Do We dare stand and look at the Cross

 

On this day I remember an old story I heard years ago. Gruenwald, a 15th century artist lived In the midst of the terrible outbreak of the black plague. So he painted a crucifixion scene for the Hermitage of St. Anthony. The hermits there took it upon themselves the mission of nursing the sick and burying the dead from the plague.

Many of the victims suffered from the sympton called "St. Anthony's fire." The circulation would stop and the lower limbs became gangrenous and putrefried even as the person lived. In the days before scientific medicine there was little the hermits could do for the victims but cool their fevers and be with them in their agonizing deaths.

Over the altar inthat monastery Gruenwald painted the figure of Christ on the cross--dead, twisted and repulsive, gray and green with corruption. Christ's legs were swollen with St. Anthony's fire. The artist painted the backdrop of a black sky and a dead sea. 

The hermits did not know what to do for their victims. But one thing they did was to leave each arriving patient alone on his pallet before that painting. Many of the sufferers were to sick to even lift their heads.  But now and then one of the victims would look up above the altar at the painting of the dead Jesus. One whispered to a hermit, "In a few hours I must go to my death through foul and meaningless pain. But so did He and God turned that experience to the salvation of mankind. If that is so, what then can He not do for me?"

We call this dark Friday because it is a good time to remember that the One on that center cross died for you and me. So let us stop and remember. Those arms were stretched out for all of us. So He takes us all in. And like those plague victims he does for us what we need. Heartbreak after heartbrerak in the Ukraine. And all over where is pain and suffering physical or emotional those arms are still outstretched. There is no pain too heavy and no condition so hopeless that those nail-scarred hands cannot touch. So bring whatever you carry and whatever all the others may carry to the foot of the cross. No wonder we call this day Good Friday.

Langston Hughes a black poet in a dark time in our history wrote this prayer:

"At the feet o' Jesus,

Sorrow like a sea.

Lordy, let  yo'mercy

 come driftin' down on me.

At the feet o' Jesus

At yo' feet I stand.

O, ma little Jesus, 

 Please reach out yo' hand.

--Roger Lovette / rogerlovette.blogspot.com