and the red
For Him that is Lord of the North and the South,
Risen quick from the land of the dead,
The lotus-lily in His mouth . . .
His Name is life in the courts of hell
And the porters know that Name right well.

* He giveth Him the red crown and the white, and a lotus flower.

ELIJAH:

He does not look very like me, but they say we are the same . . .
And in any case you'll know it by the likeness of the name,
Yes, for Jesus and Elijah must be forms of the same name.

JOSHUA:

Pardon me, I think you're wrong . . .
The resemblance is not strong.
Joshua and Jesus clearly
Are the same . . . or very nearly.
He puts out the sun and moon,
I can stop the sun at noon.
Two can't play at such a game,
Obviously we're the same.

---

ELIJAH:

Never mind, let's both agree
That I am you and you are me!

* They crown Him with rays of the sun.

GAUTAMA:

I must beg that you will listen for a little moment, while
I point out that this is Buddha (though debased and poor in style);
I was tempted; He was tempted; other men have been so too,
And there was not much in common in the struggles we went through;
Then His Mother was a virgin, mine was married, so you see
There's no difference between us . . . like as peas in pod are we.

* He giveth Him the emblems of Buddha.

MITHRA (solemnly):

The Lord of fire!
No man knoweth
My mystical rite,
Though many aspire.
When the Sun showeth
His forehead crowned with light
I am there, wonderful!
And the groaning, death-stricken bull
Bleeds for my sacrament.

* He throweth a bull's hide about Christ.

Many a hidden thing
To my mysteries went.
My priests are fallen,
Fallen and slain . . .
O I the sorrowful King!
So 'tis befallen.

* Briskly, with a change of tone.

---

This only is distinctly plain:
Whatever rites were practised at my shrine,
His must be imitations based on mine.

PRIEST OF THE GROVE OF NEMI:

"The priest who slew the slayer and shall himself be slain,"

* He giveth Him a knife.

GREEN PERSON:

The spirit of vegetation that renews the crops of grain,

* He giveth Him a garland and sickle.

BACCHAE:

The orgies of Eleusis . . .

* They give Him the Phallic cones and emblems.

BALDER:

Balder struck dead . . .

PROMETHEUS:

Prometheus bringing fire from Heaven . . .

* He giveth Him a torch.

ADONIS:

Adonis' sacred Bread.

* He giveth a wafer.

ALL (dancing):

We're not alike to look at, but you may be satisfied
That we're each and all the one
  unmistakeable
   unadulterated
    primitive
     unsophisticated
      admirable
       rational
        spiritual
         proved
          accredited
and thoroughly homogeneous original of Jesus crucified!

---

CHORUS:

Yes, we'll sing, whate'er befall:
Jesus Christ is Lord of all!.

* They bow the knee.

PLATO:

Pol Hercle, what a noise! and if you please
Give me the credit of my own invention.

SOCRATES:

My son, I do not wish to breed dissension
But . . . did you never hear of Socrates?

* To Christ.

Hemlock, sir, is a far genteeler fashion
Of quitting life than is a gallows-passion.

* Offering hemlock.

PLATO (eagerly):

That's where you're wrong. The righteous man, say I,
Must die in shameful torment . . .

VOICE WITHIN:

Crucify!

A CAPTAIN:

What folly's this? Go, shift the prisoner straight;
Bring Him to Golgotha without the gate.

* They put on Him His own robe.

PERSONA DEI:

Now that I must come to die
Nought is left of Me, save I
Discrowned, stript, alone;
Yet when I am lifted high
I will cause all men draw nigh
Unto My royal throne.
As I go to Golgotha
My tread shakes the earth afar.
My voice shall sound at Heaven's bar,
"Eloi, eloi, lama,
Lama sabachthani."

---

When My arms are stretched out
They shall reach the world about,
The round earth hangs upon My stout
And stark and bitter Tree.
Therefore all ye that go by
Look and see how I hang high,
If you may find the time to sigh:
"Eleison Christe."

* EXPLICIT.