Cleansing

The ornate crucifix must have been attached to a lovely rosary at one time, many long years ago. Whether the owner--either my mother or my father, God rest him--prayed so diligently, so often that the beads and cross came apart at the seams, I can't say for sure.

Jesus knows the world delivered plenty into their hands which was worthy of--indeed, begging for--prayer.

It's just as likely that one of us six kids gave the rosary a good jerk one day, perhaps as it hung innocently from a bedpost or a doorknob, and sent the amber or pearl or onyx beads flying across the hardwood floor.

There's a small chance that, as a toddler, I might have grabbed the crucifix in an effort to get my father's attention, leaving the beads behind, wound through the fingers of his clenched fist. Children do things like that, you know. They are not above being jealous of Jesus.

I found the crucifix today, in among the other medals I've saved. It's been a while since I really studied them, these pieces of my childhood. There were three Miraculous Mary medals, a Sacred Heart of Jesus, another broken-rosary crucifix (this one not as fancy), and a pair of Pope Paul VI medals. All cast in sterling silver, all terribly tarnished with age and neglect.

I dug up the little container of silver polish and an old soft toothbrush and went to work. Kevin came in just as I finished cleaning the Sacred Heart medal, and said how much he liked it.

"You can have it," I said, "if you're going to take care of it, but not if it's going to get lost in your room."

And then I started thinking, as I polished the popes and the Marys, about how I haven't treasured the beautiful gifts that have been handed down to me, about how often I've tossed God's precious truths into the junk drawers of my heart like worthless trinkets, abandoning them to rust and decay.

I picked up the greyed crucifix and ran my thumb over its forgotten facade. I dipped the brush into the polish and applied it on the back of the cross first. What had appeared to be an almost flat, undecorated surface began to take on texture and shape, revealing, in the middle of the cross, the emblem of the Sacred Heart. As I continued to polish, words began to form on the short bar. "Father, forgive them." When the long bar was clean, it read, "Behold this heart, who has so loved men."

Turning the crucifix over, I began to brush the four outer edges of the cross, causing the engraved areas, which resemble fleur-de-lis, to stand in bas relief. At first I hoped to remove every bit of tarnish from even the tiniest grooves, but soon realized that the contrast between brilliant sterling and mottled grey is startlingly lovely.

The figure of Jesus must have been made of a different material, because no matter how I tried to remove its stain, it seemed to be covered with a layer of ancient grit and grime no earthly polish could remove.

The sign at the top of the crucifix came to light after a thorough scrubbing, though. Every other rosary of my youth bore the initials "INRI" on the sign, but this one carries the Latin inscription, "Iesvs Nazarenvs Rex Ivdaeorvm." The English translation, of course, is "Jesus of Nazareth, the King of the Jews."

I don't know for certain why this broken, tarnished cruicifix of my childhood made me weep, but it did.

I do know this: I can't see the words "Jesus of Nazareth, the King of the Jews" without remembering Pontius Pilate, who composed them. His wording of the sign enraged the chief priests of the Jews, who complained, "Do not write 'The King of the Jews,' but that this man claimed to be king of the Jews."

Pilate's next words are among some of the most profound in the Scriptures: "What I have written, I have written."

Maybe I cried because Pilate, like me, knew all too well that Jesus was the King of the Jews. But instead of washing the wounds of the man he'd condemned, he washed his hands of Him.

I looked down at the tarnish covering my palms, ran them under the cool, clean water, and thanked God for the treasure of uncovered grace.

Posted by Katy on 04/23/05 at 03:04 PM

Fallible Comments...

Beautiful. Thank you for helping me get ready to go to worship this morning.
-----
Posted by Carrie K. on 04/24/05 at 02:41 PM
Just beautiful, Katy! ...all those priceless words just waiting to be uncovered, and the treasures in my own life I disdain... Your post has made me want to slow down, notice and appreciate.
Posted by violet on 04/27/05 at 04:00 PM

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Personal blog of christian writer & fallible mom Katy McKenna Raymond in Kansas City, Missouri Katy is represented by Greg Johnson at WordServe Literary Read more Katy at LateBoomer.net Follow Katy on Twitter Follow Katy on Facebook 123 Recent Posts Try Becoming Brenda Starr Off Beat Scattered That’s It So I’ve Finally Signed With An Agent. Now What? The Spoon Sciatica Sweetheart A Woman’s Train of Thought Has No Caboose However much we own, we are all still living on borrowed time After all, when restaurants shrink portions, they don’t shrink prices. As with everything in life, balance is key. Slow down, you move too fast… Yeah, I know. I have issues. Search Advanced Search Syndicate Login E me at katy @ ngenius.com	Cleansing The ornate crucifix must have been attached to a lovely rosary at one time, many long years ago. Whether the owner--either my mother or my father, God rest him--prayed so diligently, so often that the beads and cross came apart at the seams, I can't say for sure. Jesus knows the world delivered plenty into their hands which was worthy of--indeed, begging for--prayer. It's just as likely that one of us six kids gave the rosary a good jerk one day, perhaps as it hung innocently from a bedpost or a doorknob, and sent the amber or pearl or onyx beads flying across the hardwood floor. There's a small chance that, as a toddler, I might have grabbed the crucifix in an effort to get my father's attention, leaving the beads behind, wound through the fingers of his clenched fist. Children do things like that, you know. They are not above being jealous of Jesus. I found the crucifix today, in among the other medals I've saved. It's been a while since I really studied them, these pieces of my childhood. There were three Miraculous Mary medals, a Sacred Heart of Jesus, another broken-rosary crucifix (this one not as fancy), and a pair of Pope Paul VI medals. All cast in sterling silver, all terribly tarnished with age and neglect. I dug up the little container of silver polish and an old soft toothbrush and went to work. Kevin came in just as I finished cleaning the Sacred Heart medal, and said how much he liked it. "You can have it," I said, "if you're going to take care of it, but not if it's going to get lost in your room." And then I started thinking, as I polished the popes and the Marys, about how I haven't treasured the beautiful gifts that have been handed down to me, about how often I've tossed God's precious truths into the junk drawers of my heart like worthless trinkets, abandoning them to rust and decay. I picked up the greyed crucifix and ran my thumb over its forgotten facade. I dipped the brush into the polish and applied it on the back of the cross first. What had appeared to be an almost flat, undecorated surface began to take on texture and shape, revealing, in the middle of the cross, the emblem of the Sacred Heart. As I continued to polish, words began to form on the short bar. "Father, forgive them." When the long bar was clean, it read, "Behold this heart, who has so loved men." Turning the crucifix over, I began to brush the four outer edges of the cross, causing the engraved areas, which resemble fleur-de-lis, to stand in bas relief. At first I hoped to remove every bit of tarnish from even the tiniest grooves, but soon realized that the contrast between brilliant sterling and mottled grey is startlingly lovely. The figure of Jesus must have been made of a different material, because no matter how I tried to remove its stain, it seemed to be covered with a layer of ancient grit and grime no earthly polish could remove. The sign at the top of the crucifix came to light after a thorough scrubbing, though. Every other rosary of my youth bore the initials "INRI" on the sign, but this one carries the Latin inscription, "Iesvs Nazarenvs Rex Ivdaeorvm." The English translation, of course, is "Jesus of Nazareth, the King of the Jews." I don't know for certain why this broken, tarnished cruicifix of my childhood made me weep, but it did. I do know this: I can't see the words "Jesus of Nazareth, the King of the Jews" without remembering Pontius Pilate, who composed them. His wording of the sign enraged the chief priests of the Jews, who complained, "Do not write 'The King of the Jews,' but that this man claimed to be king of the Jews." Pilate's next words are among some of the most profound in the Scriptures: "What I have written, I have written." Maybe I cried because Pilate, like me, knew all too well that Jesus was the King of the Jews. But instead of washing the wounds of the man he'd condemned, he washed his hands of Him. I looked down at the tarnish covering my palms, ran them under the cool, clean water, and thanked God for the treasure of uncovered grace. Posted by Katy on 04/23/05 at 03:04 PM Fallible Comments... Beautiful. Thank you for helping me get ready to go to worship this morning. ----- Posted by Carrie K. on 04/24/05 at 02:41 PM Just beautiful, Katy! ...all those priceless words just waiting to be uncovered, and the treasures in my own life I disdain... Your post has made me want to slow down, notice and appreciate. Posted by violet on 04/27/05 at 04:00 PM Page 1 of 1 pages Commenting is not available in this weblog entry. Next entry: Bloghaustion Previous entry: Attitude << Back to main


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Personal blog of christianwriter & fallible momKaty McKenna Raymondin Kansas City, Missouri

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Personal blog of christian
writer & fallible mom
Katy McKenna Raymond
in Kansas City, Missouri