We
know the plot of our salvation story: we
are made by God, and we return to Him. And how do we return? Through
the Cross. The cross of Christ Crucified is the Way, our way back to
God. Being made by God and lost through sin, we cannot return to God
without God. So, He sent into history – human events, the human
story – the means for our return to Him: Christ on the Cross,
crucified as one of us, fully human and fully divine—a bridge from
here to there. Jesus explains to Nicodemus: “No one has gone up to
heaven except the one who has come down from heaven, the Son of Man.”
And Paul explains further: “Christ Jesus, though he was in the form
of God. . .emptied himself, taking the form of a slave. . .he humbled
himself, becoming obedient to death, even death on a cross.” Then
we hear the familiar refrain of our salvation: “For God so loved
the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in
him might not perish but might have eternal life.” And so we are
saved from becoming nothing once more; we are made perfect as our
Father is perfect; “being merciful, [He] forgave [our] sin and
destroyed [us] not.” His mercy does not destroy us.
If
we accept the gift of God's mercy, we say: Praise Him, give Him
thanks! And then what do we do? Carry on as before? Do we as please?
Live in constant regret that our sins killed Christ? Do we try to
make a sacrifice worthy of the gift of Christ's life? The poet,
Christian Wiman, asks the same question this way: “What words or
harder gift/does the light require of me/carving from the dark/this
difficult tree?” What words or gifts does the Cross require of us?
Paul writes that the coming of the Christ and his obedient death on
the Cross, moves God to exalt His Son and to “bestow on him the
name that is above every name, that at the name of Jesus every knee
should bend. . .and every tongue confess that Jesus
Christ is Lord…”
No other words will do. So, our tongues confess that Jesus Christ is
Lord. And since there is no harder gift to give than the gift of
Christ given on the Cross, we bend our knees at his name. And then
what? What do we do next? With the Gift of the Cross in hand, we
might worship it, take it around in procession, put it to work for
our health and wealth; we might be embarrassed by its necessity or
feel imposed upon and react with faint gratitude. Was there a better
way to save us? Something less bloody, not quite so gruesome? Ever
been angry with Pilate, the Jewish leadership, the mob that shouted,
“Crucify him!”? Perhaps praying before a crucifix, you decide
that you want nothing more to do with the cruelty of a god who needs
blood to love? Or perhaps you felt a dark fear that once the gift of
mercy is settled in your heart, you would never be the same again?
If
we are afraid of the Cross, afraid of following Christ, maybe what we
fear most is the inevitably of joining him on the Cross. Remember
that Peter, in a fit of fear and false love, denied the inevitability
of Christ’s defeat and, in this denial, denied the necessity of his
own crucifixion. Jesus, knowing the certainty of his Father’s
plan
for our salvation,
rebukes Peter's fear,
“Get behind me, Satan!” Even then, Christ is emptied, obedient to
death, and ready to die on the Cross. Perhaps we show our deepest
gratitude to Christ by emptying ourselves, being obedient to death,
and preparing ourselves to die in his name. Perhaps. But what does
this mean for tomorrow? For today? Sitting in a room, cases packed,
shoes neatly tied, waiting for martyrdom? Nothing so passive as all
that! Paul says that we should bend our knees and confess Jesus as
Lord. Walking this path of worshipful praise cannot be good exercise
if we fail to do what Christ himself did: feed the hungry, clothe the
naked, heal the sick. Add to this: preach the Good News of God’s
mercy and teach what Christ himself taught, and we have just the
beginning of our gratitude, just the barest start to what must be our
lives completely given over to the path of righteousness. There's
much to fear in so much surrender. Especially when you know that the
one you used to be will not be found again.
Look
at Moses and God’s people in the desert. “With their patience
worn out by the journey, the people complained against God and
Moses…” Not only are we made and made to return to our Maker, but
we are rescued from death by the death of Christ on the Cross and
expected then to prepare ourselves for following him to the Cross,
obedient to death, bending the knee, confessing his name, and
waiting, waiting, waiting for his return to us so we can return to
Him. Is your patience exhausted by the wait? Do we complain against
God and His Church? Our desert is not getting smaller or cooler or
less arid. Our days are no shorter. Our nights no brighter. Moses
wanders and we follow. And our patience, already silk-thin already,
rubs even thinner, waiting on the fulfillment of the promise the
Cross made in God’s name.
While
waiting, what do we do? Some of us persevere, walking the Way. Some
of us withdraw to wait. Others walk off alone. Still others erect
idols to new gods and find hope in different, alien promises. Some
let the serpents bite and thrill in the poisonous moment before
death. Perhaps most who were with us at first perish from hearts
stiffened by apathy, what love they had exhausted by the tiresome
demands of an obedience they never fully accepted. Not all the seeds
will fall on smooth, fertile earth. If those who walked away or
surrendered or succumbed to attacks on the heart, if they are out
there and not here with us, what hope do we have of going forward, of
continuing on to our own crosses in the city’s trash heap?
We
exalt the Cross. And they are not lost. Unless they choose not to be
found. We exalt the Cross. Lifted high enough and waved around
vigorously enough, even the lost will find it. Even those who, for
now, do not want to be found, may see it and be healed, if they will.
But they will not see what they must to be healed if those of us who
claim to walk the Way do so timidly, quietly. The Way of Christ to
the Cross is not a rice paper path that we must tip-toe across in
fear of tearing it. Or a shaky jungle bridge over a ravine that we
must not sway for fear of falling. Or a bed of burning coals that we
must hop across quickly so as to avoid blistering our feet. The Way
of Christ to the Cross has been made smooth, straight, and downhill
all the way but nonetheless dangerous for its ease. There’s still
the jeering mob, the scourge, the spit and the garbage, and there’s
still the three nails waiting at the end. But this is what we signed
up for, right? It’s what we promised to do, to be.
Our
help is in the name of the Lord. Bend the knee. Confess his name. Do
so loudly, proudly and do so while doing what Christ himself did.
Otherwise, who will find us among the jeering crowd, the spitting
mob; who will see the Cross if we fail to lift it high?
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