This morning, in worship in our sanctuary, I gazed on the figure of Christ on the cross, with outstretched arms. He looks down upon us from way above our heads, rightly placed far above us. Yet, unlike many other times, when gazing on this image brought comfort, this morning there is consternation.

I reflect on the image, more closely than ever before. I see the apparent contradiction. Here, is one we adore as a lowly shepherd, associated most closely with the poor, those suffering injustice socially, and those most looked upon with suspicion and disdain by the elite religious. Also, he was killed by a plot between the religious elite and empirical elite. But, here, oddly, I look upon the image of this Christ, yet adorned in costly, ornate priestly attire and with a gold cross on his head.

Where did the humble Christ go? Where did this Christ come from? I know historical reasons; such as, the Christian empire having its Roman emperor replacement, Jesus Christ, after it replaced the Roman empire as the power of the day. This empire, or Christendom, appears to have been given birth when the Church was adopted as the official religion by the Roman emperor who claimed to have seen Christ in the sky calling him to have warring victory in the name of the cross. Likewise, the roots of the Christian empire were already grounded in its traditions reflected in Scripture.

Possibly, there is an irony here. I reflect on the image and the cross, and I see what we could call divine humor. Possibly, Grace is playing a joke on us?

What does the cross imply? Powerlessness. Surrender. Death. Here, we have in this cross, high above our heads, and its image a convergence of symbols of power nailed to a symbol of death and, therefore, resurrection. And resurrection, spiritually, means a newness, a transformation.

Now, looking at the image, I see the irony of it all. I see the joke is on us. We clothe a dying, being-crucified Jesus with symbols of priesthood and empire. We intend them to say something about Christ. They say more about us: our clinging to images of power and prestige, for we, deeply, wish we had more power and prestige. We fear surrendering to the powerlessness of the crucified Christ. We cannot allow him to remain in such a surrender of being acted upon. No, this would make us have to admit how insecure we feel, even before our own fragile mortality. We cannot accept that, so we cannot let Christ be naked, poor, alone, and impotent before the forces of religious and governmental politics and power. Or can we?

We express what we have denied; we clothe Christ with what we want, not what he wants, and made clear that he did not want. Yet, in this clinging to power by projecting it onto our Savior-figure, we are, likewise, applying our unspoken, guilty longings - that we dare not admit - to a symbol of death and resurrection. Our tragedy is transformed into a comedy, for the Christ on the cross is not dead, but has transformed death by the means of the power of Love to redeem that in us we cannot confess is true, that we do not even see to be true. Can we laugh?

Prayer is an immersion in this irony of the cross. Prayer is a loving, fiery crucible - more so for being of Love. Possibly, finally, if we are prayerful, we will see anew and as for the first time, and we will laugh a new laugh and as for the first time.

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