Reflecting on the Cross
The tears you shed, my sorrowful friend, are purer than the laughter of him that seeks to forget and sweeter than the mockery of the scoffer. These tears cleanse the heart of the blight of hatred, and teach man to share the pain of the brokenhearted. They are the tears of the Nazarene. ~Kahlil Gibran
Reflecting on the cross is a way of opening to the world’s suffering and to the pain and pathos of God. It carves out a space for holding a sense of God’s love and intention for the world while at the same time facing the reality of suffering, sin, and evil in the world as it is. This integrated dual focus puts things in perspective and is an antidote to being paralyzed by grief or entranced by the intrigue and drama that pass today as “the real world.”
In prayer related to the cross, I face what happened to Jesus not because of some transaction between God and humankind but because of the way he lived his life and faced death and because his living presence is still here, illuminating all who seek communion with him.
Reflecting on the crucifixion and the events leading up to Jesus’s death means not glorifying his death or absolving those responsible but remembering that he was crucified for cultivating a way of life and creating a community based on alternative values that directly challenged the values (and laws!) of the ruling powers, which, for that very reason, had him put to death. It means facing the painful story of his execution at the hands of a murderous system that included official representatives, religious collaborators, a public that could be manipulated, and friends who betrayed, denied, or abandoned him. It also brings to life the countless others who have been subjected to persecution and death over the years by similar systems of worldly power.
Reflecting on the death of Jesus and all the other unjust deaths throughout history, including today, brings us face-to-face with our complicity and our rock-bottom poverty of spirit. We may even experience what seems to be the absence of God, as Jesus did as he hung on the cross, crying out, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Mark 15:34).
As we reflect on our own personal failings and our complicity in unjust systems, we discover our moral bankruptcy, emptiness, and powerlessness to control the outcome of events. We recognize that our wisdom and strength are inadequate to the task of personal and social transformation, so we surrender ourselves to God, whose wisdom and power are shrouded in mystery. Our ego stops trying to justify and defend itself. We die to ourselves. We enter the darkness, the depths, the journey of emptiness and loss and letting go, the dark night of the soul. Deeper, into the depths of spirit and matter, into the silence and music of the spheres, into the dark. Surrender of self, but not submission, led by the Holy Spirit, trusting the unknown, abandoning ourselves to love. Paradoxically, it is by entering this very darkness that light dawns and hope is reborn: “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven” (Matt 5:3). This is an example of the via negativa, the way of nothingness. It is the Way of the Cross, which has both an inward and an outward dimension.
By prayerfully entering into communion with Jesus in his life and in his death, I indicate my desire and willingness to follow him, to live according to his values, and to risk sharing his fate. These practices enable me to accept and, through prayer, to practice my own death and release the claims of the self that keep me conformed to contemporary culture. At the same time, the biblical witness and ongoing tangible presence of the Holy Spirit assure me that death is not the end of the journey. Holding space for this story and the ongoing story of the world’s suffering brings home the painful reality of Jesus’s time and of ours. It enables us to glimpse the extent of the world’s pain and see it in the context of the compassion of God. In words from “Kindness,” a poem by Naomi Shihab Nye,
Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside, you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing. You must wake up with sorrow. You must speak to it till your voice catches the thread of all sorrows and you see the size of the cloth. Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore.
Reflecting on the cross draws us into the sorrow and kindness of God. We are saved for kindness— the only thing that makes sense anymore.
Facing death is part of what it means to be human and aware of our mortality. The ongoing cycle of life and death is integral to life as we know it here on planet earth. The resurrection of Jesus is a foretaste and a sign that death is not the end, that in some mysterious way, life goes on beyond the grave. Still, the primary focus of Christian faith is not life after death, but eternal life here and now. Life in Christ enables us to live in defiance of death, which appears not only at the end of life but also in our everyday lives: in the loss of loved ones, in communal tragedies, in injustices that diminish us, in depression, in human bondage to sin, in the death of nature. Death comes in many guises, and the powers have myriad ways to magnify and inflict death.
Those of us who have heard the gospel know that the death of Jesus is not the end of the story. Through regular reflection and prayer, we gradually adjust to the silence and spaciousness, the emptiness and fullness of God. We come to realize that even when reflecting on the crucifixion, we do so in the presence of the risen Christ, who is always with us, even when God seems absent or when we question our capacity to endure. When I enter into communion with the crucified Jesus, I also commune with the risen Christ. For, as Jesus said, “He is God not of the dead, but of the living” (Mark 12:27).
Living in Christ enables us to resist and offer life-giving alternatives to the death-dealing stratagems of the powers, as Jesus did. This is the good news of the gospel: that even when facing death, despite death, in defiance of death, God comes to us in Jesus, raising us to new life and enabling us to participate in the life of God. Such experience itself is resurrection.