In 2005, St. Paul's-on-the-Green in Norwalk, CT commissioned a set of paintings depicting the stations of the Cross. The paintings can be found here. The paintings juxtapose Christ's trial, torture, crucifixion, and burial with modern scenes of conflict.
For instance, this particular painting is based on a photo of the abuses in Abu Ghraib; as you can see, it is eerily accurate (here, especially). Seeing these paintings while on a tour were what ultimately led me to work at this particular parish.
I'm of the opinion that these paintings get to the heart of the crucifixion in a way that few other stations of the cross do. The stations traditionally remind us that the crucifixion of Jesus--the torture and murder of the Son of God-- was a one-time event in the history of our salvation that never needs to be repeated. They tell that solitary story of the decisive moment in history.
The paintings go further. They show us the hard truth that humankind is still in the business of falsely accusing, torturing, and killing Christ by our actions toward our neighbors; yet we may say we would never do such a thing to Jesus if we were in Jerusalem, even while we yell "Crucify him!" on Palm Sunday. But we must consider who we are willing to crucify in our daily lives. Who are we willing to let be crucified on our behalf, or because we are told we will be safer? From whom do we deny the image of God that they bear?
The paintings, and the span of history, remind us that even with the work of salvation done-and-yet-ongoing, human nature is still warped in a way that no one, not even the Church, can fix without God. Unfortunately, the drums of war and the banging of gavels are sometimes loud enough to drown the still, small voice calling us to forgo the calculations that keep us estranged from everyone around us.
There is hope. But that is for tomorrow and the Resurrection. Just for today, the world has won. At least, the world thinks it has won. The rebel is humiliated, crucified. Dead.
For instance, this particular painting is based on a photo of the abuses in Abu Ghraib; as you can see, it is eerily accurate (here, especially). Seeing these paintings while on a tour were what ultimately led me to work at this particular parish.
I'm of the opinion that these paintings get to the heart of the crucifixion in a way that few other stations of the cross do. The stations traditionally remind us that the crucifixion of Jesus--the torture and murder of the Son of God-- was a one-time event in the history of our salvation that never needs to be repeated. They tell that solitary story of the decisive moment in history.
The paintings go further. They show us the hard truth that humankind is still in the business of falsely accusing, torturing, and killing Christ by our actions toward our neighbors; yet we may say we would never do such a thing to Jesus if we were in Jerusalem, even while we yell "Crucify him!" on Palm Sunday. But we must consider who we are willing to crucify in our daily lives. Who are we willing to let be crucified on our behalf, or because we are told we will be safer? From whom do we deny the image of God that they bear?
The paintings, and the span of history, remind us that even with the work of salvation done-and-yet-ongoing, human nature is still warped in a way that no one, not even the Church, can fix without God. Unfortunately, the drums of war and the banging of gavels are sometimes loud enough to drown the still, small voice calling us to forgo the calculations that keep us estranged from everyone around us.
There is hope. But that is for tomorrow and the Resurrection. Just for today, the world has won. At least, the world thinks it has won. The rebel is humiliated, crucified. Dead.
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