How Did Jesus Let Go of His Cross?

"Christ Ascending from the Cross"

by sculptor Huberto Maestas.

I would have been angry. And exhausted. And resentful, bitter, unforgiving. And not just of those who tortured me verbally and physically, spitting in my face, nailing me to that cross, but all those who looked away, pretending it wasn’t happening or worse, that it wasn’t important, and fearful of a similar fate if they defended me. 

Those fair-weather multitudes I fed with spiritual truths and a little boy’s lunch: where were they? Those I healed with prayer and touch? Those I made glad with the egalitarian promises and parables of the kingdom of God among us? 

And my disciples, cowering in hiding! Betrayed, denied, abandoned by those dearest to me, who professed to “love” me. Worse yet, they never seemed to really “get” me, never seemed to understand what I was about, never fully bought into my passion for the world and my compassion for all the little ones in this world. 

No wonder I felt God-forsaken. 

If it weren’t for the women who followed me and that closeted disciple Nicodemus, I would still be up on that cross, to be devoured by the birds of the air and the beasts of the field as my muscles stretched to the breaking point in the heat of the sun, my lungs gasping for air. 

Now, thank God, I can rest in peace. The tomb is cool and dark, the strips of cloth hugging my wounds, the cold stone holding me, my mind and heart at rest, at rest in God. Will anything come of my sacrifice? The way I lived my life for others? The insights the Spirit spoke through my words and my ways? God only knows. 

I’m glad to be away from all the noise and chaos outside. I never want to go back there again. Though, there were moments of tranquility and comfort—going up on a mountain to pray alone with God, Mary anointing my feet with a fragrant oil, the beloved disciple cuddling on my lap during our last meal. I feel sorrow for them, but I can no longer help them. I can’t get out of here; this is it. 

But then to my surprise, God calls me into action again. I rise to the occasion. Each one who witnesses this resurrection is of two minds*, belief and doubt, from the first to the last. Belief will give them hope; doubt will cause despair. But this is how I let go of my cross: I choose to believe.

 

* Matthew’s description of witnesses to the resurrection that some believed while others doubted is better translated that each witness was of two minds. The word used literally means “standing in two places.” That is comforting. 

Thanks to Rev. Ashley Calhoun for today’s photo by Richard Tohline of “Christ Ascending from the Cross” by sculptor Huberto Maestas located at St. Francis of Assisi Roman Catholic Church in Castlerock, Colorado.

FYI-I considered retiring from my blog on its tenth anniversary in February but didn’t want to “abandon” readers during the pandemic! My brother suggested I run “the best of” posts, and I decided to run past posts that still speak to current issues. This will also give me the opportunity to write a new post occasionally. Thanks for your continued support! Today’s post is from April 8, 2015. 

Copyright © 2015 by Chris R. Glaser. Permission granted for non-profit use with attribution of author and blogsite. Other rights reserved. 

Tax-deductible donations may be made safely to the “Chris Glaser Archive” through the Tribute Gift section of The Center for LGBTQ and Gender Studies in Religion. 

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Three Prayers for Lent

O God,

I lack a certain courage :

to risk abandoning all my closets

to fulfill life’s dreams,

giving up securities, pretensions,

presumptions, indulgences,

fears—especially fears—

to be all you claim I am,

to be all you call me to be,

to be all you hope for me.

I dawdle at the starting line,

telling myself I’ll begin tomorrow.

Or, part way through the race,

I decide, I deserve a break today,

and find it difficult to limit that break

to time enough to rest and restore myself

to run again.

Dear God,

Jesus fought the good fight,

finished his race,

and kept faith with his dreams

of your commonwealth.

Why do you give me this model, God?

It’s like comparing my body to Olympic athletes,

or my ministry to Mother Teresa’s,

or my sacrifice to martyred saints in Central America!

I can’t give it all, can I, Lord?

I can’t sacrifice all for the commonwealth of God, can I?

“Seek first God’s kingdom…,

and all these things shall be yours as well.”

Jesus, is this true?

Did you have all you needed

as you gave everything to finish the race?

It’s so easy to say prayers, God,

so difficult to translate ours words to actions.

Your Word became flesh and dwelt among us.

We nailed him,

we suffocated him,

we buried him,

in part because we were so damned jealous

that he did something we couldn’t :

he lived out his prayer life.

When he prayed “Thy kingdom come”

he meant it,

he preached it,

he lived as its citizen

and became its King.

We mocked him

by making his throne a cross

because we thought he mocked us,

making it seem so easy to be your children, God.

Though tempted as we are,

he, in prayer and fasting,

waited on your word,

refused to tempt your love,

and worshiped only you.

O God,

forgive me for not waiting,

forgive me for tempting you,

forgive my worship of idols.

Teach me to listen for your word,

trust in your love,

and worship in spirit and in truth.

Remind me that Jesus is not an only child,

nor your kingdom’s only citizen.

May I live up to my inheritance as your child

and as a citizen of your commonwealth,

through Jesus Christ, who leads my way.

Amen.

Dear Jesus,

sometimes we expect too much sanctuary

within the church.

We want a womb,

a warm, retreat experience,

not harsh reality

of needy people

and petty politics,

ecclesiastical or societal,

which may lead to a tomb

as it did for you.

But the kingdom of heaven lay beyond

your forty-day prayer retreat in the wilderness, Jesus.

The commonwealth of God lay within

your interactions with the world that followed.

The commonwealth you preached, Jesus,

is in our midst

as healing occurs among us.

And healing comes

as you, the Christ, are in the world,

not in retreat,

nor entombed

either by calcified doctrines

or grave doubt.

You taught that for us to pray,

for us to find healing for ourselves,

is not enough.

“Faith without works is dead.”

Faith without work is death.

Dear Jesus,

Keep me from resting in peace,

a self-satisfied smile on my face,

while others hunger for my touch

as a member of your Body,

the Body of Christ,

healer of this world.

Amen.

These are prayers Day 20, Day 41, and Day 46 from my book Coming Out to God: Prayers for Lesbians and Gay Men, Their Families and Friends, published by Westminster/John Knox Press in 1991. Each prayer was broken into phrases not out of poetic pretensions but to slow the reader. I often refer to God’s “kingdom” as a “commonwealth” in which everything is shared, including our common spiritual wealth. The only change I’ve made is substituting “Olympic athletes” in the first prayer for the name of a well-known body builder of the time, and this, contrasted with the reference to Mother Teresa, demonstrates the longevity of compassion over other accomplishments. The second prayer’s mention of suffocation refers to how victims of crucifixion die: their bodies eventually sag from exhaustion and cut off the flow of air to the lungs. The final lines of the second prayer’s first section refer to Jesus’ three temptations in the wilderness (Matthew 4:1-11). The photo is a shadow on our deck I noticed days ago during my morning prayers.

As with all of my writings, you are welcome to use these for non-profit purposes with attribution of author and context.

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Copyright © 1991 and 2019 by Chris R. Glaser. Permission granted for non-profit use with attribution of author and blogsite. Other rights reserved.

How Did Jesus Let Go of His Cross?

I would have been angry. And exhausted. And resentful, bitter, unforgiving. And not just of those who tortured me verbally and physically, spitting in my face, nailing me to that cross, but all those who looked away, pretending it wasn’t happening or worse, that it wasn’t important, and fearful of a similar fate if they defended me.

Those fair-weather multitudes I fed with spiritual truths and a little boy’s lunch: where were they? Those I healed with prayer and touch? Those I made glad with the egalitarian promises and parables of the kingdom of God among us?

And my disciples, cowering in hiding! Betrayed, denied, abandoned by those dearest to me, who professed to “love” me. Worse yet, they never seemed to really “get” me, never seemed to understand what I was about, never fully bought into my passion for the world and my compassion for all the little ones in this world.

No wonder I felt God-forsaken.

If it weren’t for the women who followed me and that closeted disciple Nicodemus, I would still be up on that cross, to be devoured by the birds of the air and the beasts of the field as my muscles stretched to the breaking point in the heat of the sun, my lungs gasping for air.

Now, thank God, I can rest in peace. The tomb is cool and dark, the strips of cloth hugging my wounds, the cold stone holding me, my mind and heart at rest, at rest in God. Will anything come of my sacrifice? The way I lived my life for others? The insights the Spirit spoke through my words and my ways? God only knows.

I’m glad to be away from all the noise and chaos outside. I never want to go back there again. Though, there were moments of tranquility and comfort—going up on a mountain to pray alone with God, Mary anointing my feet with a fragrant oil, the beloved disciple cuddling on my lap during our last meal. I feel sorrow for them, but I can no longer help them. I can’t get out of here; this is it.

But then to my surprise, God calls me into action again. I rise to the occasion. Each one who witnesses this resurrection is of two minds*, belief and doubt, from the first to the last. Belief will give them hope; doubt will cause despair. But this is how I let go of my cross: I choose to believe.

* Matthew’s description of witnesses to the resurrection that some believed while others doubted, is better translated that each witness was of two minds. The word used literally means “standing in two places.” That is comforting.

Copyright © 2015 by Chris R. Glaser. Permission granted for non-profit use with attribution of author and blogsite. Other rights reserved. “Progressive Christian Reflections” is an authorized Emerging Ministry of Metropolitan Community Churches.