Triduum 4

Bare Cross

That experience with the cross this evening was really something; the touching, sharing, watching. Two friends were holding up the rough tied cross for us to explore -- I didn't think of them as friends then, of course. I settled a little close to the center bond so that I could use the table to get back up -- was that all right? Perhaps my war shattered back was meant for me to kneel there and not get up. What then? What better place than kneeling by your side with community and prayer? Ah, yes. Ah, yes! I can see you better now.

Somewhere in the special words of homily and heartfelt reflection or scripture extraction -- sometimes I get confused, there were some impactful words. "I felt all my wounds," you said. Now I understand why I relate more to the cross than the crucifix on the wall. Some artisan tried, I'm sure, to portray you in exquisite pain and humanity, but it never seems real. Perhaps I have been too affected by those renaissance renditions of a pasty, pale, Jesus of European visage. They try too hard for perfection, reflecting on your divinity. But the whole point is your humanity, isn't it. Now you can say, "been there, done that," and dismiss our fervent cries of unfair treatment or lack of compassioned understanding.

Give me the cross any day. I can imagine, just barely, what it was like. And that striving is more important to me that any plaster statue. If that display helps others, fine, I will lend support and hold another's hand. After all, I can always take you down from that bitter, overdone display. I'll hold you in my arms for a while -- but of course you have work to do. The cross that will remain will be enough for me. Leave the spikes there too -- I might need them. Stand by in case I need a little help getting that burden up -- but then I have other friends now too. Sorry I wasn't there to help.