The Cross as Rorschach Test of Our Lives

Before one goes off to seminary to study to become a priest, a psychological exam is required. An appointment is made for the applicant to take a battery of tests and then sit down with a psychologist, who then sifts through the vast amount information to interpret what it all means about the person. The whole process is a necessary part of the journey and discernment to see if there are any underlying issues that might impact the person’s role as a priest. A standard part of psychological testing for the last eighty years is the Rorschach test, developed by Hermann Rorschach, a native of Switzerland. Perhaps you have heard of, or even taken the test. The test is a set of ten inkblots – mostly black inkblots on a white background -- shown one after the other in order to get one’s first reactions. The person administering the test might say: “what do you see?” and the answers could be anything: a bird, a cloud, a country, a flower. Based on the kinds of responses, and how long it takes to come up with an answer, those who are trained use the information to learn something about the one taking the test. The term “Rorschach test” has also come to mean a process by which a person can look at an event or a picture and project onto it one’s thinking and identity.

A cross was not among the ten inks blots that Hermann Rorschach included in his original set of cards. Imagine if he had? Sitting across a table and shown a picture of a cross: what might a person say? Christians since the emperor Constantine have seen the cross as the prime symbol of their faith. But beyond the official trademark, if you will, of the Christian brand, what else lays behind it? What emotions are evoked? What statements are made and memories unlocked. What does it say about who wins and who loses? What do you see when you look at the cross? Do you see pain and death? Do you see resurrection and hope? Do you see exploitation or forgiveness, defeat or redemption, torture or sacrifice? Do you see the end of the road for an earthly Jesus or the beginning of the journey for those who would come after him? Do you see the violence of Roman occupation, or the conspiracy and timidity of the religious elite? Do you see God’s love and God’s justice? The cross, which on Palm Sunday, is draped in the color of red, hidden from our sight, is a test for our lives as believers, but not a test we can pass or fail, or one where we need an outside expert to interpret.

Donald Spoto, in his book The Hidden Jesus writes that the “crucifixion of Jesus has become, after two thousand years, perhaps too familiar through reading, hearing and preaching, and too distorted by paintings and sculptures, crosses and crucifixes. The horror is almost impossible to absorb, perhaps especially given the ubiquity of appalling images and the documentation of violence in our time.” "In fact,” he writes, "it may be no exaggeration to suggest that the single most famous event in history has become something of a cliché. The cross itself is not a terribly chic fashion item, studded with emeralds and encrusted with diamonds; any suggestion of nails or blood would be considered distasteful, offensive.”

Those who were with Jesus in the garden, through the arrest, the trial, the beating and the final capital punishment were under no illusions about the meaning of the symbol. For them, its meaning was clear. The cross meant death. Crucifixions were commonplace in the ancient world. During one revolt against Rome, three thousand people were reported to have been crucified in Palestine on one day alone. It was a punishment reserved for slaves, subversives, deserters from the military and the poor. A person’s arms were lashed to the crossbeam and a nail driven through their heels. A healthy male could stay up on a cross for two to four days, unless his legs were broken, which meant death would come quicker. Biblical scholar John Crossan writes poignantly: “In the ancient mind, the supreme horror of crucifixion was to lose public mourning, to forfeit proper burial, to lie separated from one’s ancestors forever, and to have no place where bones remained, spirits hovered, and descendants came to eat with the dead. That is how Jesus died.”

The gospel we read this morning to begin Holy Week is filled with characters: Peter, the servant girl, Pilate, the High Priest. And Judas. Judas, one of the twelve, betrays Jesus into the hands of his enemies. Seldom does a disciple of Jesus make headlines twenty centuries later, but this has been a big week for the disciple the world has learned to hate. Tonight at 9:00 p.m. on PBS National Geographic will be airing a special that reveals the story of the Gospel of Judas, a stunning find on the Egyptian desert. This account of Judas differs with the traditional accounts of the gospels that found their way into the New Testament. Judas is seen as a hero, not a villain, who is the only disciple who fully understands his master and turns him over to the authorities because it was a part of God’s plan. I am thankful that in the Episcopal Church we can embrace these rare archeological finds, learn from them, sift through what they may mean, and through our learning, draw closer to the story of the life of Jesus.

And then there is Simon of Cyrene. We read that this father of Alexander and Rufus was coming in from the country when he was called upon to carry the cross of Jesus. Simon is a figure for the ages. For all of us who at various stages of our lives are minding the business of our lives – taking care of our family, enjoying our hobbies, going to school, putting in an honest day of work, embracing retirement – sooner or later God has a way of tapping us on the shoulder and saying: come and see. I need your help. You have what the world needs. Our lives may be comfortable and reliably known, but Jesus did not die on the cross just so we can be left alone and removed from a broken world crying out to be heard.

For this day to make any sense to us -- this day when we mix the thrill of Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem with palms, to the silence and barrenness of the many words of the passion gospel – we must think about the extent to which God went to get our attention. The exodus, the prophets' call for justice, and return from exile, the virgin birth, the miracles, the stories of healing, the signs from heaven. God had a way of knowing that none of them alone would be enough. It would take history and events and people to collide during a busy Passover, with Jerusalem brimming with upwards of 100,000 pilgrims, to set the stage for the ultimate test of our faith.

You are shown a picture of a cross, what do you see? Do you dare see your freedom? Your release from childhood memories that will not go away? Can you see a symbol that works like a sponge, absorbing all that we can throw it over the course of our days? Our loss, our grief, our pain, our loneliness, our addictions, our depressions, our indifference. Our fear of dying. Can we see in the cross the struggles of those whose road in this life is filled with more heartache than we can imagine? The lost boys of Sudan, the migrant farm worker picking our lettuce, the people who live under bridges and in sewers and scavenge for food in the garbage. Can we see in the cross a place we must go, a fate we must share, before the gift that is the resurrection can be fully understood for the miracle it is?