The artwork in our house includes a modern icon.[1] A circlet of light rings a woman’s head. She holds a crown of thorns. This is Mary, Mother of Jesus.
But she wears the white kerchief of the Plaza de Mayo Mothers of Argentina. The icon is splashed with a white painted hand, evocative of the Mano Blanca death squads of Guatemala. The title, in Roman letters but in a font reminiscent of Coptic script, reads “Madre De Los Desaparecidos” — Mother of the Disappeared Ones.
The message is clear: the Mary who mourns her crucified Son lives alongside the mothers who mourn their disappeared children.
Recently I was thinking about the death of Jesus. Not surprising — it’s Holy Week. But in this case I found myself thinking about how the last days of Jesus differed from those of Paul.
Jesus vs. Paul
Paul was a Roman citizen.[2] His status afforded him certain privileges: protection from abuse while in prison;[3] the right to appeal his case to the Emperor;[4] and — if we believe church history — death by beheading rather than some more cruel end.
Jesus enjoyed no such privileges. He was a Jewish subject of Rome. For such people, the gods had decreed it: Rome could do as Rome pleased.
And Rome did so. They acquitted him,[5] but then found it expedient to execute him anyway.[6] They tortured him.[7] They stripped him naked[8] and then hung him on a pole to endure a public, prolonged and painful death.[9]
All those atrocities swung on the simple fact that, unlike Paul, Jesus was not a Roman citizen. The tribune’s fear when he learns of Paul’s birth citizenship[10] tells it all: this is a powerful difference in status.
Unprotected People
And, like I said, I’ve been thinking about that difference. Events of the past three months have drawn me there as I meditate on Holy Week. I have heard of “stateless persons” and “personae non gratae,” but I doubt I grasp how legally vulnerable such people are or the psychological impact of their exposure.
Jesus likely had fewer rights than modern-day immigrants have in the United States. An observer might have considered his torture and execution to be horrifying, even terror-inducing. But such an observer would not have imagined it a violation of Jesus’s fundamental human rights. The concept did not exist.
But even in the United States, it seems, the government will do as the government pleases. Set aside paperless people for a moment. The fragile position of even documented non-citizens — yes, even certain citizens[11] — converges all too readily with the will of powerful individuals to use that fragility for political expediency.
The Christ of Scripture identifies, in the most painful and debased way, with the “least of these”[12] in our world. His self-emptying descent from glory[13] does embrace your burdens and mine, but it does not stop there. He accepts the place of the most miserable of human beings.
The Day of Resurrection
Why does he do this? So that he might be their hope and salvation as well as ours. For, as we proclaim, Christ’s death is not the end of the story. The Crucified One is the Risen One. Or, perhaps in language more applicable to this reflection: The Persona Non Grata is the Persona Gratissima.[14] The Jesus of Luke 22 is the Jesus of Luke 24.
I look forward to the Day of Resurrection. I long for an end to the sickness and grief that I see with increasing frequency as I grow older.
But I also look forward to its utter inversion — brought about not by temporary and partial human action, but by the irresistible hand of God — of a fallen, deadly world that crushes Christ’s little ones under the wheels of power. I look forward to the day when the mothers of disappeared ones will receive their children back, when no earthly government, however powerful and for whatever justification, can take them away again.
That We Might Follow
And in the meantime, I pray that you and I might have the Spirit to follow the Crucified One as he calls. Not so that we might take pride in our holiness[15] (Lord, protect me from such a temptation!), but so that we might in due time share in the joy of his resurrection[16] — and, until then, share the hope of that joy even as we empty ourselves for the sake of the Gospel.
A blessed Triduum to you.
Somewhere along the Way —
Forrest
______________________________
[1] By “modern icon” I mean a present-day work of art that emulates the style and intent of classical icons but reflects contemporary political realities.
[2] Acts 16:37-38, 22:25-29, 23:27.
[3] Acts 16:37, 22:25, 22:29.
[4] Acts 25:10-12.
[5] Luke 23:4, 14, 22; John 18:38, 19:4.
[6] John 19:12-16.
[7] Matt. 27:27-31; Luke 22:63-65.
[8] Luke 22:34.
[9] But perhaps not by asphyxiation, contrary to the consensus of the last hundred years; see https://pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/articles/PMC10009142/.
[10] Acts 22:29.
[11] The United States Government Accountability Office reported in 2021 that inadequate policies and procedures on the part of Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) led to deportations of over seventy United States citizens — not just documented non-citizens — during the period of 2015-2020 (https://www.gao.gov/products/gao-21-487). I can only wonder what the GAO would find if it were assigned to update its statistics ten years from now.
[12] Matt. 25:40, 45.
[13] Phil. 2:7.
[14] Consider, for instance, the heavenly voice at the Jordan declaring Jesus as the one “with whom I am well pleased” (Matt. 3:17; Mark 1:11; Luke 3:22). Or Matthew’s language (Matt. 17:5) for how the heavenly voice describes Jesus to Peter, James and John at the Transfiguration. Or (now that I think of it) Gabriel’s greeting to Mary (Luke 1:28).
[15] See I Cor. 13:3.
[16] Romans 6:5; see also Rev. 20:4-6 for a specific description of the joy reserved for those who have (literally) died for their loyalty to Christ.