Bloody Connections
Jesus and I died together during The Passion of the Christ. Incredible camera shots showed me perspectives I had never seen. Awesome sound effects contributed to the glory of this beautifully produced film. Luminous, dripping blood still haunts me. I must understand the blood!
The story reveals a connection between life and death. Love forever connects Jesus to his mother, and his followers. The dramatic emphasis on loving others peaks with "love your enemies" and "pray for those who persecute you." Love is amplified when contrasted with the brutal and mocking persecutors.
The blood starkly visits again shortly after Pilot's wife offers Mary, the mother of Jesus, a folded, white cloth, assumed to be a burial wrapping. When the crowd leaves the area of Jesus' flogging, Mary kneels, and pitifully wipes the puddles of blood. This futile mopping wrenched my heart. It's no use, Mary. Stop. There's too much blood. You can't save him.
Why does the blood disturb me so much? The movie did not make me queasy. The film makers did not take too much creative license. I've certainly seen pictures that were more violent, but never one so bloody. My heart could not be at peace until it understood more about the message of the blood.
Following a long sequence of excruciating, suffering scenes, Jesus finally dies. God's teardrop falls from heaven and when it strikes the ground, an earthquake erupts. Stones break apart and eventually the temple's veil splits into two parts. I felt like leaping from my seat and shouting, "Jesus has won the victory over evil!" But I didn't. I couldn't. I kept thinking of blood trickling through the crevices of stone walkways, stains on his tunic as he carried the cross, and Mary mopping the blood of her son, hopelessly mopping!
An Old Testament Scripture persists. "Life is in the blood." After Mary mops the stones, she holds the bloody cloth next to her heart. Is love the only connection between the living and the dead? Actually, there is another connection, an almost secret one. This blood which disturbs me also connects me. Although I walk around dead in my sin, the blood connects me to life everlasting. Life indeed is in the blood.
Jesus and I died together during The Passion of the Christ. Incredible camera shots showed me perspectives I had never seen. Awesome sound effects contributed to the glory of this beautifully produced film. Luminous, dripping blood still haunts me. I must understand the blood!
The story reveals a connection between life and death. Love forever connects Jesus to his mother, and his followers. The dramatic emphasis on loving others peaks with "love your enemies" and "pray for those who persecute you." Love is amplified when contrasted with the brutal and mocking persecutors.
The blood starkly visits again shortly after Pilot's wife offers Mary, the mother of Jesus, a folded, white cloth, assumed to be a burial wrapping. When the crowd leaves the area of Jesus' flogging, Mary kneels, and pitifully wipes the puddles of blood. This futile mopping wrenched my heart. It's no use, Mary. Stop. There's too much blood. You can't save him.
Why does the blood disturb me so much? The movie did not make me queasy. The film makers did not take too much creative license. I've certainly seen pictures that were more violent, but never one so bloody. My heart could not be at peace until it understood more about the message of the blood.
Following a long sequence of excruciating, suffering scenes, Jesus finally dies. God's teardrop falls from heaven and when it strikes the ground, an earthquake erupts. Stones break apart and eventually the temple's veil splits into two parts. I felt like leaping from my seat and shouting, "Jesus has won the victory over evil!" But I didn't. I couldn't. I kept thinking of blood trickling through the crevices of stone walkways, stains on his tunic as he carried the cross, and Mary mopping the blood of her son, hopelessly mopping!
An Old Testament Scripture persists. "Life is in the blood." After Mary mops the stones, she holds the bloody cloth next to her heart. Is love the only connection between the living and the dead? Actually, there is another connection, an almost secret one. This blood which disturbs me also connects me. Although I walk around dead in my sin, the blood connects me to life everlasting. Life indeed is in the blood.
posted by Cynthia Duck at
10:37 PM
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