Props Are Fake but Passion Is Genuine in Easter Drama

It was 11:30, and Jesus was late.

“You would not believe it, he’s not here yet,” said co-director Ricardo Lopez, looking around for the actor who would play Jesus in Oxnard’s annual Passion Play and scurrying to organize the half-dressed multitudes around him.

Yards away, thousands of people had jammed the streets of La Colonia on Friday for the annual reenactment of the trial, torture and crucifixion of Christ.

The event--scheduled to begin at noon--originated 27 years ago in Oxnard and continues a tradition followed in cities and villages throughout Latin America and Europe.

But backstage, in the parking lot of Christ Our King Church on Cooper Road, behind the still-empty temple propped in a truck bed where the Passion Play would soon be performed, the 70-member cast grew uneasy as noon approached and the actor playing Jesus was nowhere to be seen.

But at 11:37, a cry rang out: “There he comes, it’s Jesus!”

The back gate swung open and Saul Aguilar roared in in his Isuzu Rodeo.

The relieved soldiers held up their spears and cheered.

Entering his seventh year of playing Jesus, the 34-year-old Aguilar had the role down. With his long wavy hair, reddish beard and soulful eyes, the fieldworker eerily resembles the paintings of Christ that adorn churches from Seoul to Oxnard.

“There was a woman in church, she turned around and saw him, and said, ‘That’s Jesus,’ ” explained Yolanda Lopez, whose husband is a former Jesus, as she applied makeup to the crowds.

Bag in hand, Aguilar rushed past the women in makeup to change into his loincloth and tunic.

Lopez gave the women in shawls last-minute advice.

“When you cry, please, please think this is him,” she told the excited girls. “Just cry and sob. Don’t exaggerate.”

Twenty-four-year-old Dilma Peraze, who played Veronica, said she would have no problem.

“I am a teacher’s aide, and one of my students told me something that made me cry in the morning,” she said. “So I’ll be able to cry.”

As the minutes ticked by, the frenzy intensified. Earlier, one of the criminals discovered that last year’s crown of thorns had been lost, so a new one had to be made out of branches. Then, nails. And finally, Aguilar had to work that morning, even though it was Good Friday.

At 11:46, one of the three high priests rushed in.

“Where’s the blood?” he asked Lopez.

She handed him a tube of blood in a package adorned with a drawing of Dracula.

“We’ve only got a little,” she said. “So don’t waste it. We have to save it for Jesus.”

Outside, the soldiers were pacing and fidgeting with their spears. Some of those who would betray Jesus were drinking bottled water, while a boy who would try to save him munched Chee-tos.

Pontius Pilate sat down in his red robes, a sprig of golden leaves wrapped around his forehead.

“Oh, you look so cute,” Lopez said as she dabbed on lipstick and eyeliner.

“We’re ready,” Pilate’s wife yelled.

Finally, Jesus emerged.

Folding his hands, he raised his eyes to the heavens as Lopez applied mascara.

But before being led out to the crowds, he darted into the empty church, sat at the rear pew and prayed silently, alone.

For Aguilar, this is a serious thing. He does not eat for 24 hours before the Passion Play. And before he acts, he meditates.

“It’s like a sacrifice,” he said. “But look what he did for us.”

At 12:20, the Passion Play began. Standing before children in baby carriages, Spanish-language TV reporters, boys perched on rooftops, mothers, fathers and grandfathers, Jesus was condemned to die on the cross.

Then, shouldering his 70-pound cross, with fake blood dripping from his brow, Jesus began a six-block trek through La Colonia to the tiny hill where he would be crucified.

The crowd surged around as the Roman soldiers kicked and whipped him, following him past Laundromats, minimarts and taquerias toward Our Lady of Guadalupe Church.

Lopez, holding the final tube of blood, cut through back streets, anxious to get there before the crowds.

“I remember growing up in Mexico,” she said, walking briskly down the sidewalk. “We had no television and no music, so this was a very big deal. We want to pass this on to our children.”

At the corner in front of the church, Jesus staggered and fell in the crosswalk, and the soldiers jeered and whipped him.

Carlos Villafana hoisted his 5-year-old daughter, Carissa, onto his shoulders so she could see the crucifixion on the mini-Golgotha behind an Oxnard subdivision.

“Can you see?” he asked.

“Yeah. But where’s God?” she said. “Oh, there he is.”

Then, “Why is he hanging his head?”

Villafana told her it is because Jesus is sad.

The soldiers raised the three crosses, and Jesus bled some more.

“Do they put the clavos inside his hands?” she asked. “Are they going to stay there forever?”

As Jesus slumped forward, dead on the cross, Mary’s anguished cries echoed out across the crowded field by microphone.

“Mi hijo esta muerto!”

Carissa hid her head in her father’s shoulder and began to cry.

Back at the church, post-crucifixion, the cast gathered for a Good Friday feast of fish, cole slaw and rice.

Aguilar lifted his shirt to show a large purple welt on his shoulder from carrying the cross.

Kenny Sanchez, who played the criminal crucified to the right of Christ, pointed to his feet, bloody from walking the streets.

But through his smudged makeup he smiled.

“It’s all right,” he said. “It’s for Jesus.”

* RELATED STORIES: B8-11