Fifth Rector’s Conference
March 24, 2019
Very Rev. Denis Robinson, OSB
This evening let us return briefly to the Church of Santa Croce in Rome and that room of relics assembled by the empress Helena from her sojourn in the Holy City, Jerusalem. Her discovery of the True Cross is, of course, the origin of the Feast of the Triumph of the Cross which is celebrated in both the Eastern and Western churches in September of each year. The finding of the Holy Cross, that tangible relic was a sure sign of the Incarnation, the need for us to concretize our faith with physical objects, much as we saw with the recent visit of the relic of St. John Vianney in our seminary.
Another object found by St. Helen was the crown of thorns, that object of scorn, wrenched upon the brow of King Jesus in the mockery of the Passion, a mockery which ironically spoke volumes of sober Christological truth to a world consumed by triviality and idiotic laughter.
The crown of thorns, if anything, has a more illustrious history than the Holy Cross, the crown being the object of barter and trade throughout history. The Church of Santa Croce, today can claim only two thorns, but the crown itself has made its blessed way through the halls of power in history, into the royal courts of Byzantium, into Venice where it served as collateral for a massive loan, and finally to France, purchased at a tremendous price by the king, St. Louis to be the centerpiece of his palace, and what a centerpiece. St. Louis constructed a massive reliquary chapel which today is seen as the pinnacle of gothic architecture, one of the greatest artistic achievements of the western world, the Sainte-Chapelle in Paris. For five hundred years the crown rested there until it was removed during the French Revolution. Today it can be viewed in the Cathedral of Notre Dame de Paris. And of course, as a tangible reminder of the Passion of Christ, it continues to inspire, being displayed for veneration on the First Friday of every month.
The image of the crown is an important one both culturally and socially. In the earliest biblical sources, the crown was reserved for one thing, the adornment of the Ark of the Covenant. In Exodus we read accounts of the crown placed upon the ark and of the crown which encircled the table of the showbread. We are told in Exodus chapter 39 that this crown had an inscription written upon it: Holy to the Lord. This close connection of the image of the encircling crown to the presence of God is essential to how that circlet will be understood in later images found in the Hebrew Scriptures.
The Book of Leviticus offers us another image of the crown found prominently in the Old Testament. Here the crown adorns the front of the headgear worn by the High Priest in the performance of his duties. The presence of the crown denotes the close connection between the actions of the priest and the Ark of the Covenant. The priest is holy because he is connected to the ark. The crown denotes divinity, a vocation given by God, a being set apart by a circlet of gold, a new standard of human life made sacred by the ark and God’s promise.
In the Second Book of Samuel, the crown takes on a more human quality. The crown worn by Saul is removed from his head and given to David. The crown is important as a sign of power, but it is a power only manifested by a connection to the Divine King. Saul and David are made kings because there is a symbolic connection between them and the covenant of Israel. Their authority comes from the ark and yet they represent the human manifestation of a Divine Call.
The image of the crown in the Old Testament also speaks of loss. Queen Esther casts her crown aside as she approaches the king in humility, seeking rescue for her people. Job uses the image of the crown’s loss to denote his tragic state:
He has stripped me of my glory, and taken the crown from my head.
The image of the crown appears twenty or so times in the Psalms and Proverbs, always as an interplay between the Divine and the Human ideals, power taken from temporal rulers and applied to an eschatological rule. In the prophets the crown is seen often as a symbol of failure, the loss of power in Israel, a notation of things forgotten or completely lost.
Turning to the New Testament, St. Paul uses the image of the crown as a metaphor of discipleship in Jesus.
Every man who strives in the games exercises self-control in all things. Now they do it to receive a corruptible crown, but we an incorruptible.
Paul is convinced that the incorruptible crown is not only within our grasp, but a crown which God truly desires to give.
From now on, there is stored up for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous judge, will give to me on that day; and not to me only, but also to all those who have loved his appearing.
Paul drawing on his Pharisaical roots, knows what the crown stands for, even in a gentile context. But he also knows there is but one lasting crown and that is the crown of Christ.
And so it is, for the Gospels, there is only one crown, the only mention of crown and kingship. In all of the Gospels, the image appears, the crown of thorns, the scourging crown, Pilate’s mockery, placed hard upon the brow of Jesus.
See now how our Lord is crowned for our sake. The circlet of thorns placed upon the head of the only true king. The connection between the ancient ark and the ark of his body, containing within itself the Law and the prophets.
The circle is a sign of perfection, the thorns a sign of chaos:
Chaos and the Crown
And of course, that is how the crown comes to us, not as a symbol of power, but as a symbol of chaos:
Chaos that looks like fumbling for words as you hastily turn the pages of the ritual book, looking for something to say to the 27 year old mother who is dying of cancer in the bed in front of you while her husband and 4 year old son look on helplessly. Hopelessly. Can we twist those thorns of doubt and pain and confusion into a glorious crown?
Chaos that looks like randomness in the up and down quarks of our quantum imaginations, a universe that propels itself ever onward, helplessly, hopelessly. Can we make those thorns of confusion into a beautiful tapestry of perfection?
Chaos that sounds like the relentless ticking of a clock as you sit with a mother and father as they confront the drug addiction of their 17 year old son. He cannot speak. He is in shock. He is frozen with the deepening paralysis of someone knowing. He cannot respond and so time ticks, ticks away as you all sit helplessly, hopelessly. Can we transmogrify those thorns of self-destruction into a crown of kingship?
Chaos that feels like the trickle of cold water down your spine, the cold water of recognition as you face the same temptation again and again, that secret part of yourself that simply cannot go away, but cannot be ignored. After forty years it continues to rise up in you like flood waters and the chill of shame, known all too well for all too long makes you wonder helplessly, hopelessly if there ever will be, ever can be forgiveness.
Chaos that works like a vice of guilt and pain inflicting old memories, incising old wounds, igniting old flames that will never die, that cannot be fixed, cannot be controlled, leaving our family members, our parishioners, our friends wandering helplessly, hopelessly toward Babylon.
Chaos that invades our bones, infiltrates our imaginations and convinces us that there is nothing here, much less anything beyond
Chaos that comes upon us like a thorn prodding the tender flesh of our existence
How ironic that the Passion of Christ twists the thorns of chaos into a crown. How ironic that we are made strong in the degradation of the Lord, a degradation that undoubtedly calls us to lay down the self-woven crowns of our lives for our brothers and sisters.
Our faith, like that relic, that physical reminder of the crown of Christ has slipped through many hands over the centuries. Today, that faith, that crown lands with us, it lands on our brows.
How will we wear it? I wonder …
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