A Christic Prayer in a World of Sex Abuse

The Flagellation of Christ ~Belmiro de Almeida ~ 1887

This is a sad picture, the soldiers putting their backs into abusing Jesus. Their hearts and heads are encased in metal. Jesus' clothes have been taken away and thrown on the floor. One soldier has put down his shield to free up his hands. He is standing on Jesus' mantle. Swords, shields, spears and branches are littered around—as if inviting the soldiers to take your pick.  The crowd is noisy and stupid; the gabble-mouthed man nearest Jesus raises an angry fist. We might wonder if he could even articulate why he's so disturbed. Spears pierce the air. The nakedness of the Roman god in the shadows at left stands in contrast to the nakedness of Jesus who is clothed in light.

Every day brings fresh news of sex abuse or its cover-up. This story is not going away, is it? Are we even paying attention anymore? Sex abuse happens in places like Abu Ghraib but also in a confessional, sacristy, automobile, locker room, family basement, classroom or camping trip.

Arrested,

bound,

dragged off,

imprisoned Jesus,

accompany us.

Stripped naked,

shivering,

shamed, 

spit upon Jesus,

support us.

Blindfolded,

lonely,

powerless,

laughed at Jesus,

steady us.

Slapped,

disparaged,

degraded,

invaded Jesus,

companion us.

But that's not even the worst of it,

is it, Jesus?...

the pile on

prison night,

bored,

booze fueled,

soldier violence—

the don't speak it,

don't even think it,

lest pious ears be offended,

violence.

From distraction,

sleeplessness,

anxiety,

dread and

self doubt,

heal me, Jesus.

From shame,

silence,

fatigue,

loss of faith and

burning tears,

rescue me, Jesus.

From bitterness,

cynicism,

insecurity,

distrust and

self-deprecation,
liberate me, Jesus.

Father Stephen Morris