Crucifixes used to creep me out. I admit it. Probably because I grew up in a faith tradition that put a lot of emphasis on “He’s not on the cross anymore!” as a way of deliberately frowning upon any cross that had a representation of Christ on it. That’s wrong was very clear in the teaching.
So when we started attending a Catholic church, the crucifixes…yeah, let’s say I just averted my eyes. For a while. Until I began to understand why it was so important to remember that Christ suffered. So that it was always before us in our suffering. So that we didn’t have to say, “No, I’m fine. No, I’m not grieving. No, I’m not hurting. Of course I believe! The cross is empty!” and instead we can say, “Lord, unite my suffering to your own. Give it meaning, as yours had. Take it, redeem it, and in turn give it your redemptive power.”
When you enter into a Catholic church before Mass, there’s no babble of voices or laughter or gossip. There are people sitting or kneeling quietly, with their eyes affixed to the cross (there are plenty of “empty” ones too). To the crucifix (there’s always one in the front). “Contemplate the crucifix” was instruction my husband received for what to do in those silent minutes.
It was a challenge for me. But one that made some pretty profound truths settle in my soul. Truths that I’m now clinging to as my own body goes through its own journey of suffering. Cancer may not be the same cross Jesus suffered. But it’s a cross. And it’s suffering. And as I gaze upon that reminder of what He already went through for me, it’s how I know He’ll use this for His glory too.
Just think for a moment about these frail human bodies we occupy. We may tell ourselves that the real us, our souls, are not our bodies, and that’s how we live forever–spiritually, our souls in heaven. And that’s true…in part. But it’s not the whole truth, is it? We are each given a unique body, and it is not only ours, it is us, in a very real way. A very material way. We are not just spirit–we are spirit and body. We are a creation that God made to have both spirit and body.
When He sent Christ among us, it wasn’t just as spirit. This was actually one of the great heresies in the early church, with people claiming He wasn’t really flesh. He didn’t cast a shadow. He didn’t leave footprints. Because flesh, they said, was all evil. Spirit is all good. So a perfect Savior couldn’t have a physical body like we do.
But oh, how wrong that was. We know that Jesus went out of His way to let people touch Him. Feel Him.
God became man. He took on flesh, just like ours. Flesh that grew in His mother’s womb, cell by cell. Flesh that came forth from her body with the same fluids as any other baby. Flesh that grew, learned how to suckle, how to speak, how to crawl and walk and laugh and play. Flesh that needed food and drink. Flesh that bled when cut.
Flesh that He told us would be offered to us in bread. In wine. Flesh that became bread. Became wine, so that we could share in it through the ages.
Flesh that He let be bruised, beaten, battered for us. Flesh that was torn by a whip. Flesh that had nails put through it. Flesh that suffocated on the cross. Flesh that collapsed in agony.
He felt that. Every strike of the whip. Every poke of the thorn. Every hammer of the nail. He felt it. He chose to feel it. He refused the drugged wine that would have dulled his senses. That bodily part mattered. It was through His precious body that mankind was freed from our sin. He didn’t make a symbolic, spiritual sacrifice. He made a complete one–body, soul, mind, spirit.
Just think about it. Jesus chose to fully feel that pain for you, in every cell of His body. In the same body He offered in the bread hours before.
The same body that grew in His mother. The same body that reached out and healed blind men with a touch, gave voice to the mute, restored a paralytic. The same body that walked across water, that spoke the words to calm a storm or return life to a dead man.
That’s the body He gave to us in Holy Communion. The one that hung on the cross. The one that died. The one that was buried in a tomb. The one that lay there, dead, over the Sabbath.
Do you want to know how much Jesus valued that body? Enough that He came back for it. Enough that He raised that same body up again–still with the holes in His hands, His feet, His side. Still able to be touched, to be fed, to be clung to. (Ever wonder where all He went between the resurrection and ascension? He only appeared a handful of times to the disciples. What else was He doing in His resurrected body? Where did He go? Who did He talk to?) That body meant so much to Him that He took it with Him into heaven.
So much that He shares it with us still, even today. Every time we partake of His Flesh, of His Blood. He’s still there in heaven, in His body, and that resurrected body is still present with us on earth every time we share in Holy Communion.
That means that His powerful, death-defying, resurrected body is in me. Just a little bit, when I take that wafer.
You know what that means? That my body matters too. This is the one God gave to me, with all its quirks. For whatever reason, He created us to have minds that think, hearts that feel, souls that chase after Him, and bodies in which He can live. Paul doesn’t tell us we are temples just as encouragement to eat healthy food and exercise. He tells us we are temples because God lives inside us when we open the door for Him, when we share in that blessed sacrament, when we unite ourselves to Him.
But not just to His glory. To His suffering too. We can’t forget that. It’s as crucial a part of the faith as the resurrection. He had to suffer. He had to die. He had to rise again. It all matters.
In my time of suffering, I can look at His and know it matters. I can look at His and know it’s already been redeemed. I can look at His and be reminded that that same body is both in heaven and poured out for me. For my healing. For my strength. But also just to hold my hand through the bad parts. I don’t have to deny them. I don’t have to be stoic. I don’t have to pretend everything’s okay.
I can say, “Even when it isn’t. Even when it hurts. Even when things go wrong. Even when our bodies fail. Even when we’re sick. Even then…even then, He is God. Even then, He knows. Even then, He holds our hand with His own, nail-pierced one. Even then, He is with us. Even then, He says, ‘It matters. I know. And together, we are going to do great things. Even now, when you are so weak. I AM strong.”
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Just as I was planning to write words of inspiration to you, I opened your email with this beautifully written commentary on suffering- Christ’s and our own, and was instead, inspired by you. An enriching turn of events.’
Although I come from a simple Protestant tradition in which the empty cross signifies the risen Christ, like you, I have found the crucifix equally relevant in my spiritual life. Each view of the cross offers truth to nurture our spirits.
Years ago, when I was a patient in a Catholic hospital, I took great solace in the crucifix that hung above every bed and in every room. It was the reminder that if God gave Jesus the strength to go through such suffering, He would be there with me to see me through my own. He is doing the same for you now.
It seems that we must go through suffering to fully appreciate good health when it returns. I have come to realize the most important truth is that God does not cause suffering and illness: the very act of living on earth makes suffering possible and likely. God is that ever present loving Power that helps us through the dark times. He is that Constant in our lives that never changes, always cares and always helps. Even when it seems otherwise, He is “working all things for good”. Hold on to these truths.
Please be kind to yourself, Roseanna, and set aside all the demands and expectations you normally take for granted when well. Give your body temple ample time to restore and rid itself of the invader. We will continue to pray for you and visualize the cancer weakening and shrinking into nonexistence.
God bless and keep you,
Sandra Bush
Parkersburg, WV 26105
So true, Sandra! And thus far, those are the truths holding ME up–I don’t even need to exert the effort to cling to them. <3 And I am definitely resting! Doing what I can, when I can, but also taking time for naps and reading and such.
That’s good to know, Roseanne. You and your writing are such a blessing to so many of us. We want the best for you.
Dear Roseanna,
I am so thankful that you are uniting your suffering to Jesus’ suffering! All of our suffering, including emotional pain, has meaning and purpose if united to Christ’s suffering. Thank you for writing about this beautiful Church teaching. We’re thanking Jesus for your great news today! Our prayers continue for your complete healing in God’s perfect will and in His perfect timing.
Thank-you for this Roseanna. It has been over 20 years since I was on the brink of death with cancer, but He completely healed me. This whole time though I have been struggling with the whole body/resurrection in regard to heavenly significance. This newsletter has truly been inspiring to my spirit and lifts up my whole level of thinking about spiritual things. Praying deeply for you as you encounter your daily struggles. I recently read something that asks if I would buy a get-well card for a friend that said: Do you want to get well? Then look to Jesus and His Words that came from God when He gave His Son to experience our struggles and overcame them.
Sandra, I am so glad my thoughts resonated and inspired you!!
Hi Roseanna,
What a beautiful blog post! 🩷 Thank you so much for sharing your thoughts about the Crucifix as well. I’m Catholic and it used to kind of weird me out, too. But, the more I saw Jesus on the cross at church, the more I wanted a crucifix.
Sending you gentle hugs and prayers. 🩷
Jaclyn
I think it’s actually SUPPOSED to make us uncomfortable at first, to be shocking. That’s what leads us to actually think about His sacrifice and suffering. <3
Thank you for your testament! I am praying for your healing. I have recently come across your books and am eager to start reading. I read enthusiastically in the Christian fiction genre, but as a lifelong Catholic I am sometimes disappointed in the portrayal of Catholics, especially priests, in some books. I say to myself, “Obviously, neither the author nor the editor is Catholic,” and I note it in my “books I have read” journal. Also, I hope you have come to have a relationship with Mary in the Catholic way. How better to get to Jesus than through his Mom? Love and best wishes, P.
Part of my journey to Catholicism actually involved writing THE NUMBER OF LOVE. The heroine was Belgian in WW1, which necessitated being Catholic. I have many good Catholic friends and reached out to one to help me get the details right, and learning all I needed to for that book opened something in my heart. And then after it came out, I had SO MANY Catholic readers reach out to ask if I was Catholic, and how wonderful it was to see the Catholic faith portrayed so beautifully, and it was such encouragement! You’ll find several of my books have Catholic characters–some from before my own conversion and others after, but all written with love.