Reflections on the Crucifix, the Suffering of Christ, and our Sharing in His Suffering

NOTE: This sermon was influenced greatly by an article written by Rev. Timothy Vaverek, “The Apostacy of Our Times,” in The Catholic Thing (11 February 2018). I have tried to indicate everywhere I quote from Fr. Vaverek’s article, but because I have interpolated my own reflections throughout, the quotes may not be perfectly accurate in every case.

+

Have you ever wondered why Catholic churches have crucifixes while Protestant churches have empty crosses? A Protestant will likely tell you that the empty cross looks to the Resurrection and to the hope of the Second Coming of Christ.

This is not an adequate answer. No one in his right mind would say that Catholics do not look forward to the Resurrection or to the Second Coming.

I have also seen it written that some consider the Crucifix to be something of a PR trick, done to increase the sense of guilt on the part of Catholics. The rationale for this assumption is that during the short time that Christ was tortured and hung on the Cross (less than a day), His body could not have become as gruesomely disfigured as it is sometimes portrayed. This, too, is a short-sighted answer. While Christ certainly suffered physically, the sins that He carried were far more painful and disfiguring than any physical torture could ever have inflicted.

A more complete answer needs to take into account the role of suffering in the life of a Catholic – that is, our obedience to Christ’s call to follow Him.

This holy season of Lent is a time when we focus in a particular way on the suffering of Christ. It is a time when we, through extra prayer, penance, sacrifice, fasting, and alms giving, inflict a tiny bit of suffering on ourselves, by which we attach ourselves to Christ’s suffering, so that we, as St. Paul puts it, “may die with Him so that we might rise with Him.” (Romans 6:8)

So let’s look for a few minutes at this notion of suffering – specifically Christ’s suffering, and then our participation in His suffering.

We know that sin causes suffering. We suffer not just from our own sins but from the sins of all humanity. We are born into in an imperfect, suffering world because of original sin.

We also know that God promised He would not abandon us, that He would send a Savior to redeem us from the effects of our sins. And that Savior is Jesus Christ.

Jesus Christ, being the second person of the Blessed Trinity, being God Himself, could have – at least theoretically – redeemed us without taking on our humanity. After all, He is God. He can do whatever He wills. All things, physical and spiritual, are subject to His commands.

Yet, God’s love for us was so boundless, that He chose to take on our humanity. God, Who is perfect love, takes on our humanity uniting Himself with us in a most intimate way. In a similar way to the way that marriage makes two persons become one (admittedly, the analogy is not perfect), Christ becomes one with us – through an extraordinary act of love. And just as the bond in marriage makes the joys and sufferings of the one spouse the joys and sufferings of the other, that binding love with Christ makes our joys and sorrows His own.

“So, while Christ could have known the destruction of sin and evil abstractly, out of love He chose to experience it concretely – as a man. The physical agonies of His crucifixion paled in comparison to the agony of experiencing in the flesh our offenses against Him.

Christ suffered not only because of our sins, but because of the sins of everyone – because of the evil that befalls us on account of sin. He bore all the neglect, the abuse, and the violence in this world.

But Christ taking on our humanity did not just make Him one with us, it makes us one with Him. Therefore, it causes us to share his sufferings over the sin and evil that afflicts us and others.” (Vaverek)

The veils over the crucifix and the statues today signify this bond. In the Gospel today, the Jews test Jesus with many questions. He answers their questions, but they do not want to hear the truth. Eventually, they pick up rocks in order to stone Jesus, but He hides Himself from their sight. From this point onward, as He approaches His death, He becomes more and more isolated, until even His closest friends, the Apostles, abandon Him.)

Because of our bond with Him, we share in that isolation. Recall that at the beginning of Lent, we lost the Alleluia and the organ. Now we lose the sight not only of Christ, but also of our closest spiritual friends: all the members of the Church Triumphant who surround us every week. All of this signifies this intimate bond we have with Christ. Not only does He share our sorrows, but we, too, share His.

On the one hand, then, the Cross – the Crucifix - "is our encounter with the concrete, destructive effects of sin and evil." (Vaverek) It is the ultimate sign of isolation and abandonment.

And yet, on the other hand, “because of this love that binds Christ to us and us to Him, the Cross, the Crucifix, changes from an experience of isolation and abandonment into a place of personal communion with God. It offers us – through our union with Christ - victory despite our weakness, victory despite our powerlessness, victory despite our sinfulness.

The Crucifix is the perfect revelation of love, a love that binds Christ to us and us to Him. It is not something to avoid – but it is something to embrace, because apart from it, we cannot really know what it is to love God or to be loved by Him. (I Jn 3:16)” (Vaverek)

“Jesus’ suffering on the Cross reveals that sin and evil are not so much violations of abstract principles as they are concrete ways in which human life is spiritually, psychologically, and physically damaged by sin and evil. In every situation, whether we are at fault or not, sin and evil are contrary to our well-being. They are contrary to God and His love for us. That is why both sin and evil were so painful for Jesus – and why they should pain us.

But suffering because of sin – or even innocent encounters with the sins of others, while painful, is a sign that God is with us – that we are one with Him – and that his love is drawing us deeper into the crucified heart of the Risen Christ. This is the Divine love that never fails to enable us to hope all things, to endure all things, and not to be separated from Jesus, even when this love results in great hardship – even, as in the case of martyrs, death. (I Cor 13:7-8; Rom 8:35-39)” (Vaverek)

Now, why is this so important to understand? “Because if we forget this, -- this intimate bond with Christ through his taking on our humanity and the value of suffering in this holy bond -- we can easily misunderstand the Catholic life as some kind of submission to abstract teachings rather than a participation in the life of Jesus.” (Vaverek)

Let that sink in for a moment: the Catholic life is NOT a submission to abstract teachings. It is a participation in the very life of Jesus.

“If we forget this, the demands of this very personal love, take on the distorted appearance of legalistic obligations that sometimes seem merciless or unrealistic because they require suffering.

And this leads to a revisionist morality – a morality that claims a merciful escape from those “abstract teachings” can be found by considering practical factors such as ignorance, pressure, feasibility, or private conscience. This revisionist morality will argue that contraception or abortion preserves the life of a mother; continuing an adulterous second marriage prevents a spouse and children being abandoned; gay marriage encourages commitment; or that assisted suicide avoids an agonizing death. Some revisionists claim that these are not only tolerable options, but can actually be moral imperatives.” (Vaverek)

Let me demonstrate the conflict and, ultimately, the destruction this creates. A few weeks ago I dreamed that I was at a large parish meeting. Various parish business matters were being discussed, and overall things were going well. Then a young man, a relative newcomer who was bringing a lot of energy and welcomed leadership to the parish, announced that he was recently married. He now had a husband. He was hoping for some congratulations, but the room fell awkwardly silent. The moderator tried to move things along, but the young man would not have it until his sexual orientation – or rather his live style choice – was affirmed. Things were at a stalemate.

Then a small voice came from the back of the room. “I would like to say something.” Everyone turned. It was old Jerry Schmiddlekoffer. Jerry had been a parishioner for 40 years. He was in his 70’s, and life had taken a toll on Jerry. His was stooped over, and his steps were unsure. And in this moment Jerry had already spoken more words than anyone in the room remembered ever hearing from him.

Jerry shuffled forward, stood in front of the young man, and stated the obvious, “It’s a little quiet isn’t it.” He continued, “I think I can tell you why. Everyone in here wants you to have the freedom to live your life the way you see fit. We all want that same freedom for ourselves. In fact, my father died so that we could all enjoy that freedom.

But what you are asking of us requires us to give up everything we believe about the natural law, about Scripture and about Apostolic teaching. So, it’s not just that we can’t affirm your choice – we don’t even know how to have a conversation with you. We don’t really have a common place to begin.”

Jerry continues, “And lest you think this is some dumb argument about abstract, theoretical, teaching, I can assure you that it is about living a faith that is very real and personal. Do you have any idea what it’s like for a parent to watch his son or daughter move in with someone they’re not sacramentally married to? Do you know what it’s like for a parent to watch his children abandon the faith that he holds dear and whom he thought he had raised so that they, too, would hold it dear? Well, I do,” Jerry says. "It would be much easier to believe that the faith is just some kind of made-up concoction, and we can do whatever we feel like, because to follow it causes pain that is very real and very deep.”

“I will share one more thing with you,” Jerry continues. “I am sure that every single person in this room has some kind of personal sin that he or she struggles with because of that faith. I don’t know what it is – maybe it’s sexual like yours, maybe it’s gambling, maybe it’s pornography, maybe it’s drinking, or lying, or stealing, or greed – or whatever. Something that tugs at our souls every minute of every day. I don’t know what it is, but I know it’s there. I know this because when I go to confession week after week, month after month, and these so many years after years – I see all the same people.

And yet, we have not given up. All of us continue to fight the fight, to run the race, as they say.

And now you want to tell me there is no fight; there is no race. I can assure you my tired old bones would love to believe you. But to believe you I would have to give up everything I believe about the natural law, about Scripture, about what Jesus said, and what He taught the Apostles. To follow you I would have to walk away from the Cross, and I cannot do that.”

Jerry had not solved the problem of the awkward silence. The young man stood and walked away, sad. And everyone went home that night, sad.

That is the destruction wrought by revisionist morality. “It denies the truth of the Cross. It denies that intimate bond between Christ and us that gives us the freedom to suffer willingly rather than to be mastered by sin, pressure, or error. It denies the power of God to give us the grace needed to overcome evil. It denies the power of God’s forgiveness when we fail to overcome evil. It destroys families.

Jesus did not come to end suffering in life, and certainly not to call us down from the Cross. He proclaimed a love that draws everyone to the Cross in order to share his sorrow so that, ultimately, we would share His joy and His glory. (Jn 12:32, 17:13-15; Mt 16:21-27) In fact, He warned us that we would suffer precisely because we love Him more than others, because we love Him more than the world, because we love Him more than ourselves.” (Vaverek)

The fight is real. The race is real. And we must choose to continue to fight the fight, to run the race, regardless of the suffering it may bring – whether it be small or great. That suffering binds us to Christ, and we have His assurance that we will share not only His suffering, but also His eternal glory.

+

#PassionSunday #suffering