Did you, as a boy, look up at those crosses, afraid?
I don't even personally know many prisoners, maybe one or two. A few friends have quietly told me that they have people in their families who are in prison. Today, as in your day, people are somewhat ashamed if someone they're related to or they know are in prison. After all, people always ask, "What did they do to get sent there?" And the relatives get put on the spot and don't want to talk about their crimes.
You didn't commit crimes, Jesus. But it was what you did that got you arrested, imprisoned, tortured, and crucified. What you said and did to "call out" the religious leaders of your time made them report you to the State as a political leader who could whip the people into a frenzy and lead a revolt against Roman authority. Made the crowds that had come out to praise you less than a week before come out and scream against you, mock you, as you slowly died.
You were a celebrity, in your time. We do the same thing to our celebrities today. Praise them one day, and turn against them the next, sometimes over "manufactured news." Like the news that others manufactured against you. How that must have hurt you!
Why would a God do such a thing, Jesus? Make himself an object of shame for his people? A common criminal? Misunderstood and abandoned by your friends who were afraid of being executed too? But then you gave your inaugural address in the synagogue in Nazareth, when you said these words:
"The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,
because he has chosen me to bring good news to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim liberty to the captives,
and recovery of sight to the blind,
to set free the oppressed
and announce that the time has come
when the Lord will save his people."
In the upside-down logic of God, which I do not understand, you accomplished freeing us, saving us, by becoming all these things yourself because you became human:
Poor: you wandered, homeless, preaching the good news.
A Captive: you became a prisoner.
Blind: your eyes were blinded by tears, sweat, and blood as they whipped you and crowned you with thorns.
Oppressed: you lived the life of the oppressed in an oppressed nation, run by another people: Rome.
But if I cannot understand the ins and outs of a crucifixion, I surely understand the ins and outs of being human, and that is where I'll find you today, Jesus. In your humanity. That's what brings me so close to you.
You physically suffered, like I do, not just during your torture and crucifixion, but during your lifetime, in Nazareth, and out on the roads and in the desert, preaching. You got sick, got headaches, maybe strained muscles, broke bones. Maybe you even went hungry if it got late and you and your friends weren't near a town. Or you went hungry because you were healing people, talking with them. Your heart was always so soft with people who were hurting.
You emotionally suffered, like I do. Members of your family didn't understand you and your call from the Father, and wanted to take you home. The crowds rarely "got" your message, and often didn't like it. In the end, many turned against you once you were arrested. You were falsely convicted by the crowd, and people told lies about you during your mock trial. I know how angry and hurt I feel when people lie about me! Your friends deserted you in your hours of greatest need. People looked away and shuddered when they saw the ugliness of your tortured, bleeding body. And, of course, Judas betrayed you, as all of us feel betrayed, let down, by those who know us. Often it's those we know best who betray us.
And you were afraid. You asked your Father if it was possible that you wouldn't have to die. To die so soon. You knew you'd have to die some day - you were human. But why so young, and why such a terrible death? How many people today wrestle with God over the same question? Why now? Why must I face something so terrible right now? I know I've asked God the same questions.
And, I've been with the dying. Watched breathing become shallower and shallower, heard the moans, softer and softer. Finally I've seen the much-loved bodies stop moving. This is you, Jesus, approaching and entering through that mysterious doorway that our bodies dread and our minds dread, and only faith and hope can walk us through.
Later today, I'll be kneeling and kissing your cross. Please, Jesus, let me remember all of you, the whole you, as I press my lips to the cold wood. Let me remember you laughing, crying, loving, hurt, afraid, sick, exhausted, poor, a prisoner, blind, oppressed. Because the Father sent you. Because you chose to be with us, a weak, helpless human, just like me, like all of us.
That's how you saved us, by accepting the messy reality of being human. Accepting and healing and transforming all that confusion, doubt, and pain you found in us by your love. Accepting all the hate and sinful anger and envy and blood-lust we hurled at you, and forgiving us. Loving us to the last inch of your pained, broken body, the last drop of your blood, with the power of divine love enclosed in that all-too-human flesh. The totality of you loved the totality of us, loved us to death. Because of your obedience to this high, divine calling, your Father raised you from the dead.
But resurrection was a long way off today, Jesus. Resurrection was a faint light in your soul, hidden under the shadow of suffering. Hidden under that horrible feeling that your Father had abandoned you. Hidden under your final, blind, beautiful acceptance of His Will. As I have to accept the Father's will when I'm tortured by sorrow and walking blind.....
Light of the world, my Jesus, shine on me. I adore you. Because I can hold your hand in your humanness, and fall on my knees before you in profound gratitude for your divine mercy and love. I don't always understand your Father and my Father's Will and actions in my life. But your human trust and acceptance have taught me to say "yes" to Him, trusting that one day I will understand His purposes for me. Sometimes I pray with tears. Sometimes with fears. Sometimes with a cross. Just as you did.