The First Halo
A Friday 'flection for Lent
Each Friday I post a short (re)flection on Scripture. I look at both Catholic and Protestant commentaries before writing my own, but the post itself is brief, to-the-point, and does not attempt to wade through all available views. I also try not to simply repeat what’s been said elsewhere. Since I mostly comment on the spiritual meaning of the text, my interpretation generally complements rather than competes with other readings, anyway. Welcome to Friday ’flections!
The halo is not a uniquely Christian symbol. A stroll through the MET Museum’s exhibit on Buddhist art brought this home to me forcefully, but a glance at the halo’s Wikipedia page will show as much. Yet painted by Christian hands and worn on Christian heads, it became something more—a way of showing that the pure gold of heaven has found a foothold here on earth.
The first Christian instance of the halo was the one worn on Calvary. If the function of the halo is to reveal invisible glory, then certainly the Crown of Thorns is its unexpected summit. Nearly all commentators see it as an irony of the sovereign God, who turns mockery into homage and abuse into coronation. All the saints who would bear the halo in ages since did so precisely insofar as they wore Christ’ Crown and shed his Blood for the world. It has been said that there is no crown without the Cross. There is indeed a chasm between man and God, and the thorns on Christ’s brow teach us that there is no crossing without the Crown.
Some Catholic commentators have understood the Crown of Thorns to be the martyrs, who manifest God’s suffering through their own, and so doing glorify his Name. I think this is right. The name of the very first martyr hints at this; “Stephen” just means “crown” in Greek. They crown Christ again with their lives, offered up as an acceptable sacrifice, and in return Christ crowns them with eternal life in Himself.
The martyrs are the very thorns of the Crown, as they become channels, points of access to the Blood of the Redeemer. They make the redemptive suffering of God present in the midst of their murderers. Jesus tells the woman at the well about streams of living water. I say more that the martyrs are streams of living Blood, capable of converting sinners, healing the wounded, and rallying the doubtful.
We owe a special piety to the martyrs, to be sure. More, though, we owe them imitation. The men and women around us need the Blood of Christ as much as any bored Roman soldier on crucifixion duty. We should ask for their intercession, therefore, to help us become fit witnesses to the hope that we have within, and help others put on the halo, thorns and all, before the Master returns to call every man to account for his time on earth.
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