A Deliberate and Constant Remembrance

My previous post explained how I found this crucifix.  As I cleaned off all the dust, the corpus fell off.  I guess my sins put Jesus there, why am I having such angst nailing Him back?  You know what.  I'm going to glue him back.  I don't have those itsy-bitsy nails, anyway.  

Why don't I just leave Jesus off the cross and keep it that way--a cross.  I think it's because I need a reminder just how much Jesus loved me.  He loves me enough to suffer for me.  Thank you, Jesus, for loving me!

Don't Judge Me

 This morning, I knocked over my hairbrush.  I need my hairbrush.  It fell off the back of my dresser.  

Picture the back of my dresser.  We have lived in the house for forty-six years.  I have never dusted the back of my dresser.  Think what that means.  Dust galore!  

Since I need to brush my hair, I had to look behind my dresser and see where the hairbrush landed. As I retrieved the hairbrush, I saw my old cross.  I had forgotten about it.  I think it may have been my grandmother's.  She had one like it.  I actually have another, exactly the same.  Maybe that's why I never missed it.  Anyway, I retrieved it.  This is what this picture depicts.

There is a corpus (body) on this cross. As I was dusting it, the corpus fell off.  What now?  Nail Jesus back on?  

Meditate upon that thought.

Personal Faith v. Show

I don't know.  I don't know.  There's a man in my prayer group that makes me feel guilty because I don't wear a huge crucifix around my neck, like he does.  I wear a Dominican scapular, under my blouse.  If I'm performing a liturgical duty, e.i., lectoring, or teaching, I wear a Dominican cross on the outside of my clothing.

My friend makes me feel guilty that I'm not wearing some obvious outward sign of my faith.  But I'm not comfortable doing that.  I think of my own feelings when I see someone coming towards me wearing a cross bigger than the pope's.  I'd cross the street.  I don't want to debate him or even talk to him.  I don't think God wants us to call attention to our faith.  He doesn't want us to wear our faith on our sleeve.

Although my friend tells me about all the people that applaud his proudly displaying his faith, I always think, "How many did you chase away?"  But I suppose, there's different strokes for different folks.  Some attracted by his obvious faith and I think some our attracted by my personal witness of my quiet faith.

Then why do I feel guilty?

Crucifix

I have a really old crucifix that belonged to either my grandmother, or her sister, my great aunt. It's about a foot tall and black. The corpus is metal. The left hand if broken off its nail. I have to snap it back into place. Also, when you pick it up, you get stabbed. It looks like the nail fell out, and it was replaced with a nail that is too long, so it was bent down. That's it--a nail point that stabs you when you pick it up.

For some reason, I love this crucifix. The face on the cross is very tiny but full of expression. It's strange because the features are very crude: basically slits for eyes and there's a regular nose, but the mouth is "0" shaped. Put together, it's full of agony.

Somehow, I think it fitting that I have to put that hand back on its nail. I also think it very meaningful to get stabbed by one of Jesus' nails. This crucifix is a great aid for meditation.