Anyway, in lieu of a bunch of posts about each day of Holy Week, which would probably become stale and cliche soon (not that that's stopped me in the past), I'll be doing something different. Namely, whatever pops into my head.
Before the jump, a note: this year, be different. Last night I watched The Passion of the Christ with Campus Ministry, and realized how incredible it is to look with fresh eyes. This week, when you hear the stories you've heard since you were little, listen as though you've never heard them before. Look at them with fresh eyes...a fresh viewpoint. You'll find things you never noticed, and you will definitely be on the road to putting out into the deep.
With that, let me introduce to you something you may have seen, particularly if you are lucky enough to attend SFU. It's something that you've definitely seen if you've been in the chapel, but in all likelihood failed to notice (or at least noticed then forgot about).
It's the Second Station of the Cross.
I feel kind of bad for the second station. In case you were unaware, it's "Jesus takes up his cross", but most people know it as "Not the first one, and not one of the exciting ones that comes later". It's early enough that people are still "getting into" it, but not early enough to be the first (when people are still paying attention).
Because of my usual seat at daily Mass, though, I see this station a lot. I like it. I especially like the way it was portrayed in the chapel. Perhaps the sculptor intended precisely none of what I am about to say, but I found a lot of "hidden" meaning in it.
Let's start with the figure on the left: Jesus.
He certainly doesn't look like a condemned criminal here. There are no shackles, he isn't struggling, and he isn't even glaring at the centurion. He's not shirking away from the cross - in fact, he's reaching for it. He isn't just tolerating the cross...he's taking it willingly.
Do we accept our crosses gladly as Christ did? Do we hold animosity for the people who cause our pain, or do we love them? How can I have a more open attitude towards my trials and burdens?
The Centurion
Notice how he's standing off to the side. He isn't standing next to Jesus, as a guard "should". He isn't even watching him. He's staring off indifferent to what's happening. He's not oblivious...he knows what is coming. Yet, he doesn't try to interfere. He just lets it happen.
Are we blind to the sufferings of others? Do we do anything to help, or are we just the bystanders?
The Man
I purposely left him for last, because I found the most symbolism in him. He's one of those "background characters" that we know must have been there, but was never worthy of mention. If Jesus accepted his cross, somebody had to hand it to him. Who is he?
He is you.
All of us, really. If we look at this from a broader perspective, he wasn't just handing Jesus a wood beam - he was handing Jesus the sins of the world. By default, that included his sin. He probably didn't realize it, but he was surrendering his sin to the criminal in front of him. He was getting rid of his sin.
But, we can go even deeper. (Disclaimer: I only know this following bit because of some tangential research I did for Olson's art history class last semester. I'm not that crazy). Note the hat. In the art world (and, well, technically the history world), it's known as a Phrygian cap. More specifically, it's a red Phrygian cap. In Ancient Rome, a red Phrygian cap was given to a slave who was set free. In art, it's a symbol of freedom...of release from slavery.
Perhaps the sculptor never meant for that. Maybe he just decided that everybody needed some form of headgear (halos count, okay?). But either way, he gave the man handing over the cross a symbol of freedom. To the man handing away his sins, release from slavery.
Sure, we can be like Jesus and willingly accept our suffering. We should strive to be like that. We can also be like the lackadaisical centurion who just doesn't care. We shouldn't strive for that one so much. But when you really come down to it...we're the man in the middle. We're handing over our sins to Jesus, and as a result are freed.
Finally, note the eyes. Jesus is looking directly into the Man's eyes. They aren't sheepishly avoiding eye contact out of shame. Jesus is saying "It's okay. I love you."
That's what Jesus wants to say to you this Holy Week. You don't have to be afraid. He has already taken it - whatever "it" is in your life - willingly and freely, completely out of love.
If you take nothing else from this, realize that if you look at things with fresh eyes, you will notice things you never saw before. Even something as simple as the second station in one chapel out of millions can have deeper meaning than you ever imagined.
This year, look with fresh eyes.
Duc in Altum
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