I saw Christ last week.

No, I’m not nuts and I wasn’t singled out by the Big Guy for a vision, either.

But I did see Christ last week. He was in La Grande up on the big screen at the Granada.

My 15-year-old daughter and I went to see "The Passion of the Christ.” I went to the theater with mixed feelings a little apprehensive, but mostly eager.

I’d heard stories of sobbing and weeping, anger and outrage. Would I, as usual, fall somewhere in the middle? Or would I be strangely unaffected, numbed by an overdose of violence?

As we approached the snack counter, I hesitated.

I felt uncomfortable at the idea of munching popcorn and Sour Patch Kids as I watched my Lord nailed to the cross. It’s a movie, I told myself, trying to shake off the feeling.

The theater was full all ages, all types. A nice mix, I thought, but how will it be to share such a personal experience with so many strangers? Another unusual thought for me.

We snacked through the previews and, suddenly, it began.

Through the gloom, a severely frightened man stands alone and prays for the strength to fulfill his destiny. He already knows what is to come.

Lucifer, the fallen angel, skulks in the shadows wielding barbs of discouragement and self-doubt. This opening scene between Jesus and Satan is gripping.

I don’t know exactly when I forgot I was watching a movie and I certainly gave no thought to those around me, except my daughter who quietly, periodically wept beside me.

I did not see Mel Gibson. I did not see actors. I certainly did not see James Caviezel. I saw Christ.

For that alone, I think the director more than did his job. And I commend Gibson for enriching my experience by using authentic languages. The Aramaic, especially, is beautiful to hear.

Yeah, it’s violent and bloody but I’ve seen worse for less good reason. I wasn’t offended by it; I was humbled. Anyway, Passion is way more than just violence.

I didn’t feel blame for the Sanhedrin they had their role to play. It was Jesus’s choice, part of the Divine Big Picture. In fact, there were many Jews in the movie who were in Jesus’s camp weeping as I was, a few offering Jesus comfort and support, as I hope I would have. At their own peril, too. It took courage for them to stand up to the Roman soldiers.

Actually, I didn’t blame anyone but myself, as they crucified Him. Jesus did this for me, I thought. He did this for me even though I don’t deserve it.

But that’s the point. I don’t have to deserve it. All I have to do is love Him for it.

Did I enjoy the movie? I don’t really think it’s a movie to enjoy as much as to experience. Am I glad I saw it and took my impressionable 15-year-old? Definitely. I found it less offensive than many other movies and TV shows.

Intimate and convicting, Christ’s Passion depicted on screen was real and personal. It was not just another sensationalistic Hollywood blockbuster.

Anyway, not for me.

But the viewpoint from my seat in the theater is mine.

I can’t say what the person behind me saw, felt or took with them when they left.

Mardi Ford is a reporter with The Observer.