I haven’t worn a cross in years due to inner conflicts about how the story of Jesus gets turned into judgement of others, separation among people, self-righteousness and condemnations. But yesterday, Good Friday morning, I had a sudden impulse to dig into storage and pull out a sweet little cross my ex-husband once gave me and put it on.

I thought about the crucifixion all through the day. To me, and to many, Jesus is the incarnation of love itself. Why must it be that love is crucified? It happens all of the time. Love gets destroyed constantly, probably most often by people who believe themselves to be doing the right thing.

The only prayer I can think of in response to this reflection is to ask to learn every day how to love better, and to love more and to never hurt love. And to learn to forgive ourselves and each other for “not knowing what we do,” as Jesus did even as he died such a horrible death.