A member of the Community of St Anselm, Hannah Bailey-Evans, reflects on crucifixes, and what they reveal about God’s love.

There is a church in Shropshire, where I’m from, that has a rather interesting graveyard. There are three notable points of intrigue: the viewing point of the spectacular ruins of a castle on the plot next door; rows of graves of nuns from a local convent, intriguing to me because of my interest in the religious life; and, most intriguingly, an enormous crucifix that stands in the middle of the cemetery, directly facing the gate at a distance and angle that means most people cannot avoid an intimate view of Jesus as they enter His holy ground.

The first time I saw it, I was with my mother and brother. As an Anglican perpetually stretched with one foot firmly in both catholic and charismatic camps, I’m no stranger to crucifixes; every high church I attend has a large one hanging somewhere near the altar. But this one is different. It is so, so detailed. It is, it has to be said, pretty brutal.

My vaguely-Christian brother shuddered at the sight, saying it creeped him out. My Greek Orthodox mother didn’t like it either, saying it made her sad. But I was really quite struck; neither creeped out or particularly sad. I stood before it for a few minutes, taking in the details, all the time thinking to myself: “gosh, He looks like me.”

Something I’ve noticed among not only my Orthodox family and charismatic friends, but also among many Anglo-Catholics I know, is how uncomfortable 3D crucifixes – and graphic ones at that – make people feel. I suspect a large reason why is precisely because He looks like us. We see ourselves in this man, desolate and destroyed. We see the strained tendons in His wrists, we see His muscles, each strand of His hair, His ankles, even His toenails. . . We see His body functioning and reacting exactly as ours would. And suddenly it’s real. Suddenly, He becomes a person like you or me. And when Jesus becomes fully human to us, the full extent of His suffering is revealed. And that’s rough.

But it’s important. It’s a painful, uncomfortable fact that we must embrace – not to guilt us into behaving ourselves, but in order to reveal fully the beauty and power of His sacrifice. His suffering is a reminder to us that our salvation comes not only from His spilled blood; but from His broken body. When we’re unable to deny Jesus’ torture, we’re unable to deny the immense love that was His motive, and the motive of the Father who sent Him.

That might be the hardest part of all of it; accepting God’s love. But I believe we all have the courage to do so. And when we need a reminder of the courage we’re capable of, where better to look than the cross? The ultimate symbol of love and courage, displayed by a God who was and is human, just like you or I.