“It is finished.”
I went online and ordered a beautiful crucifix. I had other, smaller ones in our home that hung on walls and above doorways, gifts from baptisms and first communions. The one in my oldest daughter’s room displayed a golden corpus Christi on a pretty pearly white cross.
But this one was different. It was larger and more realistic with Jesus in the fullness of his passion. Our Lord depicted with all of the human nakedness and woundedness that one could imagine. When I opened the package it came in, it took my breath away but, as I hung it on my wall, an unexpected thought arose:
“I don’t want them to see you like this, Lord.”
Of course, to me it was exquisite, but I thought of the impression this raw depiction of Christ could make on my family and friends that were less acquainted with the Gospel. I wanted them to know the Jesus that I knew, who’s strength I boasted of.
I didn’t want to present what seems so dark without immediately explaining how it’s really the light! I didn’t want them to see the ugliness of the cross without knowing the beauty of the resurrection on the other side. I didn’t want them to see the Savior as this victim, this lamb led to slaughter, but as the Almighty, the King of Kings! I didn’t want to scare anyone off or give people the wrong idea.
But I put it up anyway, because I knew that if I wanted to show myself and others the truth about Jesus, if I desired to honor Him by displaying the fullness of His glory, His power, His strength and His Kingship;
THIS WAS IT!
Because this is what holiness looks like. This is what true love is.
During my lost years trying on different protestant churches I was told that a cross with a corpus Christi was offensive by a woman who was showing me around. We walked into a theater-like room complete with a stage above which a large cross hung, backlit with blue and purple lights. She pointed to it explaining, “We don’t keep Jesus on the Cross, because He isn’t there anymore, He’s in Heaven!”
At the time it made sense to me who was trying to reconcile my love for Jesus while also rejecting the context of Catholicism which I no longer understood at the time. It brought to mind a moment from my childhood when I encountered an icon of a suffering Christ. It was a small portrait in a golden frame that hung on the wall of my Catechism class which my mother taught that year.
Prayers Over The Kitchen Sink 