The Image

(The picture is inside of the Duomo di San Martino Cathedral in Lucca, Italy)

There is an image that gives me comfort,
I love it with every ounce of my being.
Like a teddy bear or a blanket,
I grip it tightly and bury my thoughts into its disturbing appearance.
I have been drawn to its presence all of my life,
I love this image with every ounce of my being.

There is an image that I resist,
I despise it with every ounce of my being.
Like a teddy bear or a blanket,
I am drawn to the comfort that I feel in my avoidance,
I am addicted to the smile that is birthed when I dismiss it,
I am dependent on thoughts of having control over my life.

How can an image I love haunt me so.
Who is this Man…
This Man in this image,
This Man whom I both crave and scorn.

I have always been drawn to the cross.

At 18 years old, I had an experience with the cross that changed me forever. An experience that has been both calling me and haunting me ever since.

On the surface, the cross is entirely and utterly strange. For it represents unfathomable human torture and suffering, and yet, as Christians, we hold it up as something hopeful and comforting. It is the ultimate paradox.

The cross is like a teddy bear or security blanket in my life. It is a daily reminder that my faults, shortcomings, and sins have a home. When my sins immerse themselves in Christ’s wounds, I experience an unexplainable, unworldly peace that is not attainable on my merit. It is mercy, and I cling to it deep within my being.

That said, it is precisely why my craving for God’s mercy sometimes makes my desire to avoid the cross so puzzling. For as much as I crave the cross, there are times when I want nothing more than to avoid it. An avoidance that seems to be rooted in my desire to evade suffering.

We see this kind of avoidance of suffering in today’s culture more than ever, even within Christian communities. It is a desire for the resurrection without going through the crucifixion. It is the desire for Easter morning without Good Friday.

I was struck one time by a dear priest friend’s response to a controversial Christian preacher’s “feel-good” theology: “He is always smiling.” On the surface, this sounded like a compliment, but in reality, how can any of us always smile? That is not to say that great Christian hope isn’t ultimately found in joy. Even Jesus himself said that.

“I have told you this so that my joy may be in you and your joy may be complete.”
-Jn 15:11

That said, at least for me, joy is not a feeling that comes when I will it, painted on by a smile. Joy comes from our ability to surrender and rest in humility. And that does not produce a smile on my face all of the time.

The cross both calls me and haunts me because, at its core, the cross is Love—a Love not without suffering.

“Suffering is the act of being out of control. Therefore redemptive suffering is the transformative power of taking our suffering (our state of being out of control) and transforming it into goodness and love.”

The image of Christ Crucified represents the great paradox of Love…the law of Love, if you will—a law which states that true faithful Love will produce suffering. And the more you love, the more you feel the sorrow of dying to your selfish desires. It is proportionately divinely connected. It is the participation in God’s divinity. And it is the recipe for a more profound joy, freedom, and peace.

The image of Christ Crucified is an image of a free and joyful man. It comforts and haunts me, especially when my circumstances seem beyond my understanding and daunting. Ultimately, the cross image always prompts me to ask whether I crave or try to avoid it…

“Who is this Man?”