The Alchemy of the Cross

I read this in my Magnificat one day:

"The Lord gathers up the tears of humanity and transforms them into the waters of life by the alchemy of the cross, where suffering and death are changed into joy and life by the self-gift of love."

And then I read it again:

 "The Lord gathers up the tears of humanity and transforms them into the waters of life by the alchemy of the cross, where suffering and death are changed into joy and life by the self-gift of love."

I see it:  the Lord walks among us, teaching, healing, collecting our salty tears--the blood of our souls.

I see him, Christ, drink the tears, swallowing our tears for us, being brave and strong for us like we can't be for ourselves.  He sits with his friends and drinks, sits in the garden and begs his Father to find another way.  He knows, though, that this is the only way.

He takes up the cross, and they beat him until he bleeds--the blood of the Lord, spilled out and given for us.  He carries his cross and they nail him to it.

He takes his last breath, and they pierce his side.  Blood and water pour out--baptism.  They lay him in the tomb and on the third day, he is gone.

He is risen, and he brings with him salvation and new life for us.

All this is the result of a gift of self for love.

In my study of Theology of the Body, this is a recurring theme:  self-gift of love.  It points to the sacrifice of Christ on the cross.  He did that for us, and if we are to follow him, we must be faithful in every aspect of our lives.

After Mass on Holy Thursday, Jesus' question to his disciples kept coming back to me:  "Do you know what I have done for you?"

On Good Friday I watched the priest and deacon process in in silence, and then lay face down on the ground in front of the altar. It struck me that this is what Christ has done--he laid his life down for us.  And the priests have done this in his example.

"Do you know what I have done for you?"

At the Easter vigil I counted my blessings, looking back at the many ways I could see how God saved me in grace, how he brought me where I am instead of taking me where I wanted to go for a specific reason--to give me new life.

The hard part now consists in dying to my old self, and giving myself completely out of love for him.

That reminds me of a funny experience I had about two years ago:  I was praying, and meditating on the Institution of the Eucharist when I suddenly heard John Cusack as Lloyd Dobler (from the 80s film Say Anything) in the back of my mind saying, "I gave her my heart and she gave me a pen."  I realized that it was the same with me and God.  I had given him the pen to write my story, but he had given me his whole heart.  He didn't just want my pen, to be the narrator of my story in an Emma Thompson from Stranger Than Fiction kind of way.  He wanted all of me.  Just as he gives himself to us in the Eucharist every single day, he wants all of us, not just a part of us.

He wants us to let him love us, just as we are.  Only when we let him love us can he turn our pain and sorrow into joy.