I suppose the origins for this sermon was
in a conversation last Saturday, though I admit I did not real theologizing
about it until later in the week. Last
Saturday, to refresh our memories, we were in the midst of the parish
cleanup. Holly and I were washing
windows in the parish hall. John Stokes
had invited me again to the Rotary Pancake breakfast, and I had accepted, not
realizing the conflict. Now, you all
know John. Everybody in Brentwood knows
John. Everyone that came by John to say
hello got introduced to me. Some paid
attention to the “This is our priest,” promptly shook my hand, and took
off. Others wanted to talk to a
priest. Still others did not hear the
priest part. And let’s face it, I was
dressed like a cleaner, except for my cross.
One gentleman decided to tell me the story
of a lady’s cross. He went into great
detail about the origins of her cross.
It was made out of dogwood. Her
favorite tree had been a dogwood which was killed in the blight or fungus that
killed them all thirty years ago. The
brother had taken up carving as a way of using the wood. He made the whole family crosses out of that
tree. He’s even painted the top of hers
to match the bloom. It was a good story
of a cross and told a bit about families and memories. Clearly he was impressed by the story of the
cross. Then he asked me if mine had one.
Now, many of you know the story of my
ordination cross. It survived a run
through Chosin Reservoir. The gentleman
who gave it to me specifically rejected giving it to family members because I
was greater battles. For those of you
who do not know the story, ask at another time.
Frank had enlisted in the Marines underage, had been sent to Asia, and
before that battle at Chosin Reservoir served as an acolyte for an Anglican
Eucharist. This cross had been given him
by the bishop, and, as far as Frank was concerned, explained as well as
anything why he had survived when so many had perished.
It’s a good story. It’s a really good story. It makes carving a cross from the deadwood of
a tree seem . . . trivial. But I was not
in a mood to be trivializing. I sure did
not want to embarrass John or a friend of John’s. Palm Sunday and Holy Week were upon me. So I deflected. I started off with a discussion about how all
crosses point to the Cross and the love and heartfeltness we should all feel
toward God, particularly this time of year.
The comments annoyed a couple people who were listening to his
story. You ministers are always so . . . churchy. I am certain the other fellow meant it as a
slam, but I am glad he is encountering ministers in his life that are excited
about God and the Church and the Gospel.
For so long, many of us have been . . . less than excited.
Of course, too much passion can be a bad
thing. Some of my colleagues were in a
discussion this week. One clergy friend
was buying crosses for those being baptized.
It was there that he got a lesson in the cross as a fashion
accessory. Boy or girl? What color looks
best on them? Low cut blouses or high
neck colors? As he griped about his
experience, others chimed in. I was
asked if I wanted one with a little man on it.
I was asked why it was so popular to begin with. Clearly, a nerve had been struck, and many
had a story to one up each other. One
colleague even posted a magazine article, I think it was Glamour but it may
have been another fashion magazine, that helped the reader figure out what kind
of cross went with every kind of outfit.
Apparently, the cross is not the sacred symbol we consider it to be. As an aside, our own Frank says that crosses
had become more of a fashion statement that a statement of faith when he
retired from the jewelry business.
Then I wondered if the ever was a
worldwide symbol of faith. The cross in
Rome was a symbol of futility, humiliation, and power. There are other ways to kill people, but
crucifixion is particularly drawn out.
It goes on and on and on. Heck,
we get a sense of that from our readings today.
The authorities want the condemned men to die quickly because of the
solemnity of the occasion, so they ask Pilate to break the men’s legs and speed
their death. Let me state that again,
they need Pilate’s permission to speed up the death of the condemned. We can’t have it happen too quickly, else the
people will never learn the lesson.
And imagine the lesson for the family
members and friends. They get to watch
the loved one suffer and die, and they are powerless to do anything about it. What must have been running through the
ladies’ minds as they watched Jesus die?
What kind of raging futility must have gripped Mary? Was she mad at Rome? At those who conspired against her son? At Pilate?
At Jesus for putting Himself in this position? At God, for making her watch on
helplessly? And I wonder f maybe there
were fear? She had to be worried on some
level that maybe she was next. She had
raised Him. Where had He gotten these
ideas that He was the Messiah? Someone
might come looking for her.
Christians quickly adopted the Cross as
the standard or symbol of their faith, but the adoption process was not
particularly quick nor uncontested. Most
of us know that the fish, not the cross, was the figure drawn in the dust to
mark a house church in the time before the conversion of Rome. And, let’s face it, when did Christianity
ever really truly dominate the world.
Sure, we had some prestige in Western Europe. Many of our modern countries trace their
existence to some sort of divine providence arising out of those periods. But the world? Movies are out now depicting the missionary
activities of the Church in places like Asia or South America. For all our handwringing, I wonder if the
Cross was ever the sign or standard that we would like to believe it was. Somehow, given the condition of the world, I
doubt it.
I am thankful, of course, that we
liturgical Christians focus on the Cross for a few days each year. Unlike our brothers and sisters who chose not
to follow liturgical seasons, you and I come face to face with the Cross for a
few days every year. Like others, we
might convince ourselves that we are the “special” Christians. Like others, we might delude ourselves into believing
that our relationship to God means we have a special relationship with
rulers. Like others, we might even
convince ourselves, or allow ourselves to be convinced, that we are really
powerless to change the evil in the world, that we are unfit or impotent to
help God with His plan of salvation on earth.
For all of what we call Holy Week, you and I and all liturgical
Christians (who bother to attend and remember) are called to remember that the
Cross was The plan of salvation. The
Cross was the means by which God redeemed the world to Himself. The Cross is the means by which we know God’s
love for each one of us.
For our more Protestant brothers and
sisters, the Cross is strongly (and correctly) identified as the source of
their salvation. The Cross becomes that
mysterious means by which our mortal, sinful selves were crucified with and
died with Jesus. And while this
existence is not yet the Resurrection that was begun on Easter morning, it
surely is a sign of the hope we have in Christ, a pledge of His power to redeem
each one of us.
But the Cross is more than “just” a means
of personal salvation. The Cross was a
signifier to those early Christians, and to us, that a new reality was bursting
in. Rome, the superpower of the day, had
put down the leader of this new reality in as cruel and as permanent a way as
possible, and still God was sufficient.
This new reality, this heavenly kingdom, could not be stopped. Nothing, not even death could stop its
determined advance because God was the One empowering it, nurturing it,
determining it. It was that sense of
things becoming on earth as they were in heaven that caused Christians,
empowered by the Holy Spirit, to begin to change the world. It was Christians who began adopting abandoned
babies off the trash heaps. It was
Christians who began to care for the widowed, the aged, and the infirm. It was Christians that nursed the common
people through the plagues. Heck, we
like to think we fight about sex now, but it was Rome whose patron goddess was
sex even as their patron god was war.
Christians, according to non-interested experts, removed the shame that
was associated with sex during the empire.
To be sure, these changes did not happen overnight. Great numbers of Christians were killed for
their willingness to help others. Rome
argued that might made right, and they were quick to punish any and all who
stood against them. It took three
centuries for the empire to begin to convert, at the sign of a cross before a
battle I might add, and those “great times” to really begin.
What
caused so many normal people to fight that system? What caused so many people to love and serve
others into the kingdom? What convinced
ordinary people that this life was worth laying down in service of others in a
culture that rejected them? The
Cross. For so many that cross stood as
the symbol of God’s love of the world and all that is therein. The Cross was that wonderful and visible
reminder that the world could throw its best and strongest weight at God and
that God was still up to the challenge.
God was still redeeming the world, one soul at a time, one service at a
time, one family at a time, one group of people at a time. And no matter how hard the world resisted,
God would win in the end.
Brothers and sisters, we live in an age
that is not so different from the age in which our Lord was nailed to the
Cross. The poor and homeless are still
with us. Disease still ravages us. Slavery still surrounds us and benefits
us. Human beings are beaten for no good
reason, like sitting on an airplane having bought a ticket. Wars are still happening. Heck, I could give a homily on the injustices
of the world, and I am sure I would forget a couple. But the message of the Cross is not just one
of personal salvation, as important as that is, but one of molding and shaping
us to be heralds of this new order, this kingdom come. All of who we were, who we are, and who we
are to be is signified by that rugged tree.
And each and every one of us has a role to place in the advancement of
God’s kingdom. To be sure, it will not
come fully until the Day our Lord returns in glory. But part of our response to the Gospel is to
remind people that we are a Resurrected people.
We may not look like it all the time yet. We may not sound like it all the time
yet. But we are, by virtue of the Cross
and empty tomb, a people who can hope, who can serve, who can lay down their
lives for others, in loving imitation of the One we rightly call Lord and
Master. And through His call on all our
lives, we can help change lives, families, systems, governments, and the world. The Cross is not just a fashion statement or
means of torture; it is the place where our lives find meaning and purpose.
In
Christ’s Peace,
Brian†
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