Jesus Christ!

What a weekend. It all started when on Friday, as I stood chatting with another mother at school, mid conversation, I got rather animated. With my arms and handbag swinging around there was a loud crashing sound and before I knew it, with one swoop, I had completely demolished the ‘Sacred Space’ outside the school secretary’s office.

The Virgin Mary fell flat on her face; the bible fell off the table and if it had not been for the screw top, my friend and I would have been splashing about in Holy Water as the plastic Holy Mary shaped container fell to the floor with a thud.

Worse still, the biggest feature of all, a wooden crucifix, fell over. I hurridly picked everything up and tried my best to make the display look, well, sacred again. As I lifted the crucifix up, to my horror, Jesus was no longer securely nailed to the cross. He was hanging on for dear life, with just one palm nailed firmly on.  

“Oh Jesus look what I’ve done” I whispered to my friend, holding the broken crucifix for her to see.  A voice piped up from inside the office, it was the deputy head teacher. She looked out from the office at the wrecked sacred space. “Yes indeed. That is Jesus Christ Annie. You have just knocked him off his cross”.

Doing my best to make good the Sacred Space, I put the bible back on the table and put the plastic Holy Mary Holy water container next to the other Holy Mary for company. Neither looked damaged. Unlike poor Jesus. I put him into my handbag and promised the school that I’d have him back on Monday morning.

Once home, I looked through the tool box and found a nail that was too big and a hammer. Then I looked at hole in the tiny palm on the tiny Jesus. I may not be the most religious person, but somehow, it felt totally wrong to put any nail into it, into that tiny golden palm.

Perhaps I'd get away with tying him back on with a ribbon. Or pegging him on. Even better, an elastic band might do the trick. Or Blu-Tac. Would Pritt-Stick be strong enough? Maybe I could try that flour and water paste that we used in the 80's in art class at school. But none of the above felt, well, very dignified. 

I sought advice from friends and family. When I sent a message requesting his assistance, my father replied “vatican crucifix helpline 003906246911-dad”. Was he serious? But what is the right thing to do with a broken crucifix? I turned to the internet and found the answer at 'Catholic Answers'. Their advice was simple.

“If you do not wish to repair the crucifix, or if it is unrepairable, the crucifix can be broken up so that it is not recognizable as a religious object and the fragments buried”. 

On closer inspection, I noticed that the school's crucifix did have rather a bad lean. The lean must have always been there, it wasn't my fault. Honest.  Still, it wasn't broken enough that it needed breaking up and burying in the school vegetable patch. 

My teenage daughter came home from school. “Look what I did,” I held up the crucifix in her face with two hands, like she was a werewolf. She instantly recognized it from her old primary school. “OH MY GOD! THAT IS SO DISRESPECTFUL!” she yelled, her face purple. “WHY DID YOU DO THAT? THAT’S VANDALISM” Despite my efforts to explain that it was an accident, that I hadn’t purposefully knocked him off in an act of rebellion, she ran to her room and slammed the door.

I tried to coax her out with comforting words like “Why are you so angry?". Silence. "You told us you were a Buddhist last month?". Silence. "Buddhists don’t get this angry do they? Look at the Dali Lama? Have you ever seen him this angry? No.” Silence.  

Next, old friend, Toby, sent me a suggestion.  “I'd leave it as it is - your Golden Jesus now looks like he's participating in some kind of extreme sport, swinging off the cross, making a dynamic move while rock climbing or perhaps taking a ride one handed down a zip wire. I'd explain to the priest this new action packed messiah will have a greater resonance with the young people at the school”.

I might pass that idea onto the Parish Priest. But I promised the school that I'd have him back, repaired, after the weekend. I couldn't leave Jesus him hanging there like Tarzan from a vine. Not being so close to the Holy Communions. The Sacred Space had been only recently laid out. People would notice. Word would spread that I, virtually the only non-Catholic in the school, was responsible. They'll think it was some kind of protest.  They'd all get upset, like my daughter had and I'd probably get banned from the Parents Association. 

I went back to the drawing board. Maybe I could Superglue him back on rather than having to go through the trauma of a modern day crucifiction. Or I could try that 'No More Nails' stuff. Another friend comforted me. "You can do this, just nail him on, stay strong and think....what would Jesus do?” That was the best advice of the day. What would Jesus have done?

Well, wasn’t he into helping others and being neighbourly? I phoned a friend in the neighbourhood. Her husband John, being an engineer, was a man who oversees bridge building projects around the world. He worked in an area that required precision and detail. I knew that John would never accidently hang little Jesus upside down or back to front. So kind John did the neighbourly thing and fixed him back on to the cross using a tiny nail. 

Today, when no-one was looking, I put the crucifix back on the Sacred Table. It may still be slightly lop sided but at least it is now centre stage, between the two Holy Mary's.....

..........Now all I have to do is mend my toe which broke when I was putting away the tool box this afternoon.  A ladder came crashing down from the attic and fell on it. I spent a total of two hours in hospital and came out with a splint, a crutch and a prescription for medication to ease the pain. 

Is this an example of divine retribution? If it is, I consider 'Himself' to be most ungrateful. If he falls off again, I'm going to use a stapler and gaffer tape to fix him back on. 

OUCH!

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