I assume many Christians would take offense with the way I interpret the religion. I know many Christians would not consider me to be one. I am sure the nature of my beliefs and convictions at the least make many people squirm. I am sure of this because some convictions of others indeed make me squirm myself. It is an ongoing debate, Theological Correctness. One Great Collossal Truth we might all share is that we make each other uncomfortable. Lots of Jesus' fellow Jews jived with what he tried to say, and lots of them were quite incensed by it to the point of wishing and requesting him dead. And on it goes with every society and their respective Great Prophets. There is nothing so human as conflict, and it seems to me one source of peace can be agreeing to disagree. In my opinion to say something as fantastical as eternal life is at stake, and the fulcrum point between tipping up to a heaven or tipping down to a hell is by the profession of agreement with one point or another is quite a human notion.
I was considering the passion of the Christ, or in other words, the suffering of the Christ, and what it means to me now in this moment. Although I may have ideas or inclinations or opinions on the subject of "literalism" in the bible, I feel these opinions are fairly irrelevant to what the story written in the bible may mean. By mean, I don't mean "what it truly implies. Could it ever be just one thing or two? But in what may have been a routine crucifiction by cross for Romans really seemed special to a few Jews. It's special-ness continues to take on significance for all sorts of people all throughout time. At a time when waking from the dead was not completely unheard of, some folks did seem to think it was a very different and significant grave abandonment this time around with Jesus involved. I know this because so many people discussed their perceptions about it, and eventually those perceptions were written down.
But what I perceive in this moment is that a force called God offers a comfort so supreme that it's painful to even think about, and therefore quite difficult to accept. I don't think the physical "suffering" of death by cross is really as bad as an almost-magical "taking on" of all the psychological pain and discomfort and sadness of all people all across the world or maybe even universe throughout all time as we know it. In Mel Gibson's Passion of the Christ movie, I loved how bloody and gory the trip to death was displayed. I cringed at the thought of having those gashes made across my back and along my side. Ow. But I can barely stand to cringe and think about the deep pain I know I've felt at times, multiplied by all infinity. This pain all being not just accepted and heard by another, but taken on to a point past empathy that I'll never see. The gaping wounds in all our hearts and all the embarrassment, self-loathing, evil, conniving, manipulating, barking, depressed, worried, desolate darkness lurking in every moment of isolation-- i imagine it all being accepted by God. God sits with it, quietly, calmly, dead ahead eye to eye and not just allows it to be, but accepts it and in a freaky way maybe loves it. I imagine this through the story of Jesus' death and ressurection. I see it as a story about a hero sucking up all the sadness and by acknowledging it and letting it exist, it loses the fundamental power to destroy, and instead the magical love-force grace-ness fills in the gaps with what makes life so worth living that we all procreate so damn much to the point of overpopulation. It's an unbelievable feat, rising again each morning after the terror of a nightmare.
I see in my memory the face of my grandpa as he was walked down the center church aisle, with his sons on each arm, and his metal cane, a leg for the left one he didn't have working. His mouth was paralyzed in place, a jaw hinged open, as if to attempt inhaling the moment and reality physically as it can barely be accepted or comprehended by mind alone. It was a white face surrounding the hole of his mouth, a dark abyss. He was walking into the funeral of his wife. Whatever pain was inside him, taking over his face and freezing his mouth so as ingest or escape, I can barely stand to conjure up in memory. I think about the recent sudden death of a healthy, happy mid-life man, and the sweet family left to endless stages of grief. I think about my sister's life-long friend who suffered so intensely with an illness that caused her to starve herself to death. It's disgusting to even write my memories of these atrocities down, but they just flash through my head-- an instant of pain or perhaps just a pinch of it or the fear of it-- a flash. And then I picture this Thing called God, if it's all knowing, having not just the facts of tragedy but the voices of it's aftermath calling out in screaching pain, and the Thing is strong enough to withstand it all and sprinkle enough goodness in that we all laugh at some time. The death and suffering and psychosis doesn't really destroy. I mean, it does destroy. But it co-exists with other things like laughing. I don't know what the f*k the pain means and why the hell the tragedies must go on. But I'm picturing something sitting with them all. Like a big perfect therapist in an immortal sky nodding neutrally to the dark subconscious of Man, unbiased and non-judgemental to the sins and sadnesses that may be. This I find comforting and maybe even transforming. And it's an idea I got from the whole "Jesus-story".
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