The Passion Play

By B.J Taylor, Huntington Beach, California

As appeared in

I got the call in October.

A man and woman were visiting from a place called Oberammergau, a German village of only 5,200 people in the Bavarian Alps. They were actors, the caller said, in a huge amateur theater production to be staged in the summer and fall of 2010, a passion play. Would I be interested in speaking with them and writing about the play?

I hesitated. German community theater? All amateur actors? Maybe, if I wasn’t so busy. The caller was insistent. “It’s a big deal,” he kept saying.

“Let me get back to you,” I stalled.

A few clicks on my computer and I was in Bavaria, best known for oompah bands and Oktoberfest. The name of the village, I learned, was pronounced OH-burr-am-er-gow. A few clicks more and I began reading a tale hundreds of years old: It was 1633. Germany was entrenched in war and pestilence.

In Oberammergau, nearly 100 people had died from the plague. The entire village gathered in prayer, pleading for their lives. In return, they pledged to re-enact the life and suffering of Jesus every 10 years. Presumably, God heard their prayers. Not another life was lost to the plague. The next year the village came together again to perform its first passion play.

And the people of Oberammergau have kept their promise for 376 years! I looked down at my notepad. I had filled it with questions. I hoped it wasn’t too late to meet the actors.

The next day I found myself sitting across from Jesus and Mary Magdalene. Back home in Germany, they’re better known as Frederik Mayet, a 30-year-old publicist, and Eva-Maria Reiser, a 25-year-old flight attendant.

His light brown hair touched his shoulders. A neatly trimmed moustache and beard framed a warm smile. Her hair was pulled back. Neither had cut their hair since Ash Wednesday the previous February—a requirement for the actors. Men aren’t allowed to trim their beards. An exception is made for Jesus, Frederik said.

At first it was hard to imagine Frederik as the King of Kings. In his polo shirt he could’ve passed for a surfer. I peered into his eyes. He seemed so youthful and a bit nervous. Then I remembered: Jesus began his ministry at the same age. He too had been young, just starting out. I’d never thought of Jesus being unsure of himself.

That’s the magic of Oberammergau, Frederik said. Watching untrained actors, all from the village, the audience feels a connection. The anger of the mob, the anguish of Jesus, the fear of the disciples become real. “What we do onstage jumps to the audience,” Frederik said. “We touch them. Their belief is strengthened. They see new aspects to the story and come away with a deeper understanding.”

I felt myself moving to the edge of my seat as he and Eva-Maria spoke.

It was clear they weren’t professional actors. They didn’t overwhelm me with star power. Yet they had an unmistakable confidence, mixed with a humble purposefulness. This was something more than just a production. They were keepers of a treasure passed down through generations of townsfolk, a great, historical act of gratitude.

Excitedly, they told me about the play, how it includes 50 live animals, a chorus of 100, accompanied by an orchestra. It takes half the village to pull it off, either as a cast member—the stage is sometimes crowded with 1,000 performers—or in one of the 1,400 behind-the-scenes jobs.