Around then I discovered The Stations of the Cross——an ancient tradition that invites us to connect with the person of Jesus on his journey to the cross and in some of the most painful parts of the human experience.
This was a story I thought I knew. I grew up in the church, and have identified as a Christian for most of my life. But something about engaging with Jesus meditatively through art and questions met me in ways other things couldn’t.
Through The Stations of the Cross I encountered the man who claimed to be God ask the very questions I had:
Maybe we need permission to sit with and journey through our questions before jumping to “I’ll be okay” and resurrection. To accept not having an answer in the face of pain, because maybe all that’s required is simply acknowledging it’s there to begin with.
I am convinced one of the most compelling parts of being Christian is believing the story of Jesus and The Cross. Accepting all of his divinity, and all of his humanity. The story of God taking human form (John 1.14), submitting to the messiness of birth and adolescence and growing up and making friends and living a life full of laughter and bruises—all with the awareness it would lead to a tragic death. In doing so he would know every facet of our human experience, every angle of our suffering, experiencing it first hand. Because can we accept healing from someone who doesn’t know what’s broken us?
I want a friend who understands my pain. I want a God who does too. Maybe Jesus is both those things? Maybe you think it’s just a story.
I find comfort that even Jesus offered us the decision to decide,
“Who do you say I am?” (Mark 8.27—29)
This is for the curious and the pure of heart who have more questions than answers.
This is for those who wonder, does anyone understand what I’m going through?
This is a hope to re-enchant us with the person of Jesus, because he might have more in common with us than we realize.