Creating this image was overwhelming. I sought to capture Jesus' nonviolent response to relentless violence. As I considered each moment of his journey to the cross, I felt despondent. I know how hard it is to resist the reactive urge that courses through me even experiencing mild forms of violence. How much more difficult then for Jesus to endure such dehumanizing acts? Was he stripped so completely of his humanity that only divinity remained—and even that restrained from retribution?
Begin at the center with Judas's kiss—intimate, subversively violent. Follow the sword behind Judas to the top left: a disciple fiercely defends Jesus, while to his right, the high priest's slave screams after his ear is cut. Jesus reproves the violence and heals the servant. Moving clockwise, a man—representing the chief priests and temple police—points an accusatory finger, wielding the authority to kill an innocent man. To his right, a man crafts Jesus' cross, quietly sustaining the violence of the status quo. Below him, an opportunist casts lots for Jesus' clothes, while a leader laughs at the impossibility that the Messiah will save himself. Finally, in the bottom left, a man offers Jesus sour wine in a moment of deep thirst—physical and spiritual.
At the heart of it all is Jesus, tearful, looking at us. His halo shines, revealing the many faces of violence around him. From the foundation of his steady posture grows an olive tree. Its branches extend beyond his clothing, reaching out to embrace those around him.
Through his nonviolent stance, the truth of a violent world is revealed. And in that truth, the good news of peace finds soil in which to take root, to grow, and to flourish.
—Rev. Lauren Wright Pittman
