Queen of Swords

This is not a Jesus-bashing post.
This is a post about my frustration at the wimpy way Jesus tends to be portrayed in modern media.

( A bit of context about how this topic came up )

It's been many years since I'd last seen Jesus of Nazareth, and while I did enjoy the overall look of the production and the human grounding of the story, I was appalled by the portrayal of Jesus. He spent most of the time looking and sounding like he was stoned. I guess the director thought it was important to make him seem "spiritual" and spiritual somehow meant that he walked around glassy-eyed, in a state of near-constant preternatural calm. It was creepy.

Yesterday, we went to see an excellent stage production of Jesus Christ Superstar --and while the slim Asian actor who played Jesus was amazingly good, and definitely seemed present to those around him, the overall characterization was one of someone who is ineffectual. No one understands him, Judas pushes him around, he is mute and passive through the trial scene (which does have a biblical basis, but coming after the rest of the show is even more painful), and etc.

Wolfling loved the production, and when we got home we watched parts of two Superstar productions on DVD: the original film and a "millenium" modern dress version. The characterization of Jesus was similar in both of them: not really a leader, certainly not a charismatic figure, just a man with no message who is gradually overtaken by events. There are no teachings in Superstar, just a portrayal of the general cluelessness of the people around him set to some really powerful music. In the opening song of the millenium production, Judas is grabbing and shoving a sulky-pouty Jesus around, and all Jesus can do is look sadly-blankly at him and try to dodge away -- until the other apostles show up, physically draw him away from Judas, and he lights up. He seems incapable of coping with Judas, or even directing his own steps.

When Pilate sings "He's a sad little man, not a king or god," he's exactly right. These Jesuses are indeed "sad little men" -- which is not how it should be.

It drives me nuts!

I have not identified as a Christian for many years, but I continue to respect Christ and his central message. I see him as a vigorous, charismatic, energetic, powerfully present man -- one capable of scaring the sh*t out of the members of the power structures around him. None of the men I've seen portrayed in these shows is dynamic enough to scare anyone -- unless it's by simply creeping them out with their vague demeanors. They are about as imposing and awe-inspiring as Yanni.

The only time I've seen a portrayal of Jesus that seems to capture anything like the vitality and charisma of the rebel rabbi is the movie Godspell. Even with the clown paint, Victor Garber has energy, life, a vital connection to others, even dignity. He is a leader, a teacher, an inspirer, a loving friend.

I swear: it makes me want to get back into theater just so I can do a life-of-Christ production that shows a Jesus who makes people sit up and take notice and perhaps even makes them sympathize a bit with the authorities who thought that killing him was the only way of dealing with the ruckus he was generating.

"Heaven on Their Minds" from the Millenium production of Jesus Christ Superstar

I almost never have multiple dreams on a single theme, but last night my psyche was full of images of lost and restored brothers and the sacred masculine.

First, I dreamed of an uncle (by marriage) who died two years ago (but had not died in the dream) who gave me two large boxes of relics from my past, including a large porcelain statue of a castle that I might have missed if I hadn't dug through a bunch of barrettes and combs.

I dreamed several times of being reminded that I had a little brother who had been given to others in the family to raise because my parents had been too old to raise him themselves when he was born. There was also a forgotten set of twins (girls?), but they were less important in the overall progress of the night.

I dreamed of my first daimonic fantasy lover. I was a rich young woman who was the lady of a marble mansion on a hill, and he was my acknowledged lover, who willingly took a subordinate position in deference to my hereditary status and authority. When fire threatened the property, he did my bidding to lead the efforts to protect my family's home.

And I dreamed of being with my family in a van (which has archetypal significance for me) with another suddenly remembered younger brother. We were being driven to a special, perhaps dangerous, event (more fires?) -- and on either side of the road I saw celebrations of Easter and Passover (both about sons being saved and/or restored) being held by groups of distinctly different ethnicities, religious traditions, and economic class.

Perhaps I should add that I was looking again at this image from Alan Moore's Promethea yesterday:



I should add that I don't have a brother, only a younger sister. My mother had a miscarriage before I was born, but that event has never been treated as a big part of the family history. Whatever mourning my parents did was not carried with them, nor was a sense of loss passed on to my sister and me.

The most I can get from the dream is to be prepared for a significant masculine energy to come into my life -- or be restored to it -- but I don't know what form it will take.

Growing up Protestant, crucifixes weren't a significant part of my spiritual iconography. As an adult who has rejected the theology of the necessity of Christ dying to atone for the sins of humanity and the idea that God required the death of his son (or anyone), I have had even less use for them.

But yesterday afternoon I was browsing the online catalog of the museum company store and found this image, called the Crucifix of Athlone, from Ireland's County Roscommon, AD 800:



I was mesmerized.
I went back to the site three times.
Then I ordered one for myself.

Maybe its the Celtic spirals adorning and in some way exposing both the visceral reality and the eternal mystery of the body of Yeshua/Christ. Maybe its the stylized formality that jolts me back into an older, more primitive connection with the idea of voluntary sacrifice as part of spirituality, something I can't even put words to but which thrums in my gut.

There's something very deep here, something ancient and startling, the likes of which I have not encountered in a very long time. I am reminded of Aslan telling Lucy and Susan about the "deeper magic from before the dawn of time." Whatever it is that fascinates me here, it's not something I remember feeling during my orthodox (small "o") Christian days.

I don't have words for it now -- but I think this crucifix and I are going to have interesting conversations in the days to come.


[The listing for the piece, with background text, is here: http://museumstorecompany.com/product_info.php?products_id=1912 ]