Does the sacred liturgy get in the way of the sacred Scriptures?

In a certain sense, yes, which is why Catholics ought to be grateful that the creator of The Chosen, Dallas Jenkins, is Protestant. That is evident in his treatment of the martyrdom of John the Baptist, the feast of which falls on Aug. 29.

A Catholic highlight of this summer was Jonathan Roumie, who plays Jesus in the popular series, at the National Eucharistic Congress in Indianapolis. While Roumie’s Catholic faith is prominent, the creative team behind The Chosen is largely Protestant, though there is consultation with Catholics and Jews. The Chosen helps Catholics “get past” the liturgy to the Bible.

It’s impossible for any Christian today to experience the full impact of what is related in the Gospels. With millennia of Christian history between then and now, we already begin by knowing who Jesus is — or at least that billions believe him to be divine.

Thus the key question at the heart of the Gospels — Is Jesus of Nazareth the Messiah, the Christ, God himself? — does not resonate with us as it did for those who first heard him preach. We are not as astounded at his miracles as they were. We cannot grieve his loss at the Crucifixion as they did.

The liturgy gets in the way, too, so to speak. Within hours of the Liturgy of the Lord’s Passion being concluded on Good Friday, priests, altar servers and sacristans are already preparing for the Easter Vigil. It’s more difficult to grieve when you know that the tomb will soon be empty.

It is not a peculiarly Christian problem. At the commemorations of D-Day earlier this summer, no one felt the anxiety that marked the vigil of the invasion. The history of D-Day tells us about the worries of the commanders, but we can no longer feel it. We know the outcome before we start reading.

All that has developed since the Gospels were written stands between us and the original experience of the disciples. That is not a bad thing. It’s better that we have the doctrine of the Eucharist. It does mean, though, that we cannot listen to the Bread of Life Discourse in John 6 as the first disciples did. It has lost the power to shock now as it did then, when Jesus spoke about giving his flesh for food and his blood for drink. We know the authentic interpretation already.

Earlier in the summer, Season 4 of The Chosen was released for free streaming. The first episode deals with the martyrdom of John the Baptist. The choice was made to show the beheading alongside flashbacks to the circumcision of the infant John, when his father Zechariah prays his great prayer, the Benedictus (Luke 1:68-79). The horror of the beheading is presented alongside the hope of the Baptist’s birth. John’s death is depicted as fulfilling the prophecy of his mission to go before the Lord Jesus — in life and in death.

Director Jenkins explained that he added the Benedictus scene just before filming began. He found that the beheading episode was heavy, dark and sorrowful. Indeed, the ending was a “bit of a bummer.”

That was striking. Do Catholics feel the horror, the heaviness, of John’s martyrdom? Is anyone truly sad at Mass today for the feast day of the Baptist’s martyrdom? The liturgy situates the saints — precisely as saints already in heaven — within the Paschal mystery. The tomb is already empty.

Catholics are accustomed to celebrating — celebrating! — the feast days of martyrs. There is a feast of Our Lady of Sorrows, and there are no tears in church that day. St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome looks glorious on its patronal day; the gruesome crucifixion of the apostle on that very site has been swallowed up, as it were, in the liturgy’s exaltation of the “white-robed army of martyrs” who praise God — all of which is true, good and beautiful, but it stands between us and Gospel experience of the time. Jenkins and his Protestant collaborators do not have the same liturgical frame as Catholics do, and so do not have that same context between them and the texts of the biblical martyrdoms. Hence Jenkins could say what I have never heard any Catholic priest say — namely, that filming the beheading of the Baptist left him sad or distressed. No priest has ever said that the Baptist’s feast day was “a bummer.”

Thus Jenkins shows us Jesus distraught over the death of his cousin. He shows us the anguish of Andrew, the apostle who first was John’s disciple. He shows us the fear of the other apostles.

Jenkins goes back to the Benedictus. Perhaps the Canticle of Zechariah had been handed down by his astonished kinsfolk. Perhaps the apostles had heard of it. If so, maybe they recalled it when the news of the Baptist’s beheading came — partly in consolation, but also in perplexity.

The Benedictus is prayed daily during Morning Prayer (Lauds) in the Liturgy of the Hours, the breviary. It is accompanied by an antiphon recited before and after the canticle. For the feast of the Passion of John the Baptist (Aug. 29), the antiphon is:

The friend of the bridegroom, who waits and listens for his return, rejoices when he hears his voice: so now my joy is complete.

We have no trouble praying that today. It is unlikely that any of John’s disciples could have imagined praying it when they came to collect his body after Herod ordered the beheading.

The liturgy lifts history and reveals its full depth as salvation history. That is fitting and right, but it does mean that Catholics have to work harder to experience the history itself. The Chosen is a powerful aid in doing so — and benefits from the perspective of faithful Protestants.