It’s the last day of Lent. Tomorrow I will drink wine and be merry, for the first time in forty days, and come Monday I may be in a dire situation with my employment and no way of securing surgery for my husband (not to mention a distinct lack of income) and who knows what I will do then. Everything can change so quickly, you know?
I’ve been wearing this necklace all week for Holy Week. I have no idea how long I’ve had it or where I got it or what it means, but I love it. I was wearing it with the ichthys and gospel names out wrongly before I realized the designs, which seem Celtic at first but are actually elaborate graven images on each side, should be worn in front.
I have three tattoos on my body. One, on my right shoulder, is a caricature of Nagini the snake beheaded and pierced by the sword of Gryffindor – this was designed by a friend and then colored by JD, an amazing tattoo artist at East End Dermagraphics here in Richmond. A reminder that bravery can defeat all evils, even depression. I got this one just a few months ago. I’ve also got the words “So it goes” written underneath the nape of my neck in solid typewriter text, my ode to Kurt Vonnegut, a writer who changed my life. I got that tattoo in the summer of 2014 at Skin Graphix in Cleveland, just before I moved to Richmond. It was straight from Pinterest and onto my body via Aaron Ysidro.
On the center of back, I have a green, Celtic cross tattoo. I actually got this tattoo when I was seventeen in Tallahassee, Florida. (Now if I get a tattoo in Smyrna/Nashville area and a tattoo from San Antonio, I will have a tattoo from every place I’ve ever lived) Until last year, I intended it to be the only tattoo I ever got. I was able to convince my dad, a man who told me it didn’t “look professional” when I came home with gel pen drawings on my arms in middle school, to sign off a consent form to get my tattoo. It was from a place called No Regrets Tattoo Parlor, and true to the name – I never have.
It’s interesting, however, that the cross is a symbol of our faith. I once heard the president of “Jews for Jesus” speak at a friend’s church, and he told the scandalized audience that he found the symbol of the cross to be morbid and atrocious. Scholars say it wasn’t a symbol of Christianity until 100-300 years after the death of Christ (depending on who you ask) and several progressive Christian or anti-Christian sites like to quip that wearing the cross as a symbol is no different than wearing a gun or a hangman’s noose or an electric chair as a symbol: all represent execution.
It is quite morbid, if you think about it. Some churches, such as the Catholic church, take it a step further and leave a Jesus, nails, crown of thorns, bleeding from hands, feet, and side, on their iconography and crucifix necklaces. It’s just a bit morbid.
This is the first year that I have actively tried to describe the purpose and reason for Easter to my four year-old, who is wide-eyed and perceptive, inhaling everything I say. His curious nature is a wonder to behold and I feel completely responsible for how the sacrifice is perceived to him. We have managed to understand that Jesus is God’s son, who came to Earth, and did good stuff, and died, and resurrected. But today, while making resurrection cookies, I tried to both describe the great sacrifice Jesus made on the cross while using gentle language. I am a non-violent, semi-pacifist sort of parent, but that doesn’t mean I want my children to be ignorant of the violence in this world as it occurs. I just don’t want them to be consumed with anxiety or morbid thoughts. And as a progressive person of faith, I don’t want to shame my children into becoming preoccupied with the sin part of this instead of love. And with Rev. Jack Spong fresh on my mind, I am more cognizant of how Judaism plays into it – Passover and Easter align perfectly again this year. We watched Prince of Egypt, and I tried to explain how people used to sacrifice animals to God when they sinned (which could be a pretty disturbing thought to a four year-old by itself) but then Jesus became human and he knew how much we hurt with our separation from God’s love so he took that hurt away from us and made it where we can now connect to God, with Jesus the ultimate sacrifice to bridge us forever to God.
If I seem well-thought in my writing, I assure you I am not in person, with a preschooler, carefully trying to balance a captivating story while pressing the impact of the death and resurrection and working through what I believe to be literal and what the intention of the resurrection story is and what I think it will mean to someone who still has the blessing to view God with the pure heart of a child, untarnished by the pain of the world.
It’s not news to anyone that the cross is a rather macabre symbol of our religion. Christians have felt that way since it started being used and they were reluctant to use it, but somehow it became our identifying token anyway.
When I had this discussion with Daniel, he said, “Jesus did say to take up your cross and follow him,” and I liked that. It’s funny, because I literally wear a cross on my back, though its placement was simply because it was an easy place to cover up, and I did not think of that connection until just today. Now that I have it, I will never be able to let go of it in my mind.
Throughout the centuries, the cross has become a symbol of defiance, hatred (think of the Ku Klux Klan) and of gentle peace. The style of cross that I have permanently on my body, the Celtic cross, is the result of the attempts of early Christians who looked to convert the Anglo-Saxons by making their faith more palatable: combining the Celtic knot symbolism with the cross. People often discuss — rightfully — the horrors that some Christian missionaries have put their subjects through, sneaking pork into Jews’ food or stealing the money of the Aztecs or raping and taking their women captive or forcing converts through torture. But I would say (especially as I currently read through Silence by Shūsaku Endō!) that some missionaries of past were so kind, so thoughtful to spread their message while still maintaining the traditions of the various cultures, trying desperately to bring Christ to them at any cost, not caring about the minor details, and celebrating and incorporating their holidays into our own. I mean, we all know the pagan history of Easter, of course.
And I can wistfully say, that’s exactly the sort of missionary I wanted to be.
It’s the last day of Lent. There is no grand conclusion; I am more lost than ever when it comes to my future and my life has seemingly fallen into more disarray than when it began. Things are slipping out of my control.
But for the first time ever, I feel like I am madly in love with Jesus Christ, and I’m ready to take up ANY cross he throws at me.
jennifercmartin 