Praying With a Crucifix
Jesus went with his disciples to a place called Gethsemane. When they got there, he told them, “Sit here while I go over there and pray.” Jesus took along Peter and the two brothers, James and John. He was very sad and troubled, and he said to them, “I am so sad that I feel as if I am dying. Stay here and keep awake with me.”Jesus walked on a little way. Then he knelt with his face to the ground and prayed, “My Father, if it is possible, don’t make me suffer by drinking from this cup. But do what you want, and not what I want.”
Matthew 26:36-39, Contemporary English Version
I did not grow up with crucifixes. Of all the crosses that might be around in the churches of my youth the most common was just a plain Latin cross, unadorned and uninhabited. As the church of my youth so often reminded me, “Jesus isn’t on the cross anymore!” And honestly, as someone believing the Risen Christ I wasn’t sure what to do with the image of a forever-crucified Christ.
I do have a few crucifixes these days, and today I found myself holding one of them during my morning prayers, a crucifix given to me by a dear brother from Jamaica when we shared a few days together in San Juan, Puerto Rico. Somehow this image of a suffering Christ sparked extra hope and resilience in my soul. It stirred up some sacred imagination within me.
Writers of our Christian scriptures will often make connections between the suffering of Christ and our suffering, and I’ll admit it’s been too easy for me to intellectualize that or simply hold it in a conceptual realm. Sitting with a visual reminder of what Jesus experienced in his human suffering, from the daily aches and frustrations to the apex of his pain on the cross, caused me to feel seen and known. It was visceral, not just conceptual.
Though I may not have a crucifix around for daily wear or constant reference, it does have an important place in our little human pilgrimages as we hurtle through space on this island planet of ours. In the midst of our stellar insignificance we are neither isolated nor alone. Indeed, our faith reminds us that our very smallness is known and cherished by God, the God who cannot be fully contained in this ever-expanding universe and yet deigned to stand among us in the form of a single vulnerable human being. No pain is felt alone. No frustration is not seen and shared.
That crucifix and its image of a murdered victim helped me to sit in my own humanness, take a deep breath, exhale and prepare to journey onward. Our stories are so very human, with all the banality and insignificance that implies, and yet we’re also infused with the sacred, the eternal and the divine. I’m so grateful today for this little cross and its suffering inhabitant. I’m glad for the reminder that we are so valued, comforted and celebrated in our own humanity.
AMDG, Todd+
toddthomas.net 