Every crucifix is a little sacramental reminding us that at the heart of our faith is a Death. We prefer, of course, not to dwell overmuch on such things, and this is not entirely bad. For, of course, to dwell overmuch on the death of Christ, without remembering the resurrection of Christ is as Bad as dwelling on the resurrection while ignoring the cross. Both cross and crown must be taken together or not at all. It is not a mere inward pietism that ignores the sin of the world. Rather, in confronting sin within, we find ourselves compelled to confront sin around us as well, and not to keep quit even when the powers of hell tell us to shut up. Jesus confronted such powers. So have all the martyrs down the ages.

The eternal paradox of the Cross is that the most powerful thing God ever did was put up no struggle when the cops hauled him away, submit to an outrageously unjust kangaroo court, suffer a beating in silence, kept his mouth closed while a bunch of thugs jerked him around, listen to bought-and-paind-for testimony against him, watch his friends slink away, and finally be driven like a mule from prison to the most vindictive form of torture and death ever devised by a race famous for its creative  flair for cruelty. It is, in a word, love. And it is the thing, the only thing, that saves us. For it is the very power of God.

Most of us will die in our beds, surrounded by family and friends, comforted by the sacraments of the Church and with caregivers giving care. He died stark naked, covered with the blood of his scourging and the spit of his enimies, in murderous pain, while the laughter of strangers rang in His ears. It is grace beyond description that the race such as ours, dealing out death such as that, could receive in return the gift of Viaticum, the final Eucharist for our journey to heaven. When he cried for drink in his death agonies, we have him vinegar. When we cry for mercy, he feeds the ery flesh and blood we tortured to death on the cross. What Love!