THE NAKED, TRANSPARENT TRUTH OF FREEDOM

Introduction: Why Good Friday Still Matters in a Violent World

Every year, as Good Friday returns, we are invited into a mystery that is both ancient and deeply contemporary. We remember the suffering and crucifixion of Jesus Christ—a man betrayed, condemned, humiliated, and executed. At first glance, it seems like a purely religious memory, something confined to liturgy and prayer. For many, this remembrance risks becoming a ritual, a sacred story repeated across generations. But if we pause and look closely at our world today, we realize that Good Friday is not just a memory of the past—it is a mirror held up to the present.

We live in a time marked by wars, political tensions, systemic injustices, and deep divisions. Nations justify violence in the name of security. Leaders speak of necessity. Media shapes narratives that often soften or obscure suffering. In such a world, the cross is no longer distant—it is painfully relevant. The story of Jesus’ Passion reveals not only divine love but also the patterns of human behavior that continue to shape history.

Good Friday invites us into what Christians call the Paschal Mystery—the suffering, death, and resurrection of Christ. Yet no amount of study can fully explain its depth. It is a mystery that must be contemplated, entered into, and lived. The question is not only what happened to Jesus, but how we see ourselves in the story. Are we like Judas, betraying truth for convenience? Like Peter, denying when it is costly to stand firm? Like Pilate, washing our hands of responsibility? Or can we become like Simon of Cyrene, who helps carry the cross, even if reluctantly at first?

This reflection explores Good Friday through three movements—images, thoughts, and sentiments— while bringing its meaning into dialogue with our modern world while connecting it to the moral and social realities: a world of unjust wars, moral confusion, and deep longing for truth and freedom.

1. The Stripped Christ and the Exposure of Reality

We begin with a stark and unsettling image: Jesus hanging naked on the cross. Not partially clothed, not dignified, but completely stripped—outer garments and inner tunic taken away. He is left naked, exposed to the gaze of soldiers, crowds, and the sky itself. This is not artistic exaggeration; it is theological truth. This detail is often softened in art and imagination, but historically and theologically, it matters.

Crucifixion in the ancient world was designed to degrade completely- was meant to humiliate completely. It was not merely a method of execution but a public display of humiliation. The stripping of garments was part of that process, meant to expose the victim entirely, to remove dignity, identity, and protection. It was not only execution—it was exposure and public shaming.

And yet, in this act of total stripping, something unexpected happens-  something profound is revealed. The cross becomes a place of revelation. Everything is laid bare.

The violence of power is no longer hidden behind political language or religious justification—it is visible in the wounded body of Christ. The fear of leaders, who feel threatened by truth, is exposed. The complicity of the crowd, which shifts from admiration to condemnation, is revealed. Even the weakness of the disciples, who flee in fear, becomes evident.

But above all, the love of Christ is unveiled in its purest form.

There is nothing left to conceal it. No robe to symbolize authority. No miracle to display power. Only a body given, a life poured out.

This nakedness takes us back to the beginning of human existence. In the Book of Genesis, Adam and Eve were naked and unashamed, living in a state of transparency and trust. They received life as a gift, without fear or defensiveness. But with the entrance of sin, that transparency was lost. Fear entered the human heart, and with it came the need to hide, to protect, to control. Clothing became a symbol not just of covering the body, but of concealing vulnerability.

On the cross, Christ returns to that original nakedness—but transformed. He is not unaware of evil; He has fully encountered it. Yet He chooses not to defend Himself against it. His vulnerability is not imposed alone—it is embraced.

In this way, the cross reveals a profound truth: real freedom is not found in self-protection, but in self-gift.

This insight is echoed in the life of St. Francis of Assisi. At the end of his life, Francis chose to die naked on the bare earth. This was not an act of despair, but the culmination of a lifelong journey of “stripping away.” He had renounced wealth, status, and security, discovering in the process a deeper freedom. For him, nakedness symbolized reconciliation—with God, with himself, and with creation.

Both Christ and Francis show us that to be stripped is not necessarily to be diminished. It can also be revealed. It tells us that true freedom is not found in what we accumulate, but in what we are willing to surrender.

2. Moral Disengagement and the Logic of Violence

If the image of the cross reveals truth, it also forces us to think critically about how violence operates in human societies.

The crucifixion did not occur because people openly embraced evil. It happened because they justified their actions.

The religious leaders convinced themselves that eliminating Jesus was necessary for the stability of the nation. Pontius Pilate avoided responsibility, choosing political convenience over justice. The crowd, influenced by prevailing narratives, participated without fully understanding the consequences of their actions.

This dynamic is not unique to the first century. It is deeply embedded in human behavior.

Modern psychology helps us understand this through the concept of moral disengagement, developed by Albert Bandura. Moral disengagement refers to the ways individuals and groups justify harmful actions so that they can act against their own moral standards without feeling guilt.

This process operates through several mechanisms:

• Moral justification: Harm is framed as serving a greater good
• Euphemistic language: Violence is softened through neutral terms
• Diffusion of responsibility: No one feels fully accountable
• Dehumanization: Victims are seen as less worthy
• Blame shifting: Victims are blamed for their suffering

Harmful actions are often framed as serving a greater good, such as national security or economic progress. Language is used to soften the reality of violence—terms like “collateral damage” replace the harsh truth of civilian deaths. Responsibility is spread across institutions, making it difficult to hold any one person accountable. Victims are dehumanized or blamed, reducing empathy and making harm easier to justify.

When we look at the crucifixion through this lens, we see all these mechanisms at work. And when we look at our world today, we see them on a global scale.

Wars are rarely presented as acts of aggression. They are framed as defensive measures, peacekeeping missions, or necessary interventions. Media narratives often shape public perception in ways that minimize suffering or justify violence. Institutions use technical language that obscures ethical responsibility.

The result is a world in which violence persists not only because of power struggles, but because of the ways it is rationalized.

The cross challenges this entire system.

On Good Friday, there is no euphemistic language. No abstraction. No distancing.

A man is tortured and killed in full view.

The rawness of the event strips away all justification. It forces us to confront the reality of what violence does—to bodies, to communities, to truth itself.

This insight aligns with the thought of René Girard, who argued that societies often maintain order through scapegoating. By blaming and eliminating a chosen victim, communities create a false sense of unity.

In the crucifixion, Jesus becomes that scapegoat. He is sacrificed “for the good of the people.” But the resurrection reveals a shocking truth: God identifies not with the crowd, but with the victim.

This overturns the logic of violence.

It means that any system built on exclusion, domination, or harm is fundamentally opposed to the kingdom of God.

3. The Cross and the Reality of Unjust Wars Today

The relevance of Good Friday becomes especially clear when we consider the wars and conflicts shaping our world today.

Across nations, violence is justified through carefully constructed narratives. Leaders speak of protecting borders, preserving identity, or maintaining order. These goals may contain elements of truth, but they are often used to mask deeper realities of suffering.

Civilians—especially the poor and vulnerable—bear the greatest cost. Families are displaced. Children grow up amid fear and instability. Entire communities are reduced to numbers in reports.

Language plays a crucial role in this process. Words are chosen not only to inform, but to shape perception. Bombings become “operations.” Bombing becomes “precision strikes”; Occupation becomes “stabilization”; Civilian deaths become “unintended consequences”; Civilian casualties become “collateral damage.” Torture becomes “enhanced interrogation.” Such language distances us from the human reality of suffering.

Media framing, as explored by thinkers like Erving Goffman, influences how we interpret events and assign responsibility. By highlighting certain aspects and minimizing others, media narratives can reinforce existing power structures and justify harmful actions.

The cross stands as a radical challenge to this.

It refuses to allow suffering to be hidden. It exposes the cost of violence in the most direct way possible. It reminds us that behind every statistic is a human life, a story, a dignity that cannot be reduced.

In this sense, Good Friday is not only a religious observance—it is a call to ethical awareness. It invites us to question the narratives we accept, the language we use, and the systems we support.

4. A Different Kind of Power: The Way of the Cross

In a world that often equates power with dominance, control, and force, the cross reveals a radically different understanding of power.

Jesus does not resist arrest with violence. When one of His disciples attempts to defend Him with a sword, He tells him to put it away. He does not argue His case before Pilate in a way that would secure His release. He does not call upon divine intervention to escape suffering.

Instead, He remains faithful to His mission of love.

This is not passivity. It is a deliberate choice.

It is the strength to remain rooted in truth even when truth leads to suffering. It is the courage to forgive in the face of injustice. It is the freedom to entrust oneself completely to God.

This form of power is often overlooked because it does not conform to conventional expectations. It does not dominate or coerce. It does not impose itself through force. Instead, it transforms from within.

We see echoes of this power in the lives of those who work for justice without hatred, in individuals who speak truth despite risk, who build communities of care, and who refuse to respond to violence with more violence. It is a power that arises “from below,” rooted in solidarity and compassion.

This power does not make headlines, but it changes lives. It is the power of the cross. Such power may seem fragile, but it has the capacity to change the world in profound ways.

5. From Fear to Freedom

Standing before the cross, we are invited not only to reflect intellectually, but to engage emotionally.

At first, there is discomfort. The nakedness of Christ confronts our own tendency to hide. We build layers of protection—social roles, achievements, ideologies—to shield ourselves from vulnerability.

We fear being seen as we truly are. We fear losing control. We fear exposure.

But the cross speaks gently into this fear.

Christ is stripped of everything—yet He is not diminished. In fact, He is most fully Himself. His identity as the beloved Son is not dependent on external signs or protections. It is rooted in His relationship with the Father.

This reveals a profound truth,  a paradox: our worth does not come from what we possess or how we appear, but from who we are in relationship—with God and with others. The most humiliated becomes the most revealed. The most vulnerable becomes the most powerful. The one who loses everything becomes the one who gives everything. Slowly, our emotions begin to change. Sorrow becomes gratitude. Fear becomes trust. Defensiveness becomes openness.

As we remain with this image, our emotions begin to shift.

We feel gratitude, recognizing that nothing has been held back. We feel trust, seeing that even in abandonment, Christ remains faithful. We feel courage, realizing that we too can let go of our defenses.

The cry of Jesus—“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”—resonates with our own experiences of suffering and doubt. It reminds us that faith does not eliminate struggle, but transforms it.

And His final words—“Into your hands I commend my spirit”—invite us into surrender.

Conclusion: The Freedom of Transparent Love

Why is this day called “Good”?

Because in the naked, stripped, crucified Christ, the deepest truth is revealed.

God does not hide behind power. God does not justify violence. God does not protect Himself at the expense of others. Instead, God gives everything.

In a world marked by deception, justification, and fear, the cross stands as a place of radical transparency. It reveals both the brokenness of humanity and the boundless love of God.

And in that revelation, we find freedom.

Not the freedom of control, but the freedom of trust. Not the freedom of domination, but the freedom of love. Not the freedom of possession, but the freedom of surrender.

Good Friday invites us to step into this freedom—to live without hiding, to love without calculation, and to stand for truth even when it is costly.

Because in the end, real love—like the love revealed on the cross—is always naked, always transparent, and always free.

 

  

Pivoting on the Cross: Pope Francis’s Playbook for Spiritual Resilience

 

 Introduction: A Pontiff’s Passion for Sports and Spirituality 

Pope Francis, known for his humility and pastoral warmth, reveals in his autobiography an unexpected hobby dimension of his life: a deep love for sports and particularly his interest in football. His allegiance to the Argentine soccer club San Lorenzo de Almagro —founded by Salesian priest Lorenzo Massa— and finding pride in supporting the team hint at a formative link between faith, community, and play. San Lorenzo is a neighborhood in Buenos Aires. Francis’ support for San Lorenzo ties to his Salesian connections, which influenced his upbringing and perhaps his spirituality. Yet it is basketball, a staple of his youth at the Salesian oratory, that provides a striking metaphor for Christian living. Speaking on basketball, Francis says, the player while dribbling the ball suddenly stops pivoting around a fixed leg, trying to motion himself in diverse directions in order  to pass or free himself to proceed to score the basket. The Pope’s reflection on the “pivot”—a basketball maneuver where a player anchors one foot to change direction—becomes a transitional and spiritual ‘pivot’ analogy: just as athletes pivot to navigate the court, Christians must root themselves in the Cross of Christ to serve others amid life’s challenges. This column explores how this athletic wisdom illuminates the path of discipleship, particularly for priests and religious in an era of tumult and transformation; pivoting while being centred on the Cross of Christ and live lives in service towards others, especially when things seem tough and difficult.

The Art of the Pivot: Lessons from the Court 

Let me explain the basketball term for those unfamiliar. Pivoting in basketball is when a player stops moving but can rotate around one foot to change direction. It's a strategic move to avoid defenders or find a better passing angle. In basketball, the pivot is a moment of strategic recalibration. When a player stops dribbling, plants one foot, and rotates to survey the court, they gain clarity to pass, shoot, or evade defenders. The move requires balance, awareness, and trust in one’s footing. Without that anchored leg, the player risks traveling—a violation—or losing control. The key analogy here is the basketball move where a player stops dribbling, pivots around a fixed leg, and then moves in a new direction. Similarly, life demands moments of pause and reorientation. We relate this maneuver  to being grounded in Christ (the pivot foot) while being able to adjust to life's challenges. Pope Francis relates this to Christians, particularly clergy and religious, needing to pivot around the Cross of Christ, especially in tough times, to serve others.

For Pope Francis, the Cross of Christ is the “fixed foot” around which believers pivot. It is both a source of stability, strategy, adaptability and a catalyst for dynamic movement. Just as the pivot enables athletes to adapt mid-play, the Cross equips Christians to respond to adversity with grace and creativity.

 The Cross as Our Fixed Point: Theology of a Spiritual Pivot 

The Cross stands at the heart of Christian identity, symbolizing sacrifice, redemption, and unconditional love. Jesus clearly directed his disciples: "Take up your cross" (Mt 16:24).  St. Paul writes, “May I never boast except in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ” (Gal 6:14). The Cross is central to Christian identity. The Cross as the fixed point. The Cross represents sacrificial love and salvation. Elaborating on this analogy by connecting the basketball pivot to spiritual life we expand this reflection, mostly for a religious and lay persons. The readers would be interested in how sports metaphors apply to their faith and vocation. The Cross as the pivot point, leads us to discuss the challenges faced by Christians/priests, and how the Cross helps them serve others despite difficulties through practical applications.

Pivoting around it means keeping Christ's sacrifice central, allowing it to guide decisions and actions. When things get tough, instead of moving away, you turn towards the Cross for direction. To pivot around the Cross is to center one’s life on this paradox: strength in weakness, victory in surrender. For clergy and religious, whose vocations are marked by public witness, the Cross is not merely a symbol but a lived reality. It calls them to embrace the “folly” of the Gospel—serving the marginalized, forgiving relentlessly, and prioritizing spiritual wealth over worldly acclaim. 

There is a link  in connecting the pivot to Salesian spirituality, since the Salesians focus on youth, sports, and education. Don Bosco's oratories used sports as a means of evangelization. Pope Francis's father playing basketball at the Salesian oratory shows the environment that shaped him. This ties to the idea that sports teach collaborative teamwork and strategy—qualities applicable to spiritual life. The pivot as a lesson from sports applied to faith. The Salesian tradition, which shaped Pope Francis’s early years, emphasizes joy, youth outreach, and the sanctification of daily life. Sports, in this context, were more than recreation; they were tools for forming character and community. Don Bosco, founder of the Salesians, saw play as a means to teach discipline, teamwork, and trust in God. The pivot, then, becomes a Salesian metaphor for discernment: staying grounded in Christ while engaging the world with agility.

Challenges of Modern Ministry: Why the Pivot Matters 

Why is this important for priests and religious? Priests and religious today face a court crowded with challenges: pressure of secularism, clerical scandals, internal Church issues, sustaining faith, societal and religious polarization, etc. They face burnout in the midst of  declining vocations. The Cross as their anchor helps them stay focused on service and mission. Therefore, there is the  need for a firm foundation. The pandemic amplified these struggles, forcing ministries to “pivot” literally—to virtual Masses, doorstep sacraments, and emergency outreach. Yet even in calmer times, the temptation to drift from the Cross persists. Some cling to rigid traditionalism, refusing to rotate toward new needs; others chase relevance at the cost of Gospel fidelity. 

Pope Francis’s analogy offers a corrective. The spiritual pivot is neither stagnation nor aimless motion. The Cross is not static but a source of dynamic movement. Being rooted allows flexibility in service. It is the art of holding fast to the Cross while turning toward the ever-changing “signs of the times.” For a priest in a dwindling parish, this might mean reviving traditional devotions while embracing social media evangelization. For a nun serving the homeless, it could involve advocating for systemic change without losing sight of individual dignity. . Pivoting allows one to see new opportunities to serve others in need, change tactics if needed, but always rooted in Christ. The Cross isn't just a symbol but a call to action. Pivoting helps in responding dynamically to others' needs, while being rooted in Christ's love to serve effectively. The Cross, as the fixed point, ensures that adaptation never becomes compromise.

Saints as Pivotal Figures: Historical and Modern Examples 

The saints, contemporary priests and nuns made a difference exemplifying this balance, because they kept the Cross central. For example, St. Teresa of Avila’s experience of Christ's presence in the midst of daily sufferings and humiliation, and  St. Francis of Assisi embracing the Cross. Modern clergy and these men and women embody this centrality of the Cross. St. John Paul II, whose motto was “Totus Tuus” (Totally Yours), anchored his papacy in Marian devotion while spearheading ecumenical dialogue and confronting communism. Mother Teresa pivoted around the Cross by seeing Christ’s cry of “I Thirst”  in the “distressing disguise of the poor,” combining contemplative prayer with radical service. Closer to our time, Fr. Damien of Molokai rooted himself in Eucharistic adoration while serving lepers isolated by fear, and Sr. Norma Pimentel, a modern-day advocate for migrants, draws strength from the Cross to defend the vulnerable at the U.S.-Mexico border. 

These figures show that pivoting on the Cross is not passive. It demands courage to face resistance, whether from external critics or internal doubts. As St. Ignatius of Loyola taught, discernment requires freedom to “find God in all things”—a freedom grounded in unwavering love for Christ.

Practical Playbook: Cultivating a Pivotal Spirituality 

How can today’s Christians, especially clergy and religious, practice this pivotal spirituality?  How to cultivate this pivot point in daily life?

1. Anchor in Prayer: Begin each day before a crucifix, asking, “How does the Cross shape my decisions?” Daily prayer before a crucifix, the Liturgy of the Hours and Eucharistic adoration recenter the soul on Christ’s sacrifice. 

2. Examen for Discernment: Reflect nightly  and examine to see where one needs to pivot: Where did I pivot toward or away from the Cross? Identify moments when fear or pride hindered Gospel responsiveness. 

3. Serve at the Peripheries through corporal and spiritual works of mercy: Like Pope Francis’s “field hospital” Church, step into uncharted territory—prisons, online forums, interfaith spaces—while carrying the Cross as a banner of hope. Engage in works of mercy as actions stemming from the Cross. Embrace the 'pivot' moment, rooted in Christ, to serve others with agility and love.

4. Embrace Sacramental Renewal: Confession and the Eucharist (and other Sacraments) restore spiritual balance, much as athletes hydrate and rest. 

5. Community as Coaching: Surround yourself with “teammates”, communal and interfaith fraternity, forums, associations, groups and movements (spiritual directors, lay collaborators, civic bodies) who challenge and support your mission. 

Conclusion: The Game Plan for Gospel Life 

Pope Francis’s basketball analogy invites us to view the Christian life as a divine sport—one where agility and fidelity coexist. In a world that glorifies speed and self-sufficiency, the pivot teaches us to slow down, plant ourselves at the foot of the Cross, and move outward in love. His teachings on the Church as a Mission, going out to the peripheries while pivoting on the Cross, makes sense. The pivot allows turning towards those in need. For priests and religious, this is not a mere strategy but a survival skill. The Cross, as the ultimate fixed point, transforms every trial into a pivot toward resurrection. 

Here is Paul's analogy of athletes in spiritual life: “Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one gets the prize? Run in such a way as to get the prize. Everyone who competes in the games goes into strict training. They do it to get a crown that will not last, but we do it to get a crown that will last forever.  Therefore, I do not run like someone running aimlessly; I do not fight like a boxer beating the air. No, I strike a blow to my body and make it my slave so that after I have preached to others, I myself will not be disqualified for the prize” (1 Cor 9:24-27). As the final buzzer approaches, may we all learn to play the game with the heart of a saint: eyes on the prize, feet grounded in grace, and hands ready to pass the ball of mercy to a world in desperate need of hope. “For the love of Christ impels us” (2 Cor 5:14)—to pivot, to serve, to live.

 

 

 

THROUGH JESUS, GOD DRAWS ALL THINGS BACK TO HIMSELF

 

The Chief priests and the Pharisees unite in a plot to kill Jesus, not because he broke the Sabbath law by healing the sick, but for blasphemy in claiming himself to be the Son of God and for raising Lazarus from the dead. They found a worth issue to accuse him of, using the tactic of scapegoating:  a hierarchical group of a society, in a conflict situation, decides to blame an individual allegedly responsible for the social, political and religious instability.

That these religious figures like Caiaphas preserve their socio-religious positions and influences, the group decides that “one man should die instead of the people, so that the whole nation may not perish.” This scapegoating strategy is followed even today by political and religious leaders.  But God stands for the Truth. He stands for the ‘scapegoated’ victims. God does not want divisions and violence, instead, He wants a society based on love, justice, peace, forgiveness, compassion and unity. Through Jesus, God wants to draw all People of all nations on earth, to Himself — as one body in the One Lord of all.

The Pharisees and the socio-political leaders were socially, psychologically and ideologically insecure. They felt unsafe, apprehending a people’s uprising against them and the Roman Occupants. There was a sense of future uncertainty about their continuity, control and dominance over the Jewish society. We know well that all conscience acknowledges the truth, the good and what is just. They knew what they ought to have done. Their socio-religious instability and insecurity pressed on them to put Jesus to death and be done with.  From the heaven, His home, Jesus who descended to the earth for the sake of humankind, was killed by his own kith and kin. He who  became a man for us all, –  lived, taught, served and healed – was betrayed, denied, scourged, crowned with thorns, mocked, spitted upon, whips blowed, weighed down by the heavy Cross, hands bound, stretched and nailed to a wood, crucified, side pierced with a sword, died and was buried.

A somber Good Friday recalls the crucifixion and death of Jesus on Calvary, inviting Christians to accompany Jesus in his suffering on the cross.  No Mass is celebrated on this day. Tabernacles are empty of the Eucharist all over the world. The faithful and all people of good will (People of God), are drawn to the cross, following in the footsteps of Jesus on to Calvary. But, why? Precisely because it perfects human nature through his Passion. As a fully human person, Jesus identified himself with sinful humanity and did not want to die. No human being wants to die just for the sake of it.  Rather, Jesus accepted it, as his Father’s will– to take upon himself the sins of the world. He chose obedience to death out of a filial love –  an obedience learnt through human nature.

 

Christ’s Passion on the cross, led him in the midst of human frailties that destroyed him; but made it clear that “by his stripes we were indeed healed.” Entering into “godforsakenness” his  sacrificial death brought “the divine light to the darkest place”, writes Bishop Barron. His willing obedience in sacrificing his self, Jesus “reestablished the right relationship between divinity and humanity.” All this happened for establishing the Kingdom of God, inhabited by a united people of good will. The Son Jesus who called God his Father accomplished so, in full agreement with the Father. As the image of the Father, he executes his Father’s project: bestowing new life to all. Humanity had pinned their hopes on Him.  In facts, he fulfils that hope, raising humanity up, by falling down and dying. The dormant life-principle inside the ‘seed’ grows by being mixed with the earth, water, heat, air and light, that together crack open the seed, to bring much fruit.  This dying self leads to regeneration – a new life. “The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified” because this grain of wheat dies to produce much fruit, by bringing all people where God is. And Jesus said, “it was for this purpose that I came to this hour”. The enemies “of this world will be driven out. And when I am lifted up from the earth, I will draw everyone to myself.” (cf. Jn12:20-30). In the Gethsemane Garden Jesus prayed for the strength to fulfil this project of the Father. On the Cross with courage he conquered death, to give new life to humanity and to all beings on earth – bringing all things to completion.

God’s work was undoubtedly all finished at the beginning of the world. It was in perfect unison, but humanity failed Him  through disobedience. God fixed ‘another day’ for people to listen to him (obey) and reach Him.  The covenant of creation, once broken through idolatry and earthly preoccupations, was renewed and sealed within human hearts with a desire to seek intimacy with God, and be with Him forever. The New Covenant, therefore, was established through Jesus’ death on the Cross, extending to all peoples. Jesus draws everyone to Himself by service of love, indicating how all peoples in all times will be able to see him and encounter him. His death on the Cross will bring forth fruitfulness for all peoples. Through his Resurrection, the dead grain of wheat will become the bread of life for the entire world (cf. Benedict XVI, Wednesday Audience, June 14, 2006). God will lift him up and draw all peoples to himself through his Son and in the Spirit, and all nations will experience Jesus through this sacrificial love. From the Cross Jesus draws all to experience God’s love.

Jesus is more than a spiritual teacher. Bishop Barron says: “Something else is at stake in him and our relation to him.” As the Son of God, Jesus is divine. Jesus declares: “The Father is in me and I am in the Father.” So are we. According to Charles Williams, the basic foundation of Christianity is “coinherence,” – mutual indwelling of all plants, animals, planets, human beings, angels, and saints. According to Bishop Barron, the oneness of all sons, brothers, daughters, sisters, mothers, fathers, associates, Church members, is established through the Trinitarian relationship – God, the ultimate reality marked by the capacity for unity by a mutual act of love.  Therefore, we all are related and inter-linked. Jesus’ death and resurrection invites us to enter fully into their plural divine-coinherence, whose linking love is the Holy Spirit.

The inner blindness (Jn 9:39) often keeps human race from this union. The Jewish hierarchy presumed that “the Romans will come and take away both our land and our nation.” We know well that earthly nationhood and nationalism are on the rise today. But the desire for an “everlasting possession” (Genesis 17:6) has been there in human history – to be God’s and with God as His descendants. But the rulers and religious leaders have failed to keep this covenant. Kingdoms were divided, people forced into exile, Jerusalem fallen (Ez 33:21), temple pillaged, and kings deposed. Yet, God will gather the scattered children from among the nations and bring them back to the promised land. God will make them one nation. Jesus, the new David, through his ruling from the Cross, will bring peace on earth. God will dwell on earth. He will be our God and we will be his people. There will be one kingdom, one nation, one God, united by an everlasting love.

 

The new commandment of love, given by Jesus at the Last Supper, was executed on the Cross. The high priest Caiaphas fail to realize the truth; he thinks by eliminating Jesus, the problem of destabilizing the society caused by Jesus, will be solved, and consequently, it will preserve the status quo. But, we know, Jesus’ death will gather the dispersed children of God: “And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all men to myself” (Jn 12:32). Jesus’ death becomes the key to the Kingdom of God on earth.

 

According to Sarah Coleman, the Cross is a symbol of death and life, hate and love, violence and peace, accusation and forgiveness, sin and purity, brokenness and wholeness, as well as of gathering to all people to one community of brothers and sisters. Through it, affirms Bishop Barron, “everything is gained, destruction and restoration, death and victory. The cross, once the cruelest form of execution, is now a symbol of abundant life.”

 

Christ died for people out of a choice made in love. God manifested his love through human Jesus to reveal his divinity. Bishop Barron says that the cross was a brutal instrument, through which “the fallen powers of the world are subverted; sin, death and the devil are vanquished.” The crucifixion is “the portal to the resurrection” – to a new life, a new humanity, a new earth.

 

As St. Paul says, we are called to share “in his sufferings and become like him in his death.” We read, “Though he was of God, he did not regard equality with God as something to be grasped, but emptied himself, taking on the nature of a servant, made in human likeness, and in his appearance found as a man, he humbled himself by being obedient to death on the cross.” (Phil 2: 6-8). Through this humble act of will, God fulfilled the plan of uniting the whole humanity in Christ. As we gaze at Christ hanging on the cross, let all pain and anguish, struggles and achievements be seen with God’s lens, that goes way beyond the perspectives of this earthly life.

God is ever alive and active in creation, wherein  no created thing can escape from His grace. God in flesh has uncovered all secrets and has raised up all who have slept in sin. Jesus who died in the flesh, God has freed Him and all those in bondage, and has enlightened those in darkness. All beings, created in His image, are welcomed to live with Him, in Him and through Him, forming only one person, one Body. God has “refashioned our warped nature in His image”, to restore to us the life with Him, for the Kingdom of heaven has been prepared for us all from all eternity (cf. Office of reading, Ancient homily on Holy Saturday).

 

 

THE ROASTED AND SHARED PASSOVER LAMB

 

 

Christ, the Passover Lamb, clothed in humanity that is capable of suffering, sacrificed himself for the  suffering people of God.  He triumphed over the diseases of soul and body. He dealt with a fatal blow the man’s destroyer, death. He was led like a lamb; slaughtered like a sheep. He ransomed humanity from servitude to the world; freed us from slavery; from darkness to light. He sealed human souls with his Spirit and blood.  He covered death with shame. He smote sin and robbed iniquity of offspring. He chose humanity to be his own forever.

Saint Melito of Sardis writes: “In Abel he was slain, in Isaac bound, in Jacob exiled, in Joseph sold, in Moses exposed to die. He was sacrificed in the Passover lamb, persecuted in David, dishonored in the prophets.” He was a man who was made to hang on the tree; was buried in the earth, and raised from the dead. The mute lamb, the slain lamb, the lamb of God was seized from the flock, dragged off to be slaughtered, sacrificed in the late afternoon, died in the early evening, and buried at night. But no bone of his was broken; his body knew no decay. He is alive and active now in the world.

Jesus’ disciples prepare a Passover supper with the eating of a lamb, sacrificed in remembrance of the lambs of the original Passover, whose blood had been smeared on the doorposts. In Exodus 12:1-8 we read: “If a family is too small for a whole lamb, it shall join the nearest household in procuring one and shall share in the lamb in proportion to the number of persons who partake of it; according to what each can eat you shall make your count for the lamb[…]That same night they shall eat its roasted flesh with unleavened bread and bitter herbs.”

Through this Passover meal, Jesus affirms John the Baptist’s prophecy that he would be the unblemished Lamb of God, to be sacrificed. This sacrifice, made present at every Eucharist for our sake only, because God does not need  it. “We participate in the act by which divinity and humanity are reconciled”, when we eat his body and drink the blood of the Lamb. 

But we, like Judas at the Last Supper, fail to see the sacrificial Lamb. We get busy in ‘doing what we plan to do’ – betray Jesus. Human history proves that God is often opposed by stubborn people, preferring sin to sanctity, evil to good. Being in intimacy with Jesus, is no guarantee of  one’s faithfulness in fellowship — the sanctity of the  Last Supper is destroyed by a friend’s betrayal, preferring darkness to light (truth), money to service, a hateful kiss to love. In fact, Judas asks in exchange,  “What are you willing to give me?”(Mt 26:15). It is the same Judas, in order to hide his betraying action, over-confidently self-affirms, “Surely it is not I, Rabbi?” Most of us act and behave that way.

The Prophetic Servant, the gentle Lamb  is called, commissioned and disciplined by God, into a well-trained tongue in order to  communicate  the word loud and clear, to all the nations (John 17:8). This gentle Lamb lies low, beaten and scourged, face struck and spat upon, yet obedient to God’s plan and not disgraced, because Jesus knows God will vindicate him.  We too are disciplined by God through our suffering, and  infidelity so that we may fully embrace his love. At the same Supper, Jesus washes the disciples’ feet –a visual demonstration of the new commandment: “Love one another,” through loving charity.

How can we console Jesus with our own compassion and solidarity as he hangs upon the cross? The answer is: through the very lives we live today. To relieve the loneliness and ease others’ suffering and pain, we need to go beyond being near Jesus and his Cross. We must tend to him in others by carrying ‘our own crosses’. We must recognize the present grewsome realities in the world, in our country and in our own neighborhood, and offer acts of mercy and solidarity, being  moved by love. Christians in the local communities can support the social works done by the local agencies, clubs, association, etc.  irrespective of creed, caste and colour.

 

Foreign donations have helped the Churches in various ways to expand its infrastructures and works of charity through the development and sponsorship projects. Christians groups, dioceses and parishes, spend crores on building magnificent churches. It’s time shift radically and attend fully to building the human beings, the temples of the Holy Spirit. People will experience Jesus only by following him on the way to the Cross, to save humanity through loving service.

On Holy Thursday and Good Friday, we are invited not just to ritually wash the feet of twelve persons, perform the passion narrative and kiss the crucifix; instead go out to the periphery and serve the needy, through voluntary service. This is the challenge for all Christians – doing the will of the Father, as Jesus did.  We have miles to go, in order to support and cooperate with all those who work for the common good. As we face a tough time to witness to Jesus dying on the Cross for the salvation of humanity, we need to act to unite people, and work for Peace and Justice.

How can I serve those in need in the coming days?

Let this be our prayer: “Lord Jesus, it is so mysterious to see how people rejected you, your message of merciful love, and your mighty works. You were the innocent one who went about doing good, healing the sick, casting out demons, and feeding the hungry, and yet you were condemned and crucified by your people. Help me to embrace suffering and persecution for the sake of your name.”

 

HUMAN PASSION TO DENY OR TO DEVOTE! A REFLECTION

 

 

I am inspired to pen these words by Bishop Barron’s recent Sermon (Palm Sunday), on his YouTube channel. So, I thought of sharing some of his thoughts and my personal reflections with the readers on my blog.

 

Like Solomon, Jesus mounts a donkey and rides into the city of Jerusalem. The crowd cheer him, ‘Hosanna, Son of David, King of Israel,’ the heir to David’s kingdom. But, when Jesus enters Jerusalem unlike Solomon, Jesus will be crowned with thorns and reign from the Cross, while being abandoned by most of His closed associates. 

According to a 20th century theologian the Gospels are basically Passion narratives with long introductions, says Bishop Barron in a recent homily. Therefore, the Passion narrative is the whole of the Gospel. On a bit different note, away from Jesus’ passion, putting ourselves in the scene, Bishop Barron suggests that we could focus on a series of people around Him, see their different reactions to the Passion events. Can we identify with any of these persons as they react to Jesus’ awaited death? The passion opens up  with the scene where Mary of Bethany anoints Jesus’ feet with the alabaster jar of perfumed oil, preparing for his predicted death and burial. She breaks open the jar of expensive perfume.  She pours it on Jesus' head. It scandalizes people around.  Judas explodes, “That's very expensive. Couldn't that nard be sold and the money given to the poor?” What a waste of an entire jar of perfume ! Yes, we could question it, “weigh it in the balance ethically”. Jesus, while dismissing his critique, praises her saying, “What she has done will be remembered for all time” and tell her to keep the rest of the oil for his burial. Mary is the first one to react to Jesus nearing his death. His death represents God's extravagant gift to us, that God went all the way down into our dysfunction. She responds with an extravagant gesture, she breaks open that jar of perfume, as though she's breaking open her whole heart.

According to Bishop Barron, the ‘odor of this woman’s perfume waft’, over the whole of the Passion narrative. This extra generous gesture suggests Jesus’ absolutely radical giving away of self – “nothing calculating, careful, or conservative”. Out of the heart’s abundance it flows,– “religion resists the strictures set for it by a fussily moralizing reason.” There are critiques who complain about the Church’s extravagance! Jesus gives himself away totally and lavishly, ‘pouring out’ his whole life for the world. Is our response to Christ a bit constrained, calculative and too careful? Are we ready to break open our hearts, pour ourselves out for the world?

In the course of the passion narratives, the disciples failed and abandoned Jesus. They fled from the soldiers when Jesus was apprehended. Will we too flee from Jesus? Or as Jesus’ disciples are we ready to take up our crosses, knowing that we too will be vindicated? How can I embrace suffering and sacrifice for Christ’s sake and for the needy ? How am I called to take up my cross today? Peter only follows at a distance. At the climactic moment of Jesus passion, while going through an inner struggle, he sweats blood at the Gethsemane. Peter, James and John – the intimate disciples – fall asleep. The disciples fell asleep several times; they could not keep awake. They dozed off into spiritual slumber. They did not accompany Jesus as he prayed. They did something disrespectful to their Guru. They showed their lack of spiritual attention, while a deep spiritual moment was taking place. They seemed to say: “we don't care” – quite indifferent to Jesus’ agony. It symbolizes contemporary secularism in the midst of God’s creative activity constantly happening around – God's love being poured out through the sacraments,  preaching of the Word of God and through social upliftment through acts of mercy.

We too who are intimate friends of Jesus,  often fall asleep into indifference. As Church members, what are we doing as the Lord is acting in the world? Snoozing away? Recall Prophet Eli  and Samuel ‘inside’ the temple, sleeping away! As Religious, we withdraw, we deliberately decide to fall asleep within the Church’s hierarchy, as the world’s evil and cruelty crucify Christ in the innocent people.

Again, we have a young man, running away ‘naked’ into the ‘night’ with the rest of the disciples from the Gethsemane, leaving his ‘tunic’ behind. This unexpected peculiar detail speaks of leaving our baptismal white garment that symbolizes our devotion to Christ. Like the Apostles we too have put on Christ. But at the moment of truth, when Christian faith demands our courageous witness, when things are “getting dangerous and dicey” because we are Christians, are we counting the cost? “Do we stand our ground or do we run off into the night leaving behind our baptismal identity?” Do we, like that young man, abandon our baptismal identity, run away from the struggle?

What's our attitude at those moments of truth?

The high priest, after hearing various witnesses, puts Jesus on trial at the Sanhedrin, and he asks, "Are you the son of God?” Jesus shockingly cites from  Daniel, chapter seven, saying that he sees the ancient days when one like the son of man coming on the clouds, someone who shares in the authority of God – a messianic prediction.  He affirms, "Yes, I am” – not mere a teacher, or a political leader, or just the Messiah in the conventional sense, but God from God, light from light, true God from true God. Jesus is not a distant historical figure, or a literary device, or an inspiring spiritual teacher that many modern men hold him to be, says Bishop Barron.  But he is God – the central claim of the Church. To fall short of this central faith identity, is effectively to be against Him. How often in our spiritual lives we make vow not to betray Jesus, yet like the apostles we too  deny Jesus’ true identity.

 Then we have the  “scapegoating mob” breaking out. The crowds who saw Jesus’ miracles and heard his words, abandoned Jesus. They asked for a murderous brigand to be released instead of Jesus. While  warming by the fire at the courtyard of the high priest's house, someone identifies Peter to be with Jesus. He retorts back thrice, “I don't even know Him." He denies knowing Jesus. He lies, “I do not know that man”. How often we as fellow sinners  who have pledged our complete loyalty to Him, deny as Peter the first pope did, when things get a little ‘dicey and difficult’!

Next, the Roman soldiers –if the Shroud of Turin is right – put a capped crown of thorns (not ringlet) placed upon the whole top of His head,  put the reed in His hand like a mock scepter. They put on him a purple cloth, laughing over his kingship. They beat Him and spit upon Him. Is not a lot of that going on today? There is so much of the mockery of Jesus and  of religion, through politics and religious fanaticism! And that is a kind of secularism – falling asleep, and indifferences. Have we mocked Jesus like these Roman soldiers with words, by saying/writing disrespectful things, or with our lives, or in associating with the crowd who jeered at Him?

Jesus cries out from the Cross “My God, my God, why have you abandoned (forsaken) me?” When Jesus breathed his last, women too were at a distance from the Cross. None of the remaining eleven apostles approached Pilate to ask for the body. Only Joseph of Arimathea had the courage to do so. Out of the various figures in the Passion narrative, who do we identify with?

Lastly, according to the scholars, the messianic secret is revealed at the foot of the cross after Jesus died.  Till then Jesus always told his closed followers or those whom he healed,  not to tell anyone about his Messianic identity. He quieted them down, muzzled them off. In fact, people were puzzled then, as we are now. Why would Jesus be so reticent? But as Jesus bowed in death, he no longer could silence anyone, reasons Bishop Barron. In fact, the Roman Centurion publicly reveals the Messianic secrecy, "Truly, this man was the son of God." Only the Gentile Centurian confessed publicly his faith in Jesus as the Son of God.

In short, these are signs of the vindication of Jesus: “Abandoned by his disciples, betrayed by Judas, denied by Peter, accused of blasphemy by the priests, rejected in favor of a murderer by the crowd, mocked by the Sanhedrin and by Roman troops and all who came to the cross, surrounded by darkness, and seemingly forsaken by his God, in this one dramatic moment Jesus is fully vindicated. God has answered Jesus’ cry by replacing the Temple as the locus of worship and by offering in its place His own Son who will be confessed by Gentile and Jew alike” (Raymond Brown, Christ in the Gospels…, 163). 

To conclude, Bishop Barron says, the Roman centurion who put Him to death, is the proto evangelist, confirming Jesus’ as the Son of God in place of the Roman Emperor, Caesar, who was the “Huios tou Theou”(son of the God) by tradition. Can we too say those same words? And say loud and clear, with that same confidence?