The feast of Holy Cross. This is one of those feast days that I’ve always marked with some ambivalence. At my home parish outside Seattle, it was the feast day of the church, and there were predictably churchy gatherings throughout the weekend before Holy Cross Day. But that was also the weekend before my son’s birthday and my wedding anniversary, so the churchy events always got in the way of my secular familial celebrations. Like Easter or Christmas, Holy Cross became one of the annual church feast days in my adult world, and marked the beginning of the fall season.
Spending time now, in morning prayer, I can stop and reflect on what Holy Cross is. Constantine was the first Roman Emperor to profess the Christian Faith. His mother, Helena was a devout Christian too. She went to Israel to find places significant to Christians. She found two places, believed to be the location of Jesus’ burial and resurrection, and dedicated a church on top of those locations, the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in 335. Since then, many modern archeologists confirm the location as correct. Regardless of whatever else is believed about Jesus, it is a proven fact that he existed, was killed, and buried, so this church marks something real, from 2000 years ago. The church was dedicated on September 14, hence today’s feast day.
In the church year, we get a lot of talk about the cross during the week before Easter, especially on Good Friday, the day we commemorate Jesus’ death on the cross. But that’s not a day to celebrate much of anything, as it’s the most mournful day at church. So the church year gives the Holy Cross its own day, far away from the black-shrouded day of Good Friday.
And still, it’s hard for me to think about Holy Cross as a festal day. The cross, after all was an instrument of execution. And yet we wear them around our necks, we make the sign of the cross on our heads, or bodies at church. In modern day comparables, that would be like wearing small semi-automatic rifles around our necks. Or hypodermic needles used for lethal injection. Gross.
So why the cross? How has it become something we joyfully wear, and buy for children to mark religious celebrations? I’m not entirely sure of all of the theological official reasons, but I enjoy thinking about the reasons for me.
One of the things that the cross brings to my mind is the sacrifice Jesus made, in the face of all that was happening. Regardless of anyone’s belief in resurrection or Jesus’ fully-divine nature, he was a man who spoke about love, and forgiveness, and mercy and justice to and for all. He repeatedly argued that love should be the primal force and factor. And yet, the political and religious leaders were after him. Time and again, he could have changed his tune, bowed to Caesar, played the power game, and got out of his trials. But he did not. He did not profess anything other than love. He was not going to play the power game, get into a battle and win, beating other humans in a human struggle. To be clear, he had human power, with many followers who he could have organized and caused all sorts of political and religious upheaval. But he didn’t play. Instead, he let the human power machine operate to its ultimate ugly conclusion – execution.
Jesus’ death on the tortuous cross was a wonderful example of peaceful non-violent protest. He didn’t stoop to the power plays that could have changed the end of his story. He sacrificed for the people he loved, not unlike what good parents do all the time.
Of course, the kicker for Christians is that despite being ‘beat’ by the human powerful machine to the point of being killed on the cross, his message of love and justice and forgiveness continues. And it continues untarnished, without a trace of hypocrisy in how his earthy ministry ended. If he’d made a last-minute power play to bow to Caesar to avoid the cross, we’d have a conflicted story. Love all. Respect all. Forgive all. Except . . . .
But his death on the cross leaves those commandments untarnished. Love all. Respect all. Forgive all. Period. This morning, I’m thinking about how the story of the cross leaves me with an unadulterated, uncompromised image of radical and incomprehensible love, respect and forgiveness.
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