My Crucified Christ

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...

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. 

This year, on Ash Wednesday, Lent began with hope. The sermon was beautiful as Father Semon encouraged us by reminding that Lent is not a season of suffering, but a season of spiritual renewal. That this is a time to choose to do away with our sins and draw nearer to God.  For me, the exhortation to remember those who are discarded by society to live at its periphery, toeing a fine line between being human and being nothing was especially touching. This coincided with a book that I'm reading - The Abyss, by Jeyamohan, which is the story of such human beings; the description of life for the 'discarded of society' was so agonising, that reading the first few pages had already torn my heart apart.  This Lent, as I gaze at my Crucified Christ, I ask God to reveal Himself to me. To truly understand the sacrifice of His Son that has given me the right to call God my Fatherly Mother and Motherly Father.