Thursday, April 15, 2004
Stations of the Cross
Today was spent waiting to not get my haircut, and watching the Passion of the Christ.
Seated in a sea of humanity. And tears. There are oceans of blood and pain on the screen before us.
Dry eyed, I cannot cry with them. This story, I already know. This story, I cry for, inside my heart every Sunday receiving communion.
*****
Do this in remembrance...
I'll admit that I was curious to see just how sensationalistic the Passion would be.
I'd heard the Passion criticised for being too brutal. Too bloody. Anecdotes of people walking sickened out of it. Unable to put up with any more.
What did we say two thousand years ago as we nailed You to Your cross?
Too bloody?
We hunger for blood in the likes of Quentin Tarantino's Kill Bill. We thrill at Lucy Liu's scalp peeling back to reveal her brain beneath. We revel at the fountains of red cleaved from the limbs of generic oriental males.
Why then are we sickened at the sight of flesh torn from His side? Why do we recoil with every lash of the whip? Why do some of us... resent His courage?
Could it be because this story... is true.
Because it reminds us of our weakness.
Because, at some indescribable level it moves an obscure emotion, in even the most righteous of us...
I'd heard this movie criticised for promoting anti-semetism. Watching every moment; waiting for the next dreadful instant; that next collapse to the ground. That next hammer blow - I cannot see it. I see embellishment, yes. Mel Gibson has taken artistic liberties : but only to fill in the gaps. To bridge the divides between they of yesteryear, and we of today.
I watch the hard-eyed Pharisees screaming for blood and hate them.
But I do not hate the compassion in Mother Mary's eyes. Nor the dignity in His. Nor the regret in the unnamed Roman soldier's. Or even the tired bewilderment in Pilate's.
This story does not lay blame on a race. It casts blame on the evil of Man. And evil is not confined to races and colours. It stalks silently, like the Devil did as Jesus staggered on his longest day. Roman. Jew alike. Evil does not discriminate.
This story reproaches those of us who embrace the dark. And gives hope to those of us who welcome the light.
Anti-semetism? Only a bigot would rally that cry.
This picture that so many burn to hate, has seeked only to capture the Story's truth. To transcend the barriers of time language and leap into our minds.
To remind.
*****
Quid est Veritas? What is truth.
This is a story far greater, and far more Significant than any Other.
Do this in memory of me
I look at Today's stories standing proudly on their shelves around me at the grocers. How Posh's word came tumbling down. Hot bods! Sex.
I wonder what would have happened, if Pontius Pilate had had the courage to stand firm against the masses. What then? Would we have redeemed ourselves.
But no. There is no what if - it was prophesized. He knew His cross before He bore it. All things happen for a reason - how difficult it must have been for Him to believe that, then. (Father, why have you forsaken me?)
I ask only this of you
How much Courage it must have taken. How much Grace.
How Significant.
We must not forget.
*****
John, 20
24But Thomas, sometimes called the Twin, one of the Twelve, was not with them when Jesus came. 25The other disciples told him, "We saw the Master."
But he said, "Unless I see the nail holes in his hands, put my finger in the nail holes, and stick my hand in his side, I won't believe it."
26Eight days later, his disciples were again in the room. This time Thomas was with them. Jesus came through the locked doors, stood among them, and said, "Peace to you."
27Then he focused his attention on Thomas. "Take your finger and examine my hands. Take your hand and stick it in my side. Don't be unbelieving. Believe."
28Thomas said, "My Master! My God!"
It was his hands.
Today was spent waiting to not get my haircut, and watching the Passion of the Christ.
Seated in a sea of humanity. And tears. There are oceans of blood and pain on the screen before us.
Dry eyed, I cannot cry with them. This story, I already know. This story, I cry for, inside my heart every Sunday receiving communion.
*****
Do this in remembrance...
I'll admit that I was curious to see just how sensationalistic the Passion would be.
I'd heard the Passion criticised for being too brutal. Too bloody. Anecdotes of people walking sickened out of it. Unable to put up with any more.
What did we say two thousand years ago as we nailed You to Your cross?
Too bloody?
We hunger for blood in the likes of Quentin Tarantino's Kill Bill. We thrill at Lucy Liu's scalp peeling back to reveal her brain beneath. We revel at the fountains of red cleaved from the limbs of generic oriental males.
Why then are we sickened at the sight of flesh torn from His side? Why do we recoil with every lash of the whip? Why do some of us... resent His courage?
Could it be because this story... is true.
Because it reminds us of our weakness.
Because, at some indescribable level it moves an obscure emotion, in even the most righteous of us...
I'd heard this movie criticised for promoting anti-semetism. Watching every moment; waiting for the next dreadful instant; that next collapse to the ground. That next hammer blow - I cannot see it. I see embellishment, yes. Mel Gibson has taken artistic liberties : but only to fill in the gaps. To bridge the divides between they of yesteryear, and we of today.
I watch the hard-eyed Pharisees screaming for blood and hate them.
But I do not hate the compassion in Mother Mary's eyes. Nor the dignity in His. Nor the regret in the unnamed Roman soldier's. Or even the tired bewilderment in Pilate's.
This story does not lay blame on a race. It casts blame on the evil of Man. And evil is not confined to races and colours. It stalks silently, like the Devil did as Jesus staggered on his longest day. Roman. Jew alike. Evil does not discriminate.
This story reproaches those of us who embrace the dark. And gives hope to those of us who welcome the light.
Anti-semetism? Only a bigot would rally that cry.
This picture that so many burn to hate, has seeked only to capture the Story's truth. To transcend the barriers of time language and leap into our minds.
To remind.
*****
Quid est Veritas? What is truth.
This is a story far greater, and far more Significant than any Other.
Do this in memory of me
I look at Today's stories standing proudly on their shelves around me at the grocers. How Posh's word came tumbling down. Hot bods! Sex.
I wonder what would have happened, if Pontius Pilate had had the courage to stand firm against the masses. What then? Would we have redeemed ourselves.
But no. There is no what if - it was prophesized. He knew His cross before He bore it. All things happen for a reason - how difficult it must have been for Him to believe that, then. (Father, why have you forsaken me?)
I ask only this of you
How much Courage it must have taken. How much Grace.
How Significant.
We must not forget.
*****
John, 20
24But Thomas, sometimes called the Twin, one of the Twelve, was not with them when Jesus came. 25The other disciples told him, "We saw the Master."
But he said, "Unless I see the nail holes in his hands, put my finger in the nail holes, and stick my hand in his side, I won't believe it."
26Eight days later, his disciples were again in the room. This time Thomas was with them. Jesus came through the locked doors, stood among them, and said, "Peace to you."
27Then he focused his attention on Thomas. "Take your finger and examine my hands. Take your hand and stick it in my side. Don't be unbelieving. Believe."
28Thomas said, "My Master! My God!"
It was his hands.
