Reverence and Resilience
“O Lord, I love the habitation of your house and the place where your glory dwells. ”
This is a 16th C painting of Christ Carrying the Cross attributed to the distinctive painter of the Dutch Renaissance, Hieronymus Bosch. It is doubtful whether this painting is actually of his hand, but it is certainly of his style and school.
The imaginative details of the image heighten the bizarre horror that enveloped Christ’s agonizing march to Calvary. Amidst the dark swirl of grotesque faces surrounding Jesus, how vain and presumptuous our attempts at heroic virtue seem! Yet radiating divine grace, Christ remains the luminous focal point, steadfastly bearing the weight of the roughewn cross. His sacrifice alone is pure, willing, and flawlessly obedient, motivated by perfect love.
Below, Veronica lifts her veil imprinted with Jesus’ bruised and bleeding face, her eyes conveying compassionate grief. The two thieves exhibit contrasting responses to Christ’s passion—the impenitent thief sneers up at Jesus amidst the merciless crowd, while the pale, anguished penitent thief is attended to by a ghoulish, tonsured monk. Simon of Cyrene gazes heavenward, his face seemingly detached from the surrounding tumult.
As we consider what it is to “take up our cross,” let us lay aside pretenses of personal merit. Let us rather embrace what the drama of the passion reveals about us. We may or may not see it, but our acts of devotion remain tainted by mixed motives and moral frailty — and are twisted and gruesome as a result. But Christ’s passion shines with untarnished beauty, the sinless Son surrendering himself to save a fallen world. Here lies the paradoxical glory of the Cross—that God would transform an instrument of torture —the ultimate monstrosity of Crucifixion! — into the means of our salvation.
On the via dolorosa, Christ passes through all the darkness and strangeness of human nature. It is too horrific a thing to gaze at directly, but it changes our gaze: like Veronica, we consider its imprint upon the veil of our perception; like Simon, we trace the axis of our crosses heavenward; like the penitent thief, we take uncomfortable refuge in the mealymouthed promises halfheartedly mumbled by a toothless church. In each case, our humanity is restored — not in imitation of Christ's cross-carrying, but meditation of the effects of what he accomplished through it. We walk amid chaos and the gloom of sin, but the light of Christ’s cross shines with hope of new life in the Spirit.
What will it profit a man if he gains the whole world and forfeits his soul? Or what shall a man give in return for his soul?
— Matthew 16:26
Fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost
Texts for This Week
Prayer
O Lord, we pray that your grace may always precede and follow after us, that we may continually be given to good works; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever.
Fantasia on the Cross
In the sacred tapestry woven by this week's readings, the themes of resilience, surrender, self-sacrifice, and the transformative power of the Cross find a resonant echo in Ralph Vaughan Williams' masterpiece, "Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis." This exquisite composition serves as a harmonious bridge between eras. Vaughan Williams' "Fantasia" emerges as a musical reflection as we journey through Jeremiah's trials, David's plea for guidance, Paul's call for self-offering, and Christ's proclamation of the way of the Cross.
The historical context of the Tallis theme adds an additional layer of depth to our exploration. In the midst of Tudor England, Thomas Tallis composed sacred choral music that brought to the Gospel and Scriptural focus of the Reformation the depth of Renaissance experiments in polyphony. Tallis wrote this theme to accompany the first two verses of Psalm 2 according to Archbishop Parker’s translation, “Why Fum'th in Fight.” Vaughan Williams, in his "Fantasia," pays homage to this legacy by taking Tallis' theme and reimagining it in a modern orchestral context.
As we listen to the recordings of both the Tallis theme and Vaughan Williams' "Fantasia," we are invited into a musical contemplation of the Gospel's power. The gradual progression of the composition, from a somber opening to a triumphant climax, mirrors the journey from trials to triumph found within these readings.
Gregory of Nazianzus on Taking up the Cross
There are two ways of “taking up the Cross:” when we deny ourselves certain things, or when we feel empathy for others. Even though these acts of virtue seem good, they can be tainted by our own flaws. Abstaining from food or other pleasures can sometimes lead to seeking attention and praise from others. And feeling compassion for someone can sometimes cause us to make choices that go against what we know is right. That we would avoid falling into these traps, Jesus calls us not only to “take up the Cross,” but also adds, “follow me.”
Oration 32.3
