My Crucified Christ

  For me, the summer of 2010 was a season of unending trials and tribulations. Though I was a twenty-something-year old, the past few years had been tough and it felt like I had already lived a 100 painful years. Disappointments came one after the other - from within and from outside. And just when it felt like things couldn't get any worse, I was fired from my job.  I finally understood what 'rock bottom' meant. Those were times when tears would come spontaneously and my heart would ache without warning. Life felt unfair and God felt distant.  One day on my way to work - while serving my forced notice period - as I was riding my scooter, the pain of my situation suddenly and heavily came upon me. Under my helmet, my face covered with a dupatta and eyes hidden by sunglasses, I began to cry. Tears poured down my face as I rode through Sterling Road; my heart hurt with the humiliation of being fired; my dignity had been shattered and my self esteem was lower than it had eve...

To love the Holy Spirit is to obey His promptings.  In my walk with God, I have often found myself professing untold love for Him, but not willing to obey. There are many incidents in my life where I have consciously and voluntarily disobeyed the promptings of the Holy Spirit because I was living in the flesh. But, growing closer to God means that not only do I know that there is no peace without obedience to Him, but also that there is no other path I wish to travel than the one appointed for me by Him.  Or so I thought.  It was midmorning last weekend, just before Pongal. The crowds and the traffic - on the usually not very populated road - were bordering on crazy. But, I was enjoying the drive, soaking in the festive spirit and looking forward to guzzling sugarcanes at home. I was returning from a routine doctor's appointment and was driving down 6th Avenue. My usual route required me to keep driving down straight; but as I approached the junction where one could take ...

Last night, as I was falling asleep, I remembered a video of Jo and Noe (my twin daughters) as babies; they were barely a year old, in their tiny pink and blue frocks tottering about, falling often, running to me and loving me. I thought how, even now, as they've grown almost as tall as me - so independent in thought and deed - I catch glimpses of the baby versions of them. I see it in the way one of their toes leans to one side, in the way they giggle, in their bony fingers and in their little belly buttons.  I catch glimpses of baby them in their girlish faces. And sometimes that's what keeps me going through the growing pains.  Their cute chubby faces, the toothless grins, the way they said, 'amma' in their squeaky voices, the utter innocence and purity helps me be patient and loving with the sometimes rebellious, sometimes cute, sometimes aggravating and sometimes kind daughters of mine.  And it struck me that God knew humanity as perfect, as His perfect friends who...

Chad Bird - a preacher I follow on Instagram, recently wrote about Matthew 25: 31-46 . And he quotes author Robert Capon as saying that Jesus appeared in the guise of those who were ‘the last, the lost, the least, and the little’.  How blessed I am, for I have been last, I have been lost, I have been the least and I have been little - and in all this, I found that He was truly with me, within me and in those who were comforting me. Every day I learn more and more that suffering and pain is the doorway to experiencing God.  So, God’s not in the joy? Of course He is, as God so clearly and beautifully tells us in John 10:10 ("I came so that they might have life and have it more abundantly.") But, in the joy, we tend to look outward. There are distractions that keep us from looking at God, there are celebrations that continuously ask us to move our gaze from Him; and above all, there is always the threat of the 'me' and the 'I'.  But, in suffering, we look inw...

Born in a Catholic family, Easter vigil has been a part of my life forever. The earliest memory I have of the Easter Vigil service is being around six years old and sitting next to my mom at the Immaculate Conception Cathedral, Pondicherry (or St. Paul's Kovil - church- which is locally just called 'Samba Kovil!). There were streamers and lots of decorations. I think we might have been late for mass, because we were sitting outside in the courtyard. Six year old me was excited to be outside at midnight; the sights and sounds were mesmerising - women in silk, men in their tailored shirts and pants (because in the early eighties that was the norm!) and children in their shiny frocks and pattu paavadais.  I have a very clear memory of asking my mom what was happening and why the church was decorated. "Jesus is coming back" she had replied in hushed tones.  "Tonight?" I had asked, shocked.  "Yes, he's going up to heaven tonight" she had said, motio...

There is pain in my heart that ebbs and flows and I fall exhaustedly on your chest like my children fall on mine. But is my pain even atomically comparable to yours, Jesus?  I move my gaze from my pain to your bleeding hands and feet as the nails tear through skin, flesh, tendon, ligament and muscle. I fix my eyes on the blood dripping from your crown of thorns. My eyes are on the ripped flesh on your body from the scourging and flogging. I look and behold the pierced side dripping blood and water.  What is my pain but a speck, a dot, a dust on the horizon, barely even decipherable.  Your pain, Lord, gives me life. You saved me. You chose me. You loved me so much that you walked to your death of your own accord. What more could I ever want but to be so loved, so cherished and SO WANTED by my God.  You died in my place. And for this I am forever and for all eternity grateful.