this year during lent, i was inspired to design a set of eight pieces of art for a "stations of the cross" installation, which is currently on display outside on the front lawn at St. Paul's UMC and Wesley Foundation at 230 E. College Ave. in State College, PA. it will be there on display until april 3rd, 2021. if you aren't able to see it in person, you can see the whole collection here. i've also decided to write a bit about each one, so that you can find out a little "behind the scenes" information for each one, and hear a little about my inspiration. here are the posts for station 1, station 2, station 3, station 4, and station 5.
in this post, we turn our attention to station 6, in which Jesus is nailed to the cross. the whole idea of a body being nailed to a piece of wood is so violent and gruesome, that it isn't an image i want to spend much time thinking about, to be honest. as one who gets a little light-headed at the sight of blood, for me to imagine the sound of hammer on nail, as the nail pierces the flesh, the splatter of blood on the wood, and the gasp of pain is a heavy emotional act. that heaviness is why i was so moved by the prayer for this station written by Padraig O'Tuama from "Daily Prayers with the Corrymeela Community" (copyright 2017 canterbury press, norwich, london). here it is:
Jesus of Nazareth,
This cross was a torture.
It only gives life
because you made it hollow.
Bring life to us, Jesus,
especially when we
are in the places
of the dead.
Because you brought life
even to the instruments of death.
Amen.
the first time i read through this prayer i had a conversation with a colleague about one word in particular that really stood out. in fact, it stood out so much that we weren't sure if it was actually the intended word, or if a mistake had been made in transcription. can you guess what word we were caught by? hollow. it's such a powerful word in this prayer, partly because it is so unexpected. the cross seems so heavy (remember, the romans had to have a stranger help Jesus carry it). the emotional gravitas is substantial, as the women weep from a distance, and the soldiers steel themselves against any humanity in this moment. everything just feels so weighty, but O'Tuama says Jesus made it hollow. i thought maybe he meant hallowed or holy, but, no, it's definitely hollow.
i spent a fair amount of time reflecting on that word. this "hollowing" is a radical reversal of expectations. Jesus took the executioner's device, received it without complaint, and somehow turned into a sign of hope. by his humble love, he hollowed out the cross' wicked cruelty, and turned into an intersection of beautiful love and relentless mercy.
in order to try and reflect this hollowing, i thought i would fill in every bit of the window of this station with glass, except for the shape of the cross, leaving it as negative, or blank space; leaving it hollow. so i glued. and i glued. and i glued some more. i used so much glue on this window that i was nearly covered in glue (it's a bit messy to glue this tiny pieces of glass to a window, at least for me. i ended up wearing as much glue as i was applying!). i repeated the same physical action so many times on this window, that i was literally sore for a few days after. additionally, this window weighs so much, with all of the glass and pottery and stone glued to it, that i was afraid the frame wouldn't hold all the weight. fortunately, it survived.
the burst of broken glass in this station had to be red. it had to be the blood. it had to represent the burst of veins, the red marks on the rough wood. Jesus wasn't tied to the cross. he was nailed. by this violence, and his own unthinkable mercy in the face of it, he emptied the hate of its power, and he denied death its victory.
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