The Weight of a Cross

This cross around my neck is heavy sometimes.  I know that Jesus tells us that his yoke is light, but sometimes it is difficult to believe.  I bought the little silver cross necklace for myself in July, as a birthday gift.  After three years as a dedicated Christian and member of an Episcopal church, I wanted to represent the faith somehow.  The necklace is pretty, and I wear it often.  Sometimes, though, it weighs a little heavy around my neck.

During Sunday School last week, my adult study class discussed the meaning of the cross.  We examined a few theological viewpoints on atonement and sacrifice, which were nuanced and fascinating.   I enjoyed the complicated discussion, but that’s not what makes my cross heavy.  My cross is heavy because of all the baggage that goes with it, all the symbolism, the expectation, and the classification that might happen when someone sees it.  The cross is a means of bloody and torturous execution of an oppressed people.  If Jesus had been executed in a different time period, we could be wearing hanging trees, or genuflecting to electric chairs, or making the sign of a lethal injection.  The cross stands for pain and suffering inflicted on the powerless by those with power.  As a white, middle-class person in (arguably) the most powerful country in the world, I have more in common with the crucifiers than I have with the crucified.  This cross reminds me of the sins of power and privilege.  This cross weighs heavy on my pride.

The cross, as much as it may mean to me in my church, on Good Friday mass, or during the confession, has been used and abused in many, many ways.  When Imperial Rome took on the Christian mantle, the cross became a symbol of the empire.  The swastika was originally designed from a cross.  The KKK burns crosses as a symbol of terror.  The symbol of surrender and forgiveness has been hijacked by hateful aggressors.  Do people think of that when they see it around my neck?  Do they expect me to be judgmental, holier-than-thou, hypocritical, and hateful, like some of those cross-bearers appear to be?  Or, do they see the cross around my neck and hold me to a higher standard, expecting me to be more peaceful, more patient, and more forgiving than my actions show?  What am I wearing when I put the silver chain around my neck?  Maybe the symbolism is too much, and I should hide it away.

Friends, let me tell you, I am a Christian because I NEED forgiveness, not because I am perfect.  I am a Christian because I can finally believe that God loves my selfish, petty, angry little soul, and I pray that he loves me enough not to leave me quite so selfish, petty, and angry. God loves me in my brokenness and his love heals the cracks in my soul.  The cross is where Jesus, the son of God himself, cried out in despair, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”  The cross is where God’s heart broke and, when my heart is breaking, I need that reminder.  When I call out to my God that I can’t do any better, that I can’t fix myself, that I am desperate, the cross reminds me that Christ was there, too.  The God who descended into hell itself can find me in the depths of my own despair.  I am not alone; I dwell in love--God’s love and the love of my brothers and sisters.

The cross is a mystery, a stumbling block, one that bangs your shin and leaves a bruise.  The little silver cross bears a great weight, but it also carries the weight of my community.   It reminds me that I am a part of something bigger, something that I cannot truly understand, but I cannot help but love, something that supports me, challenges me, and changes me.  The cross means that I am a part of a community who loves me into a better person, not through my own actions and endeavors, but through the shared commitment, collaboration, and compromise of people who sacrifice for each other.  The cross reminds me that the impossible is possible and that through the darkest moments, we are not alone.  My friends, how much does your cross weigh?

Guns don't kill people #2

“Attention Staff and Students, we are now going into full-building lock-down.”  And now we hide, in a lock-down drill at my place of work. I hide in the blind corner of my workspace and stay very quiet, hoping that the armed intruder won’t know anyone is there.  If someone does enter my room, I am supposed to use anything at hand as a weapon to distract the person with a gun, so I can escape, or help those with me escape. I don't work in some high-security, military job, defending dangerous criminals or priceless valuables. I teach middle school.  These procedures are a regular practice in the lives of American school children and no one seems to realize how appalling it is.  Appalling that the last mass murder of innocent students is just one more incident in a long string of gun deaths in this country.  Appalling that it is becoming common-place, becoming routine.

If I see another post on my Facebook feed that says, “Guns don’t kill people; people kill people”, I am going to throw up, or at least throw something.  Yes, people do kill people--with GUNS!  Of course we have a problem with violence in this country.  Of course guns are not the only weapons and, of course, a person bent on murder will find a way to kill.  My friends, guns are the issue right now, not bombs, or knives.  The weapon of choice for the last mass-murder in the news was a gun, not an “assault spoon” or a rock.

People die of many causes, some violent, some not.  Let me pose a question: if I mention a relative who was killed in a car crash by a drunk driver, does my conversation partner point out all the other ways that people die?  Do they say, “Yes, but people also die from train wrecks, texting while driving, falling asleep at the wheel, it’s a problem of poor driving in this country, don’t blame the cars.”  Do people minimize the issue, saying, “Well, yes, it’s sad that some people are irresponsible about driving under the influence, but there are lots of good, safe drivers out there.  There is no point in regulating driving, because only the law-abiding drivers will be punished.”  NO, when we deal with auto deaths, we work to make things safer for all drivers through regulation, safer cars, patrols, and enforcement.  We examine the circumstances and we make them safer. We don't throw up our hands in defeat and we don't outlaw automobiles.  

Many of my friends own guns for hunting, sport, target shooting, and other pursuits.  Some of them have conceal and carry permits.  For all I know, they may be armed every time I am with them.  They have followed the rules to purchase their guns.  They have taken classes.  They keep them locked up when they’re not using them.  I don’t want to take their guns away, even though the fact that they have them doesn’t make me feel any safer.  I don’t honestly believe that a good man with a gun is what we need in a crisis.  But they are law-abiding citizens who have a right to protect themselves.  Good for them!  I repeat, I do NOT want to take guns away from regular people.  It is time, however, to stop spouting useless rhetoric (on both sides) and actually have a conversation.

We need to have a real conversation about how to keep our children, our teachers, our innocent victims safe from violence.  We have to discuss how to make the guns in circulation safer, how to limit access to firearms, how to regulate gun purchases.  We have to give teachers a plan to save our lives and those of our students.  As a middle school teacher, I am told to sit quiet and hide, unless my room is breached.  Then, I should fight. I should be prepared to turn my textbook, my projector, my desk into a weapon to block an armed intruder.  I’m sorry, but that is honestly ridiculous.  I have a master’s degree in special education, not military training, not law enforcement training, not a black belt in martial arts.  I was trained well for my job and I execute it with excellence, but I am not a trained bodyguard.  Why do I need to learn how to protect my students from threats while our lawmakers and citizens spout pointless rhetoric across an impermeable wall? Why can't we treat this problem like it IS a problem, and begin to discuss solutions?

I am sorry for the angry tone of this post.  My fingers are trembling with frustration as I type.  Please, please, someone tell me what to do.  Tell me who to write to, what to sign, where to march, who to call on the phone.  Tell me how to open a dialogue about this that will not inflame the issue, but will calm the fears on both sides and discuss possible answers.  Tell me how to find a middle ground between the personal right to protection and the right to teach school without lock-down drills.  Someone please, put down the tired rhetoric and guide me to a solution!  I am begging for it.