Clarity Leads to the Cross

I just got out of my class on Christian Theology and am thankful to be able to study about Jesus in a school setting, as savior, which by many universities standards, is an unimportant, irreverent study.

I feel somewhat safe in “opening up my ears” in this class, because the professor is a priest and philosopher, so although he may not know everything, like any human being, I am comforted by the fact that he has a general goal of explaining Truth to students through a godly perspective.

With that said, we were discussing early considerations of the understanding of Jesus as God and man while on earth. Throughout the lecture, I was keeping up with the material, yet becoming more confused. I asked Jesus to help me understand Him and prayed to help turn the confusion of His nature into clear ideas I could grasp. At the end of the lecture, we looked at the resolution reached at The Council of Chalcedon, which took place in 451 CE. It says this:

“In Christ there are two natures, human and divine, coexisting in one person, and the oneness of the person makes it appropriate to apply the predicates of either nature to the other.” This is the concept of ‘communicatio idiomatum’ or ‘communication of idioms’.

This made it so much clearer to me. I smiled and even got a bit teary-eyed as I listened to our teacher read us these words. Leo the Great stated it this way “[Jesus’] natures are separate principles of operation, though always acting in concert.” Or in other words, divine nature and the nature man was created with do not oppose, but are meant to work together perfectly. Man’s nature was meant to work in harmony with God. Therefore, Jesus with two natures, divine and temporal, worked within Him in concert, not opposing in any way.

As I grasped this idea, I allowed (actually, I couldn’t really help it) my mind to wander. It wandered to an image of the cross – the day Jesus was crucified. I credit the inspiration of this mental image to Nichole Nordeman’s song “Why,” which creates the picture of a little girl staring up at Jesus as he slowly dies, asking her dad, “Why doesn’t Jesus fight off these men? I thought you said He was stronger than all of them?” An extremely interesting song, perhaps for another blog? Anyway, I’ll continue.

So, this mental image, running like a movie in the concave of my forehead, was of me, standing in front of the cross, as Jesus hung dying. I was filled with anger and fury for all those people cheering on his demise and soaking up his pain, as if it were food for their devouring.

Full of hate, the next picture ran across my mind, like water to wine. I was clinging to Jesus with all my strength, hugging his cold body on the ground, still attached to the cross. I looked at Him like he were my best friend; the person I wanted to talk to first thing in the morning and last thing before I fell asleep. He was my ultimate source of joy, my teacher of love.

I stroked His face and wished I could take away His pain more than anything in the world. As I cried over His lifeless body, His eyes opened for a moment and looked right into my heart. He was surely dead, but He was also surely alive. After His eyes closed, my anger subsided. I didn’t feel hatred for these people around me! I felt hopeful and sad, despairing and love – all in one.

They were blind. Their eyes were open, but surely closed, just as Jesus was surely alive. They didn’t understand, for they were fools! Fools who didn’t understand goodness, love, light. They didn’t understand what Jesus had done, so they smirked and laughed at His crucifixion. They were more lost than me.

I was filled with compassion for their foolish hearts. They needed our Lord, the only true God, to fill them. To make them new. To teach them. To open their eyes. They needed God to teach them what love is. And I was there to help!

Lord, teach me to love, that all those I encounter see you dwelling in me. I want you to rest in me, as I so peacefully am granted to rest in you. Teach me to love Jesus.

Amen.