“Eliza focuses on Christ’s expression, appalling in a serenity as disproportionate to the scene as the weeping Marys. Where is your anger? Eliza questions. Sunday by Sunday she asks and receives no answer. I am angry, I am furious! She knows the impropriety of these feelings; she knows Christ suffers for her immortal soul. Can I not be both grateful for the miracle and angry at the injustice? Who can look at Christ’s face, his jutting ribs, the discoloration of rot rising on the skin of his dying feet, his dying hands – who can look upon this man and lack fury?”