After release from Vietnam, thirty years ago I sat there, in a little church in Mexico City, 4 pm on a gray afternoon, resting after a long walk with two beers in me, contemplating the void of the world. Rising above me is a tormented statue of Christ on the Cross, when I first saw it I immediately froze, hands clasped in front of me. "Ricardo!" I heard someone call on the street, but after running to the window to look, it was someone else. Turning to look back at the statue I gasp "My Jesus!" and now seeing a handsome young face like of James Dean or a young Robert Mitchum high on weed. The statue's eyes are closed in death yet one is partly open and He stares at me as if to say "Brother, this is the end!" His knees are all scratched and scabbed , an inch deep hole where his kneecap had been gouged by the rocky road , flailing along with the giant Cross on his back, and as He leans there with the Cross on rocks they goad him on-- on to slide on His knees, worn out by the time He reaches Golgotha and is nailed to the Cross. In my mind, I was there, we all were there, to see the rip in His ribs where the sword-tips of lancers were stuck up at Him--I was not there, had I been there I would have yelled Stop!! And with my M16 I would have stopped it--or been crucified too. Here in this statue the Old World Spain had sent the bloodheart sacrifice Aztecs of Mexico a picture of tenderness and pity as if He were saying "This you would do to Man? I am of Man, I am the Son of Man, I am Man and this you would do to me? Who are Man and God--I am God, and you would bound my feet together, then pierce with long nails with big stayfast points on the end slightly blunted by the hammerers might--this you did to Me, and I preached Love?"
He preached Love, and you would have him bound to a Cross and hammered into it with nails, you fools, you should be forgiven.
I saw the blood running from His hands to His armpits and down His sides--The Mexicans had hung a graceful canopy of red velvet around His loins, a Holy Victory Cloth.
What a Victory, the Victory of Christ! Victory over madness, hate and mankind's blight. "Kill him!" they still roar at fights, cockfights, bullfights, prizefights, streetfights, gunfights--"Kill him!" Kill the Fox, the Pig and the Pox.
Christ in His Agony, pray for me, pray for us all.