Roger W. Lowther's Blog, page 10

02 – The Scarf

My friend, Shannon Johnston, started The Scarf back in 2011 as a direct response to the earthquake, tsunami, and nuclear disaster here in Japan. It was a way for people to knit their hopes, thoughts, and prayers together for the people of Japan. Scarves are something you wear around your neck like a hug. The Scarf was a way people could give hugs without actually being physically present in Japan. …

Learn more about Shannon Johnston and The Scarf, including how you can participate in this project, here.

A Strand of Hope

What do you think about the three R’s of reading, writing, and arithmetic? Are they something you do in your spare time? Are they the first thing you want to do in the morning? Or the last thing you want to do at night?

Personally, I hated them. Reading was odious to me, a chore, something that had to be done — for a class, for a meeting, research for a concert. Writing too was the same — endless emails, website updates, proposals, etc. Arithmetic? Well, that was my major in college as an applied physicist. I really enjoyed it but have not done much with it since.

In this year of COVID-19, changes have been happening. I find myself in some kind of cocoon, and have yet to see what kind of creature I will emerge as. I really don’t know what is happening, but I can look back and see small things in my life that have brought me here.

In 2019, Wipf and Stock published my first book, The Broken Leaf. That book was an attempt to capture some of the stories of what God has been doing in Japan over the past decade. In the process of writing that book, I realized I had a lot more stories to share. I am almost finished with my second book, Aroma of Beauty, which tells stories of how God worked in the days immediately following the earthquake, tsunami, and nuclear disaster in 2011, and I have already made a lot of progress on my third book.

In an attempt to get these stories to more people, I have even started a podcast Art, Life, Faith. I only have one episode so far, but in the months and years ahead, I look forward to “speaking” with you and encouraging you with some of these stories while you exercise, travel somewhere, or wash the dishes (the three main times I listen to podcasts).

I now enjoy reading. It is the first thing I do in the morning and the last thing I do at night. I now also enjoy writing, not just to get the stories “out there,” but to get them inside me also, to allow them to change me and form me.

I have reached out and come to know lots of other writers, to learn from them and be encouraged by them, and hopefully I will be some small source of encouragement to them. In the months ahead, I plan to blog about some of these authors and their books. If I enjoy them, maybe you will as well.

The first author I want to introduce you to is Amanda Tero. She is a musician and writer, who lives in Mississippi. In July, she launched A Strand of Hope for young adults, a tale of a young girl who learns that reading is not a means to escape the hard things in her life, an escape from the world, but rather a means to embrace it. Books become the method of building community, learning empathy, and finding hope. I find that her method of writing has the ebb and flow of music, lyrical and beautiful. I look forward to seeing what else comes from the pen of this young author.

Thank you for being with me as I continue to grow and change in this cocoon, and watch as I explore this whole new (old) world of books.

”The Scarf”

Globally, there has been 15 million cases of COVID-19. Over 600,000 are dead and hundreds of millions have lost their jobs. These are scary numbers! They are especially scary for artists, as I keep hearing from my friends, here in Tokyo. Musicians, for example, depend on performances to share their art and get paid. No event means no income.

People are scared. They are scared of the future. They are scared of going outside. They are scared of wearing a mask and scared of not wearing a mask. They are scared of one another.

In a crisis like this, what can an artist do?

My friend, Shannon Johnston, started “The Scarf.” It started back in 2011 as a direct response to the earthquake, tsunami, and nuclear disaster here in Japan. It was a way for people to knit their hopes, thoughts, and prayers together for the people of Japan.

The earthquake struck in March when it was cold, still snowing, and people needed scarves. They were some of the items we carried to the disaster area.

Scarves are something you wear around your neck like a hug. “The Scarf” was a way people could give hugs without actually being physically present in Japan.

I wish I could show it to you. The colors are beautiful — red, yellow, blue, pink, purple, and so many others. It makes you happy just to look at it.

There is symbolism in its size. It is 2 feet wide to express forward movement. You can’t walk with just 1 foot. And it’s long! By the time I saw it, when it came to Japan, it was over a 100 feet long. The sheer number physically represented the number of people giving the hug.

I remember when Shannon first brought “The Scarf” to Japan. It was a year after the earthquake. We visited temporary home complexes, one after another, for memorial events taking place up and down the coast. These were places where people lived while waiting for new homes to be built.

We carefully decorated the community rooms with this 100 ft scarf. We put it along walls and windows, above the door frames, and over chairs and tables.

As you can imagine, it got people’s attention everywhere it went. They would see the scarf, and just out of sheer curiosity they would come closer. And they would want to add to it themselves.

They would gather around it. They would talk to each other. They would laugh together, and you could see the community being built right there.

A little disclaimer: I don’t know anything about knitting or sewing. But one time, there was a Japanese woman sitting there, knitting away, and she said, “Hey, you should try this too!”

And I was like, “No no no…大丈夫です。はいはい、ごめんなさい。大丈夫です。できません。”

But she would not take “no” as an answer. So here I am trying to find my way out of this, while she’s holding up the knitting needles and the scarf to me…

What could I do?

I sat down, and held the needles in my lap, and had no idea what to do next. I looked pretty helpless, pretty pitiful. Until she showed me what to do.

And we laughed together. And she kept teaching me. And it was so much fun…you know?

While people chattered around me noisily, I concentrated. I didn’t want to make a mistake. What if I ruined the whole scarf? I supposed that part could be cut off, but I really wanted to add at least a few inches to the length if I could. I wanted to be part of this project.

So, here I was, knitting away, concentrating and another woman asked me, “How’s it going?”

I proudly held up my pitiful little addition, with a big smile on my face, as if to say, “Look what I did!”

It was nothing. It may have been a couple of inches at most, but I’m being a little generous here. It wasn’t very much. I can say that much.

But she laughed, and I laughed. It was just like a party.

Here we are, in this disaster zone, surrounded by mud and piles of debris and broken buildings. The whole town is in shambles from the tsunami. We’re in a temporary home complex with people who can never go home…And here we are laughing.

It was so special. It was so life-giving.

I felt bad about hogging the chair for so long, so I stood up and handed the knitting needles to the next person, and took some time looking at this thing. Through length alone, I could feel how many people had worked on it. I could almost feel their presence.

Some sections almost looked like they were falling apart (maybe they were made by people like me!) but they weren’t falling apart. They were being held together by other sections. It was such a wonderful picture of how we are not alone. Our stories are stitched together.

We are not alone. Our stories are stitched together.

Disasters continue to threaten this world. Unfortunately, the 2011 earthquake was not the last one, but symbolically, “The Scarf” will never be finished. The knitting needles will always remain connected at both ends.

After Japan, “The Scarf” traveled to New England for Hurricane Sandy, and then to Western Australia for wildfires. Then there were tornadoes, floods, and now, this pandemic.

Even now, when we can’t gather together, people are knitting and adding on to the scarf. They are making their parts in their homes and sending them to Shannon.

Next year, we plan to bring “The Scarf” back to Japan for the 10 year memorial of the earthquake.

How long will the scarf be at that point? How many people will have been involved?

Watching the world unravel before our eyes, art can draw us together and encourage us. We will never stop making beautiful things. And we can always bring this beauty to those who need it most.

Gathering people.

Forming community.

Bringing hope.

Finding healing.

God knits us together in beauty and in love. Where there are hard situations, where there are global crisis, beauty will show itself in unexpected ways.

May we all get to experience it together.

 

01 – Love Your Neighbor

Mayu is a visual artist in Tokyo. With the spread of COVID-19, like everyone else, she was stuck at home, with no way to share her art and no way to make a living. What bothered her most, though, was that people were hurting all around her. She wanted to do something, but didn’t know what she could do. One day, her mother said, “Mayu, I think you should make masks.” …

Website: https://loveneighbor.thebase.in/about
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/lyn_givingteam
Donations: https://paypal.me/mayulyn?locale.x=ja_JP

Love Your Neighbor

Mayu is a visual artist in Tokyo. With the spread of COVID-19, like everyone else, she was stuck at home, with no way to share her art and no way to make a living. What bothered her most, though, was that people were hurting all around her. She wanted to do something, but didn’t know what she could do. One day, her mother said, “Mayu, I think you should make masks.”

Love Your Neighbor

Mayuko Shono, or Mayu for short, is a visual artist here in Tokyo. With the spread of COVID-19, like everyone else, she was stuck at home, with no way to share her art and no way to make a living. What bothered her most, though, was that people were hurting all around her. She wanted to do something, but didn’t know what she could do.

One day, her mother said, “Mayu, I think you should make masks.”

Masks? Me?

The thought never crossed her mind. She didn’t know the first thing about working with fabric. She had never sewn a button, and had certainly never worked with a sewing machine.

But everyone needed masks. Maybe she was the one to provide them!

I don’t know what the situation is like where you are, but here in Tokyo there are very few stores with masks. Those that have them run out within minutes, due to insanely long lines of people ready to pounce as soon as doors opens.

Can you imagine being a working mother, standing in line for hours with children, for something you may or may not be able to get? Not me. Not with my children.

Mayu realized, “I want to help these people.”

Providentially, just a few months before, she received a big financial gift from the United States from someone who wanted to support her art.

Now she knew what she was going to do with that money!

She went to the store, bought some fabric, yarn, and thread. Denim works best at blocking the virus, the internet told her. Through trial and error, and many YouTube videos later, she made a mask. And then another. And then another.

Now, she had to get them to people. She pictured herself standing on a street corner, with a musician to attract people, and handing out masks to everyone.

Then one night as she was going to bed, she felt God speak to her. “Mayu, focus on the people around you. Love your neighbors. Love your family. Love your friends.”

Just like that, project Love Your Neighbor was born.

She stitched the initials “LYN” on every mask. She made an accompanying sticker with the logo. She included a hashtag, so people could follow it on social media. She included a scripture reference to Matthew 22:39.

“Jesus said, ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’”

With the help of friends, Mayu distributed hundreds of masks in her neighborhood, sometimes with handwritten notes.

“Anata ha aisareteimasu. (You are loved.)”

Hundreds posted pictures wearing their “LYN” masks. Word of the project spread. Messages poured in.

“It was a full-time job just responding to everyone!” Mayu told me.

What is really cool about this story is how it connected people. It was the fashion brand everyone was talking about, and wanted to be part of the group.

“What does LYN mean?” they said.

“Apparently it’s a reference to something Jesus said, about loving your neighbor,” someone else said.

“Wow, that’s so cool,” they said. “I’m wearing a mask of ‘love.’”

Mayu started getting personal messages from young women who were in very real trouble, became a counseling guru for them. The masks put her in a position to build deep relationships with people.

From others, she got notes.

“My 18-year-old son has a disability. I couldn’t get him to wear a mask, but he would cough in public and make people feel uncomfortable. I couldn’t take him outside or anywhere. But now, thanks to your mask, he doesn’t want to take it off. Thank you!”

Another wrote,

“My mom has a hard heart. She never compliments anyone, but when she received your mask she said, ‘Yasashii ko ne,’ which means ‘What a kind person!’ Your gift had a huge impact on her.”

Love Your Neighbor project is a real and tangible expression of God’s love. God’s love is abundant. God’s love is free. It cannot be paid for.

Yet, in the case of the masks, someone had to pay! Donation money ran out. She worried about ending the project. Cost of postage alone was adding up, as she made daily trips to the post office.

She could have charged people money for the masks. She could have made a nice business that way. But the gift was an important part of the message. Fortunately, gifts for her began to come in.

“So many people loved me and blessed me through this project,” Mayu said.

Through Love Your Neighbor, God loves through art. The art is not just the masks. We, ourselves, are the masks. We are God’s timely-given hand-crafted masks for people.

“We are God’s handiwork created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.” (Ephesians 2:10)

During this crisis when we have been a danger to one another, Mayu found a creative way to both counteract the spread of the disease and to end fear of one another.

To love one another.

To bless one another.

God is working through the arts in a time like this to share his great love for us through each other.

“I believe art is key to sharing God’s love in Japan,” Mayu said. “I’m so thankful for the opportunity God gave me to show it. I’m not sure what comes next, but for now, I will keep making masks and leave the rest to him.”

You can find out more about Mayu’s ministry and visit her online store at:

Website: https://loveneighbor.thebase.in/about
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/lyn_givingteam
Donations: https://paypal.me/mayulyn?locale.x=ja_JP

Be Still and Know

Heavy creaking in the ceiling above my head jolted my sleep-numbed mind into consciousness. My eyes flew open to darkness.

What is that noise? Where am I?

“Everybody out! This is a big one!” someone behind me yelled.

That was all it took. I blindly fumbled for my flashlight, always near my head for emergencies like this, and then I grabbed my jacket. The floor beneath me moved chaotically, making it hard to keep my balance. Somehow I reached the door frame, grabbed it, and pushed my way outside.

The wind was bitingly cold. The old building swayed back and forth with loud creaking noises. I stood there, surrounded by fellow relief workers, with nothing to do but wait. My right foot was soaking wet.

Ugh, I must have run through a puddle, I thought. One minute, I’m warm in happy dream land. The next, I’m wet and cold and standing in the dark.

How much longer? Will this never end?

It was now April, a full month since the Great East Japan Earthquake. Day after day, we had been pelted with the merciless onslaught of aftershocks. I had no idea there could be so many. In normal life (whatever that was . . . had there ever been such a thing?) each aftershock would have been an event in and of itself. But now, each one blended into the next and the next, too many to count. Still, none compared to the “big” one.

I learned something that day. I learned that earthquakes don’t just shake you physically, but the very core of your being as well. They threaten you both mentally and emotionally and spiritually.

I could not relax. I always had to keep busy. My adrenaline levels never seemed to go down. I seemed to be anxious all the time.

What is wrong with me? I kept telling myself. Just stop it! Calm down!

I was a mess . . . and I was sick of it. I was sick of people yelling, “Earthquake!” and “Take shelter!” and “Get away from the windows!” I was sick of worrying that something was going to fall on my head. I was sick of running for the door. I was sick of digging holes in the dirt for my toilet, and no running water to wash my hands. I found myself wanting to scream at the top of my lungs, “Stop! No more! Enough!”

I learned something else that day. We humans crave the impossible. There is nothing on earth that does not move, does not change, does not let us down. Even the ground beneath our feet . . . especially the ground beneath our feet! We want something solid to stand on and be still on. But we long for it in vain.

Then the words came to me.

“Be still and know that I am God.”

I’ve heard these words a million times, but now I didn’t know what they meant.

God is our refuge and strength,
an ever-present help in trouble.
Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way
and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea,
though its waters roar and foam
and the mountains quake with their surging . . .
“Be still and know that I am God.” (Psalm 46:1-3, 10)

There are a lot of scary things in this psalm: earthquakes, crumbling mountains, roaring seas. And in the shaking and destruction, God’s command to “be still” seems ludicrous. Insanity! When everything is being torn apart, how can anyone be still? Where is that emergency shelter we can run to with no fear of collapse? Where is that refuge that will never be inundated by the sea? Where are those walls that can protect us from invisible radiation shooting through our bodies?

Where? WHERE?

I started reading the psalm again.

God is our refuge and strength,
an ever-present help in trouble. (Psalm 46:1)

Then I noticed it. The Psalm does not start by telling us to be still. It starts by telling us that God is “ever-present” (v. 1). Ever-present means that God is always with us. Why had I missed that part before? God is omnipresent, which means that he is with us wherever we are. “In him we live and move and have our being” (Acts 17:28). There is no way in this life that we can be separated from the presence of God. And this is our refuge and strength.

The Psalmist repeats the message in verse 7, and then again in the very last verse.

The LORD Almighty is with us;
the God of Jacob is our fortress. (Psalm 46:11)

God is Immanuel, “God with us.” We never stand on our own, but on the very foundation of the fortress of God. God says, “Be still and know that I am God” (v. 10), because he is always there present with us. He is there when the earth “give[s] way,” and the mountains “fall into the heart of the sea,” and the monstrous tsunamis “roar and foam.” God was present in the earthquake at Jesus’ death (Matthew 27:51), and he was present in the earthquake at Jesus’ resurrection (Matthew 28:2).

God’s voice calls to us louder than tsunami sirens screaming up and down the coast of Japan. And God’s ears hear the silent screams of our hearts for it all to stop. When besieged by a world gone terribly wrong, in the shaking and in the terror, God invites us to a dependable fortress, an uncollapsing shelter, and an impregnable refuge.

God’s presence offers so much more than comfort. It offers an end to all the shaking and the fear. It offers the space where we can finally stop and rest in these words.

“Be still and know that I am God.”

やめよ。知れ。

天井がミシミシいう音がして目を開けると、辺りはまだ真っ暗だった。

「何の音？ここはどこだ？」

寝ぼけた耳に誰かの叫び声が響いた。「逃げろ！大きいぞ！」

ぱっと目が覚めた。いつも枕元においてある懐中電灯を手探りでつかみ、ジャケットを拾った。床がグラグラ揺れていてまっすぐ立っていられなかった。なんとかドア枠にたどり着き、つかんで外に押し出した。

風はひどく寒かった。闇の中で古い建物が揺れる音がしていた。私はそこに立ち、ボランティアの仲間たちと一緒に、待つしかなかった。気づくと私の右足はびしょ濡れになっていた。

「あーあ、水たまりに突っ込んだんだな。」さっきまで夢の世で暖かく幸せだったのに。今は濡れて寒く暗い中に立っている。ああ、もう、いったいいつになったら終わるんだ。

東日本大震災から1か月が経った4月。私たちは毎日余震の容赦ない攻撃に襲われていた。こんなにたくさんあるとは思わなかった。通常の生活では（通常の生活ってなんだ。そんなものは存在したっけ？）、小さい揺れがあるだけで「あ、地震だ」となる。しかし、今は数えきれない状態だ。小さい余震が次々と起こった。しかし、それでも、「大きな」ものに比べれば何でもなかった。

私は学んだ。地震は体を揺さぶるだけではなく、中身も揺さぶる。精神、感情を脅かす。

私は気が休まることがなかった。いつも何かをしていたかった。アドレナリンのレベルは決して下がらないようだった。そしてとても心配症になっていた。

「私はどうなったんだ？」私は自分に何回も声をかけた。「落ち着いて。心配しないで。」

普段私はこんなじゃないのに。肉体的にも精神的にも私はすっかりまいっていた。そしてそれにうんざりしていた。「地震！」「逃げろ！」「窓から離れろ！」という叫びにうんざりした。何かが頭に落ちてくるのにうんざりした。ドアに向かって走るのにうんざりした。トイレのための穴を掘るのにうんざりした。水道水がないことにもうんざりした。私は大きい声で叫びたかった。「もういい！やめてくれ！十分だ！」

私はもう一つ学んだ。私たち人間は手に入れるのが不可能なものを望んでいる。動かない何か。変わらない何か。信頼できる何か。しかし、そんなものはない。私たちの足元の地面さえ…いや、特に足元の地面こそ信頼できない！私たち人間は、しっかりと立つ場所を望んでいる。揺るがない場所を。しかし、そんな場所はない。

そして、御言葉を思い出した。

「やめよ。知れ。わたしこそ神。」

この言葉を何回も聞いたが、もはやその意味が分からなくなった。

神は　われらの避け所　また力。
苦しむとき　そこにある強き助け。
それゆえ　われらは恐れない。
たとえ地が変わり
山々が揺れ　海のただ中に移るとも。
たとえその水が立ち騒ぎ　泡立っても
その水かさが増し　山々が揺れ動いても。…
「やめよ。知れ。わたしこそ神。」（詩篇46:1-3, 10）

詩篇46は恐ろしいものでいっぱいだ。地震。山崩れ。嵐の海。この揺れと破壊の中で、神の「やめよ」という命令は馬鹿げている。「静まれ」という訳もある。何を言っているんだ。すべてが崩壊しようというとき、誰がやめられる？静まることができる？倒壊の恐れがない避難所はどこにあるのか。津波に飲まれない避難所はどこにあるのか。目に見えない放射線から体を守る壁はどこにあるのか。

いったいどこに？

もう一度その詩を読んでみた。

「神は　われらの避け所　また力。
苦しむとき　そこにある強き助け。」（詩篇46:1）

私は気づいた。この詩は私たちにまず「やめよ」と言っているのではない。「そこにある助け」と詩は最初に語っている。英語では「ever-present」、「ずっといる」ということだ。どうしてその部分を見落としていたのだろう。神は普遍で、私たちがどこにいても私たちと共におられる。「私たちは神の中に生き、動き、存在している」（使徒17:28）。神様から離れることは絶対にない。これが私たちの基礎だ。

詩人は7節で、そして最後の節でも繰り返す。

「万軍の主はわれらとともにおられる。
ヤコブの神はわれらの砦である。」（詩篇46:11）

詩人は苦しみの中で激しく祈っている。

神はインマヌエル、「私たちとともにいる」方だ。私たちは一人で立たなければならないのではない。神は私たちの砦であり、私たちはそのしっかりとした基礎の上に立つことができる。神が「やめよ。知れ。わたしこそ神。」（10節）と言うのは、いつも私たちとともにいるからだ。神は「地が変わり、山々が揺れ、海のただ中に移る」ときもそこにいて、私たちのあらゆる危機の中にいてくださる。神は、イエスが死んだときの地震（マタイ27:51）にも、復活したときの地震（マタイ28:2）にも、そこにいた。

神の声は、津波警報を知らせるサイレンよりも大きい。そして神の耳は、悲劇を前にした私たちの声にならない叫びも聞く。世界が崩れていくときも、揺れと恐怖の中でも、神は私たちを安全な所へ導いてくださる。倒れない砦に。防護壁の内側に。難攻不落の避難所に。

神の臨在は慰めだけでなくもっと素晴らしいものをくださる。すべての揺れを鎮めてくださる。そして私たちは恐れるのをやめ、神を知り、そしてこの御言葉のもとで安らげるのだ。

「やめよ。知れ。わたしこそ神。」

Crucifixion

“Crucifixion” (1515) Matthias Grünewald

Matthias Grünewald’s “Crucifixion” altarpiece sits in the front of a hospital chapel in the town of Isenheim, in the eastern part of France. It is large compared to the small size of the room. Edges reach practically to the walls. The painting commands the attention of the viewer, forcing you to look nowhere but Christ on the cross.

Christ’s emaciated body is covered in sores. His fingers contort in agony. His lips pale blue. Blood pours down his side and over his feet. On the left, Mary Magdalene falls to her knees in anguish, calling out in prayer. Jesus’ mother Mary collapses at the sight, caught by John the Apostle. On the right, John the Baptist holds open a Bible and points to Jesus. Blood flows from a lamb at his feet. “Look, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world” (John 1:29). Behind him, written in blood red, is a Latin inscription. “He must increase, but I must decrease” (John 3:30). At the bottom, Jesus is buried in the tomb. He died with our sickness that we may be healed.

On the outside are saints of the plague. To the far left stands Saint Sebastian, a captain in the Roman army. He was a deacon in the church at a time when Christianity was illegal. When his faith became known, authorities demanded he be shot to death with arrows. Arrows also symbolize the terrors of plague and pestilence (Psalm 91:5). Miraculously, Sebastian survived. His recovery gives hope. His arrow-pierced body an ongoing prayer to God for mercy. To the far right stands Saint Anthony the Great, the first ascetic monk to live isolated and alone in the desert wilderness. Legend has it that though threatened by demons in the shape of wild beasts, he remained calm and peaceful. Though beaten almost to death, he recovered. At the time of this painting, the monsters represented the threat of the plague. His solitary confinement, a kind of quarantine. His long life, to the age of 105, hope that we too will live through the monsters of our time.

This painting was commissioned for a hospital that specialized in treating victims of the plague. We can see the sores and ravages of the disease on Christ’s body. Christ knows our pain. Christ shares our affliction.

He took up our infirmities and bore our diseases. (Matthew 8:17)

On Easter morning, the wings of this altar are open. Unseen behind these panels is a joyful representation of Jesus’ resurrection and ascension. Jesus conquers death. Jesus conquers suffering. But we can’t see it yet. Not even a little bit. All we see is darkness and suffering. And we see Jesus, right in the middle of the suffering. We can rest in the promise of Christ that, one day, all our sickness will be healed and all our tears will be wiped away.

“He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.” He who was seated on the throne said, “I am making everything new!” Then he said, “Write this down, for these words are trustworthy and true.” (Revelation 21:4-5)

イーゼンハイム祭壇画

イーゼンハイム祭壇画（1515）グリューネヴァルト

マティアス・グリューネヴァルトの『イーゼンハイム祭壇画』は、フランス東部の町、イーゼンハイムにある治療院の中のチャペル前方に置かれている。小さな部屋のサイズと比較すると大きく、人物は等身大に描かれている。額縁は、天井に届きそうなほどだ。この絵は、観衆の視線が他の何ものでもなく、十字架につけられたイエス・キリストのみに集中するように描かれている。

イエス・キリストの痩せ衰えた体は傷だらけで、指先は苦痛によりねじ曲がっている。唇は死んだように青く、溢れ出した血は脇を伝い、つま先へと流れている。

左側にはマグダラのマリアが苦しみ、跪き、叫びながら祈っている。イエスの母であるマリアは、この光景を見て膝から崩れ落ち、使徒ヨハネに支えられている。右側にはバプテスマのヨハネが聖書を開いて立ち、イエスを指さしている。ヨハネの足元の子羊からは血が流れている。「見よ、世の罪を取り除く神の子羊」（ヨハネ1:29）。彼の後ろには赤い血でラテン語の聖句が書かれている。「あの方は盛んになり、私は衰えなければなりません」（ヨハネ3:30）。

左の端の方では、強く立派なローマ軍の隊長・聖セバスティアヌスが描かれている。彼は、まだキリスト教が違法であった当時、教会で執事をしていた。彼の信仰が明るみになった時、権威者たちは彼を矢で撃ち殺そうとした。その矢もまた、感染症の恐怖を連想させる。その傷は、恐ろしい感染症の症状の象徴だ。しかし、奇跡的に聖セバスティアヌスは、この試練から生き残った。彼が生還したことは、私たちも同じように回復するという希望である。矢に貫かれた体は、神に慈悲を求め続ける祈りなのである。

右端には、広大な砂漠の中で、ただ1人で初めて苦行した修道士・聖アントニウスが描かれている。彼は、野生の獣の姿をした怪物に脅された時も、落ち着いていて、心穏やかであったと言う。襲われて死にかけたものの、回復した。この絵が描かれた時代は、怪物と言えば感染症の脅威を意味していた。彼が1人で砂漠に身を置いたのは、感染症予防のための隔離を思わせる。「聖アントニウスの火」と呼ばれる病気（麦角中毒）は、ひどい痛みと衰弱を伴い、彼にちなんだ名前が付けられている。彼は105歳まで生きた。それは、この時代の怪物に打ち勝って、私たちもまた生き延びられるだろうという希望を与えてくれる。

下に描かれているのは、イエスの埋葬である。彼が私たちの病を全て背負い死んだことで、私たちは癒されるのだ。

この絵が飾られている病院は、疫病など重篤な感染症患者の治療を専門にしている。病気の破壊力はキリストの体に　はっきり見て取れる。槍や釘で刺されたのは、感染症のように痛かっただろう。キリストは私たちの痛みを知っているのだ。キリストは私たちの苦しみを共有してくれているのだ。

彼は私たちのわずらいを担い、私たちの病を負った。（マタイ8:17）

イースターの朝、この絵の中央のパネルが開かれる。パネルの向こうに描かれているのは、イエスの復活と昇天の喜びである。

私たちは今はまだその絵を見ることができない。今私たちが見ているのは暗闇とこの世界の苦しみ、そして絵の真ん中に描かれた、私たちのために苦しんでいるイエス・キリストである。しかし、やがて全ての病いが癒され、全ての涙は拭われるという約束の上に私たちは休むことができるのだ。

「神は彼らの目から涙をことごとくぬぐい取ってくださる。もはや死はなく、悲しみも、叫び声も、苦しみもない。以前のものが過ぎ去ったからである。」すると、御座に座っておられる方が言われた。「見よ、わたしはすべてを新しくする。」また言われた。「書き記せ。これらのことばは真実であり、信頼できる。」（黙示録21:4-5）