Crystal Cross (Bergeron Image) |
The cross depicted in the photo that accompanies this post
sits on the meeting rail of a window before my writing desk. It has rested there undisturbed for years,
catching the rays of the sun as it rises above the eastern edge of the Second
Watchung ridgeline in Bridgewater.
Each day, the morning light of the eastern sky casts a
different hue on it, reflecting nature’s mood on any particular day. In July, 2011, when I composed this shot, the
sun beamed brightly upon it, framing it against a cloudlessly blue sky. It left a penetrating burst of white light
near the crystal crossbeam.
Sounds so serene and almost poetic, doesn’t it? But there is a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree
difference in meaning between a wooden crucifix and an innocent looking crystal
cross – the former bears the body of Jesus crucified, while the other brings
the hope of a Jesus resurrected: Body
gone. Memory alive forever.
That wooden cross which stood on the hill of Golgotha centuries
ago carried the body of Jesus nailed to its crossbar by the Romans, cast in the
role of a common criminal, and left there to suffocate to death.
The penalty of crucifixion was so savagely brutal and
tortuously slow that it was reserved only for non-Romans living within the Empire. It was administered to people who dared to
step out-of-line, or who were deemed to have breached or challenged the
authoritarian rule of Rome.