Stations of the cross
A big part of my Easter experience this year was going to two "stations of the cross".
One was organised by a colleague, a Baptist woman. There is a really big Easter thing run at Bethlehem Baptist church, but this one was less theologically laden and much more contemplative and interactive. We were invited to hold the rope that tied Jesus, eat bread and oil at the meal, drink lemon juice at Gethsemane, smell the oil use to anoint him by Mary before his death (Johns gospel) etc.. It too was theological, in that sometimes the commentary invited us to view this in one way, rather than allow the text of the scripture and the story itself to speak to us. So we were invited to consider how Jesus died for "my sin". I have to say i am entirely unsure Jesus did die for my sin. I am entirely sure Jesus died for "our sin", as a sign of God’s infinite and profound and life giving love for all creation, including me. So my sin I nailed to the cross was “it is not all about me”. The last two stations took us to the resurrection, which I was not ready for. Somehow we leap on to the resurrection, as if the crucifixion only has meaning with it. But in more classical theological circles, and certainly for Francis, it is as we stand at the cross, and fully comprehend God all powerful hanging naked, defenceless, powerless, in absolute poverty in love for us that we are able to comprehend both the magnitude of God’s love, and how we are so utterly unworthy in every sense. It we move to the resurrection too soon we are in danger of trivialising our sinfulness, of failing to truly accept our own poverty and need for God’s grace and love, are able to know that we are no better than anyone else, and so know true humility.
The second was on Saturday night, when we went to Hamilton for an art installation run by an eclectic group there.
(This has been edited with the comment included) "Incedo are the organisation behind Stations of the Cross in Hamilton (www.stations.org.nz), the new name for Youth for Christ. The curator is an Incedo fieldworker. The artist collective is from a diversity of places faith-wise. Ex-ile, which meets at the University, is a broad group (a few of the people in ex-ile might identify as liberal or progressive, others as evangelical, post-evangelical etc etc), and is the home for some of the people involved in making Stations happen and in its worship installations picks up some of the media of Stations... Just wanted to clarify because its such an amazing event - seven nights of art in public space and the Incedo community is the anchor!"
It was awesome. One was an actual whipping this time of phone books, of numbers, our numbers, just as Jesus number was up. It felt both good, and so brutal. How did people even survive that? We walked through hanging images of the crowd with free Barabbas on their t-shirts, and photos of faces shouting, angry eyes staring at you as you pushed through. At grace we listened to talk show hosts and callers vent hate at criminals, calling for their death, saying even death was too good. Help them into hell they said. It finished with an open grave with casket, with dirt to throw in, a link to military cemeteries with the last post and revelry, and finally an empty tomb. That felt ok, it was Saturday ninth. We were given a portable communion of wafer and test tube of juice, which I had there, welcoming in the resurrected Christ.
Both very powerful experiences. It has been a good Easter.
One was organised by a colleague, a Baptist woman. There is a really big Easter thing run at Bethlehem Baptist church, but this one was less theologically laden and much more contemplative and interactive. We were invited to hold the rope that tied Jesus, eat bread and oil at the meal, drink lemon juice at Gethsemane, smell the oil use to anoint him by Mary before his death (Johns gospel) etc.. It too was theological, in that sometimes the commentary invited us to view this in one way, rather than allow the text of the scripture and the story itself to speak to us. So we were invited to consider how Jesus died for "my sin". I have to say i am entirely unsure Jesus did die for my sin. I am entirely sure Jesus died for "our sin", as a sign of God’s infinite and profound and life giving love for all creation, including me. So my sin I nailed to the cross was “it is not all about me”. The last two stations took us to the resurrection, which I was not ready for. Somehow we leap on to the resurrection, as if the crucifixion only has meaning with it. But in more classical theological circles, and certainly for Francis, it is as we stand at the cross, and fully comprehend God all powerful hanging naked, defenceless, powerless, in absolute poverty in love for us that we are able to comprehend both the magnitude of God’s love, and how we are so utterly unworthy in every sense. It we move to the resurrection too soon we are in danger of trivialising our sinfulness, of failing to truly accept our own poverty and need for God’s grace and love, are able to know that we are no better than anyone else, and so know true humility.
The second was on Saturday night, when we went to Hamilton for an art installation run by an eclectic group there.
(This has been edited with the comment included) "Incedo are the organisation behind Stations of the Cross in Hamilton (www.stations.org.nz), the new name for Youth for Christ. The curator is an Incedo fieldworker. The artist collective is from a diversity of places faith-wise. Ex-ile, which meets at the University, is a broad group (a few of the people in ex-ile might identify as liberal or progressive, others as evangelical, post-evangelical etc etc), and is the home for some of the people involved in making Stations happen and in its worship installations picks up some of the media of Stations... Just wanted to clarify because its such an amazing event - seven nights of art in public space and the Incedo community is the anchor!"
It was awesome. One was an actual whipping this time of phone books, of numbers, our numbers, just as Jesus number was up. It felt both good, and so brutal. How did people even survive that? We walked through hanging images of the crowd with free Barabbas on their t-shirts, and photos of faces shouting, angry eyes staring at you as you pushed through. At grace we listened to talk show hosts and callers vent hate at criminals, calling for their death, saying even death was too good. Help them into hell they said. It finished with an open grave with casket, with dirt to throw in, a link to military cemeteries with the last post and revelry, and finally an empty tomb. That felt ok, it was Saturday ninth. We were given a portable communion of wafer and test tube of juice, which I had there, welcoming in the resurrected Christ.
Both very powerful experiences. It has been a good Easter.
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