Growing up Southern Baptist in El Paso, Texas, in the 1950s and -60s, my father converted from Catholicism, I was imbrued with dislike, suspicion, even hatred of all things Catholic. In seminary taking a class on the classics of Christian devotion, I discovered that the ancient churches of Rome and Byzantium held vast riches of devotion and spiritual formation next to which Baptists had few.
There was Pilgrim’s Progress, of course. Grace Abounding to the Chief of Sinners. That I didn’t find until grad school. Streams in the Desert, My Utmost for His Highest. Other than that, flat modern stuff from the denomination.
The Imitation of Christ, published by Moody Press, despite its publisher, was too medieval and sacramental for me. Now I can’t get enough of it.
Then, in seminary I took Classics of Christian Devotion with Glenn Hinson. Hinson has been hounded by fundamentalists as a heretic. May we have many, many more heretics. He wrote among many others a book called Seekers After A Mature Faith, which surveyed resources on spirituality. In the course I accepted the assignment of presenting Augustine’s Confessions.
The pastorate is not especially conducive to spiritual growth or depth. So now in exile, I’m playing catch up, reading, learning, praying.
Today, I think for the first time, I prayed the Stations of the Cross. I was perched on a stool in the kitchen, Celtic Daily Prayer, pp. 251-264, opened on the stove top, a cup of coffee in hand, beside a sink full of dishes to be washed.
I’m not much for devotion that lingers with masochistic delight over the torture Christ endured. I didn’t see Mel Gibson’s The Passion. That’s not based on the Gospels. An Aramaic original doesn’t exist. To create one is to claim more for the product than is merited, in my opinion.
As I read aloud the sections, I tried to slow down, let the reality sink in as much as possible. I broke up as I read:
Lord, you were stripped of the robes You wore,
but You were the same—it didn’t change You.
I waited a moment until I could read more.
Crucifixion is so alien to us; we can’t fathom that kind of death. So celebrities pose in mockery. A chocolatier creates the crucifixion chocolate for Easter. We get our daughters fine gold crosses on gold chains.
I recall on my Emmaus Walk, they asked me to drive a nail into a cross. I couldn’t do it, I wouldn’t do it. I was the last. Several men huddled around, explaining, encouraging. Finally, I caved to the social pressure. But I’ve always regretted that. For me.
The cross is unimaginable.
Think of the PTSD someone would experience who actually saw a human being nailed to a board, hanged, left to die a lingering death from exposure, suffocation.
What good does it do, to meditate on atrocity? What good does it do?
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Tags: prayer, religion, Stations of the Cross
Again, looking forward to the next part, but in the meantime, I’ll say, I saw the film, mostly because a very sensitive parishioner planned to do so and I wanted to be able to discuss it with her after. Big mistake! I found it traumatic, while she seemed to deal with it very matter-of-factly.
I don’t think there’s any value in meditating on atrocity. I fear it makes us numb to its meaning. But I’ll look forward to your conclusion.
Wow, I’m on the same journey. Saw the movie. My gut told me something is wrong there. Our church has developed a stations of the cross prayer walk. We use a Protestant version that I found online. I’m cool with Veronica, but I didn’t want to answer all the questions from a bunch of Baptists who would be looking for her in the gospels.
I featured this today at http://CCblogs.org
Gordon
First, I acknowledge the movie means a lot to many people. PeaceBeUpon them. For me, however, the violence has a life of its own. When you think about the fact that Gibson portrayed William Wallace being racked in Braveheart, a virtual crucifixion, you get a clue that it’s more about the violence less about the self-giving of the Christ. And that level of violence is pornographic, sado-masochism. The middle ages were proficient at psychotic portrayals of saints’ suffering. As for the new forms of prayer, I’m finding my own Baptist cupboard pretty bare. So maybe somebody else can teach me stuff about prayer and contemplation.