Opinion

Reflections of ourselves

Wednesday, March 3, 2004

It's almost as if they walked right off the pages of Scripture and into my life.

First, there was the man, standing far off at the outermost edges of the temple court, beating his chest and crying, "Have mercy on me, Lord, a sinner." Only in my life, he was a she and I am comforted to know that her prayer found favor, just as this man's prayer found favor, with the Lord.

Along came a bin builder. You know the story -- a rich man, who, measuring his wealth, decided that he needed all new bins in which to hold his treasures and the night they were completed and he was content, his soul was required of him. No contentment or consolation in his story.

Another was like unto David, tending to his business, his family all the while being and becoming a "man after God's own heart."

And still another walks through the days of my life, one who loves social intercourse, a good debate and who is like unto King Agrippa who said to the Apostle Paul long ago, "Almost thou persuadest me to be a Christian."

Before I go any further along these lines, it's only fair that I look in the pages of Scripture to find reflections of myself as well, for we are warned to take "heed where we stand, lest we fall."

Certainly, I have some of Peter's characteristics, namely his enthusiasm and impulsiveness when in the presence of the Lord, ready to walk on water, ready to follow, only to take my eyes off the Lord and sink like a stone, or hide in the shadows, slinking from the garden. Yes, I am so like Peter.

There is probably more Mary in me than Martha, for I dearly love to sit at the Lord's feet -- but, in my case, Martha's accusation against me would have merit, for I am all to often unwilling and seldom unable to do my part to help and to serve.

Remember the counterpart to the man standing far off at the outermost edges of the temple court had a counterpart? The one who prayed "Thank you, God that I am not a sinner such as this one." I have been guilty of that arrogant sin, and I have been the sinner, beating himself on his breast, crying, "Mercy."

Keeping all of this in mind while watching The Passion of the Christ last week, I wasn't too surprised to see myself on the screen.

The stunned look of the Roman soldier who felt the touch of Jesus' hand when he healed the ear Peter had cut off -- the man was transfixed. I have felt the healing hand of Jesus as well, and there is nothing that compares. Whenever I recall the moment, I am caught up in it again, knowing that from that moment on, I would never be the same. No one who has felt the hand of Jesus can ever be the same.

What mother couldn't identify with Mary as she raced along the streets of Jerusalem, trying to catch a glimpse of her son, though the vision was more than she could bear?

I can even see myself in the man who presided over the scourging -- Satan prowling behind him, feeding the mad frenzy of the soldiers who wielded the whips. A subtle change occurs in him as he witnesses the escalating violence, changing his countenance from one of reluctant pity and compassion to a visage of dark delight as the blood flows and the beating continues. How often has the presence of darkness darkened my soul anew?

A none too subtle point about appeasement is found in the watching of the film, as it is Pilate's attempt at appeasement that brings the whip down on our Savior's flesh. Poor Pilate. I've always had a soft spot for him -- he really didn't want to execute this innocent man. His act of appeasement was a straw he grasped in desperation as he sought to satisfy the bloodlust of the people.

It is no accident that this act of appeasement is precisely what the prophet Isaiah foretold, "By his wounds we are healed." (Isaiah 53:3-12)

Judas' agony is often our own, for who among us has made a decision, then immediately regretted it, be it divorce, abortion or thievery, betrayal? Yet nothing can take it back, though we cry in anguish to have it erased, somehow undone.

All who have tasted forgiveness can see a little of themselves in Mary Magdalene as she watches the price of that forgiveness paid by the one who first extended it to her.

Gibson's movie is raking in cash hand over fist. I myself am encouraging everyone I know to go and endure it, for it is a grim spectacle indeed. I was grateful for the subtitles because they took my eyes off the screened image, albeit briefly, and my eyes needed the break. I think I started crying when Jesus healed the Roman soldier's ear and I didn't stop until the final, glorious end. Not the heart-wrenching sobs that some have reported, but a relentless flow of tears, punctuated by gasps and deep sighs. Nevertheless, I am so glad that I went and I am grateful to Gibson for following his heart and producing the film.

I am even grateful for the dissenters who unwittingly raised awareness of the film to undreamed of heights, inspiring many who otherwise might not have gone, to go. For those who believe and those who seek, it is a faith affirming glimpse of what the words we have read for so long mean in terms of human suffering and divine love. For those whose hearts are completely hardened against God, it appears to be utter foolishness, an excessively violent movie that has no discernible purpose. More pity, that.

If you haven't seen it yet, do so. You may not only recognize yourself on that screen, but you will most assuredly recognize the face of love -- the beaten, bloody, resolute face of the One who prayed, "My Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me. Yet not as I will, but as you will."

"Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene went to the tomb and saw that the stone had been removed from the entrance." John 20:1 (NIV)

-- Dawn Cribbs grew up watching Hollywood perfect the art of special effects. Without a doubt special effects have never been put to as good a use as they are in the final scene of The Passion of the Christ.

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