By Anna Von Reitz
My Mother was sick the first nine years of my life. And my Father had to work. So I spent a great deal of time alone, except for my Grandmother and much older Sister who took turns watching over me—- Grandmother during the day and sister at night—- but they, too, had work to do and lives to lead and I was often left to play with the dog or read or do whatever else I might to entertain myself.
This is not to say I was neglected, but I was often alone in the sense of not being the center of attention— and perhaps because other people were not constantly focused on me, I had the ease and time to observe others and to observe the world around me.
I got used to having questions and nobody to answer them, so, I learned to investigate things for myself.
When people ask me— how did you learn all this stuff? I suppose the answer has to start with my odd childhood. I was cast in the role of an observer and investigator from Day One, so that’s how I developed. I had to observe things and figure them out for myself, so I did.
Now we come to this time of the year and I again confront one of the biggest mysteries of all, the lonely figure of Jesus on his cross.
We know that the Romans didn’t actually use crosses. They used simple upright posts called “torture stakes”. Instead of splaying the victim’s arms out to the sides as always depicted, they raised both hands above the head and drove a single spike through both hands.
Yes, we know that for a fact, but this is never the way it is depicted. Instead, we always see the cross, a symbol so ubiquitous that it has come to stand for the whole of this religion called Christianity.
So, right out of the box, we have a false depiction of his death and a false name for him and his teachings— because he never called himself “Christ” either, and that gives rise to “Christianity”.... three big whoppers in a row and we just got started.
Picture me, as most of us are, a little being from another planet, encountering all this for the first time.
We have a cross, but it shouldn’t be a cross. We have a man named Yeshuah being called both Jesus and Christ. And then to top it off, we have a whole religion calling itself by a nickname other people called him after his death—- Christianity.
Look at it from my 7 year-old perspective:
Imagine that a woman called Debra was nicknamed “Beatrice” after her death, and a whole religion called “Beatricity” grew up around Debra’s life and teaching. Then also imagine that Debra drowned in a small lake, but for unknown reasons, her death is always depicted as a shipwreck at sea?
Wouldn’t this strike you as beyond odd?
Consider that If Yeshuah came back and touched down in Nashville, he wouldn’t answer to either “Jesus” or “Christ”. He wouldn’t know you were referring to him. And if anyone asked him if he was a “Christian” —- he’d blink and say no.
There is something very twisted and odd about this whole picture.
But let’s come back to the cross that shouldn’t be presented as a cross.
Much earlier in our history on Earth we find crosses— and these crosses symbolize the dilemma of spirit intersecting with flesh. That’s the crux— the cross, and the dilemma, that mankind has always faced.
How can a wedding between an immortal spirit and a body made of flesh ever end in anything but divorce?
In a way, then, it’s appropriate that Jesus is shown hanging on this sort of cross— in transit back to the realm of the spirit, and soon to resolve the eternal dilemma by resurrecting his body in an immortal form.
I could perhaps stomach that, but there is so much more. For example—-
There’s the message that “Jesus died for your sins”. But this is another twist. The words can also mean “Jesus died because of your sins.”
And what do we observe?
1. Betrayal by Judas for money.
2. Betrayal by the Sanhedrin for pride and power.
3. Betrayal by Pontius for lack of caring.
Yes, he died because of these sins and motivations. For coin, self-interest, and convenience sake, he was put to death.
What should that say to us, this other message we aren’t hearing, because the idea that his death could somehow atone for our bad behavior drowns it out?
Our sins —these same sins—-continue to kill innocent people today and we don’t even look at them. We are too busy praying to Jesus to forgive us, when our own victims are named John and Barbara and Kevin.
Last night as I was driving home I chanced on a strange sight. An elderly woman dressed all in black, even a black raincoat with her hood pulled up against the storm, standing at the side of the road with a sign that read: “homeless”.
Like many first-time panhandlers she had positioned herself in a place where nobody could actually stop to help her.
So the endless line of cars, caught up in their own momentum— including mine—- just flowed past her. Even if we wanted to, there was literally no place and no way to stop.
All we could do was see her and her sign in a glimpse and keep moving.
I wonder if she eventually realized what was going on and why we all just flowed on by? I replay it, wondering if I missed something? Some way I could have stopped?
But no, there really wasn’t an answer. No way to stop. No place to park. No means to thread back around from another direction. She was as alone and isolated as Jesus on his cross, and so, in a way, was I.
So I whisper a prayer into the empty space between us — which is already vast enough without any “social distancing”— that next time, I will find a way to stop.