We are told early on in our Christian life (and usually long before our Christian life begins) that Christ died for our sins.
But "Christ died for my sins" is usually a very theoretical view. As Christians we say that "it was my sin that put Jesus on the cross" or that "we all have crucified him", but do we know what that means? It is a bit like saying that "in Adam and Eve we have all sinned": deep down, each of us considers ourselves a bit better than the rest. Whatever theological truth we may cling to, there is a part of us that believes that if we had been there in the garden of the forbidden fruit, there would have been no Fall of Man, and that if we had been there in the crowds of Jerusalem, the crucifixion would not have taken place.
I have learned better. It was me who sinned by wanting to be like God. I was afraid of the place in which He had put me, and I wanted to have it in my power to put myself in another place.
It was me who killed Jesus. I killed him because I was so angry at having been at the mercy of God, at being powerless to determine my own life and at being powerless to resist God or avenge myself on Him. When he showed up in human form, as a person that I could physically hurt, I took the opportunity.
But I also killed him because I couldn't get him to stop loving me. Now that I was finally able to avenge myself on God, he did not even strike back or resist. He absorbed all the hatred and anger that I had against Him and continued to love me. He kept taking it even as it escalated. It became a challenge to see what I could do to him, and it got to where I could even kill him, and he wouldn't stop loving. Nothing is quite as odious as killing someone who loves you in return. But perhaps I am not ready to receive love until I have hated to the point of murder. Perhaps I cannot accept forgiveness until I have done something as heinous as killing the Lord of Love. Perhaps I cannot perceive that I need forgiveness until I have realized that I hate love so much that I would rather kill it than accept it.
When I went on a pilgrimage through Spain in 2007, I repeatedly thought that I could write a book about everything that was happening in and around me. A few weeks after finishing the pilgrimage I started this blog instead. It may be the rough draft of an upcoming book -- who knows -- but it is my surrender to the urge to try to put into words what might better be left cloaked under a vow of silence.
