This excerpt on Jesus was chosen by me (Shabnam Chowdry) as
the founder of IJNHope. It eloquently expresses our viewpoints on Jesus Christ
our Lord and Savior.
For nineteen centuries human beings have worshipped mildness in the person of Jesus-whereas Jesus was strong, but people have no understanding of His true strength. Jesus did not live in poverty or in fear; neither did He die suffering or complaining. But He lived in revolt, was crucified as a rebel and died a giant. Jesus was not a bird with broken wings-He was a raging storm whose breath shattered every crooked wing. Jesus did not come from beyond the blue horizon in order to make suffering a symbol of life, but rather to make life a symbol of Truth and Liberty. Jesus feared neither His enemies nor His persecutors, nor did He lament in the face of His executioners. But He expressed His message freely in public, boldly confronting oppression and tyranny. When He saw hideous pustules, He would lance them. If He heard evil talk He would stifle it. And when He encountered hypocrisy He would strike it down. Jesus did not come down from the supreme circle of light to destroy dwellings and build church steeples and monasteries over their ruins, nor to persuade men to become priests or pastors. He came to breathe into the air of this earth a Spirit as powerful as it was new, with the strength to undermine the foundations of all monarchies erected over the bones of mankind; He came to demolish the palaces constructed over the tombs of the weak and to destroy the idols erected over the corpses of the poor. Jesus did not come to teach men how to build huge cathedrals and opulent temples alongside humble cottages and cold, dark hovels. He came to make the heart of man into a temple, his soul into an altar, and his spirit into a priest. Such was the mission of Jesus of Nazareth and such were the principles for which He was ready to be crucified. And if people were wise, they would stand up on this day and sing joyful hymns of victory. O sublime victim of crucifixion, You Who from the summit of Golgotha see the processions of generations, You Who hear the din of nations and understand the dreams of Eternity, You are more majestic, more venerable on the bloodstained cross than a thousand kings on a thousand thrones in a thousand kingdoms. And, moreover, poised between Your mortal agony and death itself You are more fearsome than a thousand generals at the head of a thousand soldiers in a thousand battles. But with all Your sorrow, You are more joyful than flowers in springtime. With all Your suffering, You remain more serene than the angels in their heaven. In the face of those who flagellate You, You are freer than sunlight. Your crown of thorns is more sublime than Bahram's crown. The nail that pierces Your hand is nobler than Jupiter's scepter. The bloodstains on Your feet are more resplendent than Astarte's jewels. Forgive these poor creatures who weep over You today, for they know not how to lament over their own fate. Forgive them, for they know not that You have given life to those who lie in their tombs.
