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?
No comments:
Post a Comment