You can’t crucify a projection anymore than you can marry one.
There’s nothing like human love – ordinary, corrupt, insatiable, feckless human love – to remind one of the sheer folly and honesty of the Incarnate God. A man born into poverty, available to poverty: and not the poverty described by Dickens’ with removed, romantic flourish, but rather the poverty of the pervert, the adulterer, the atheist, the pornographer, the drunkard, the handicapped, the forgotten, the unremarkable… A man who knows this fragile frame, these tired limbs, that ravaged heart, those beleaguered eyes – and shows no partiality. A man, solid, enfleshed, warm with virile strength – unafraid of what we call grotesque, unafraid of the bloodiness of it all, taking it unto himself as only the most honest of realists could do. There is no escape hatch, no pre-nup agreement, no measuring life out “in teaspoons.”
And as I stand in a dark church, candles sending lapping light against the eerie statues with their sightless eyes, with the familiar form stretched across those cruel beams above the altar, I am unavoidably confronted again with the claims this man made. I look at the lines of the body (a form I have seen and cherished in the way of a wife, a form I have felt), at the brutal nails and the blood, the gently drooping head bound in thorns…and I think, “Wish-fulfillment? What kind of wish would take this form? What kind of dream would find its satiation in this anguish?”
Who, but You, who truly love would affirm the lovability beneath the shadows, the blood, the dying? Who but You who truly love would come in such a bodily way – knowing that this makes such sense to me – in order that I might know what it means to be truly alive? Who but You who truly love would refuse to shy away from our inveterate nakedness by becoming utterly naked Yourself? Who but You who truly love would give us exactly what we ask for: and then call to us through the rubble of our attained desires?
The epiclesis. The bite of wood against my knees. The consecration. Elevation. “Domine meus et Deus meus.” It is too real for me to comprehend, too solid for me to touch: but I believe (help my unbelief).
“I made myself available to those who did not ask for me; I appeared to those who did not look for me. I said, ‘Here I am! Here I am!’ to a nation that did not invoke my name.” Isaiah 65:1