The
holy gospel according to Matthew (16:24-28)
24Then
Jesus told his disciples,
“If any want to
become my followers,
let them deny
themselves
and
take up their cross and follow me.
25For
those who want to save their life will lose it,
and
those who lose their life for my sake will find it.
26For
what will it profit them if they gain the whole world
but forfeit their
life?
Or what will they give in return for
their life?
27“For
the Son of Humanity is to come with his angels in the glory of his Father,
and
then he will repay everyone for what has been done.
28Truly
I tell you,
there
are some standing here who will not taste death
before
they see the Son of Humanity coming in his dominion.”
El
Evangelio del Señor.
-----
The
cross has become such an important symbol in Christianity that we have crosses
in our places of worship, we wear them as necklaces, earrings, and religious
wear, we tattoo them on our bodies and place them on our walls.
But
this comfort with the cross can make it unclear for us when Jesus says, “If any
want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross
and follow me.” Sometimes we think
the cross Jesus is talking about is an illness or an inconvenience we’re
dealing with or an abusive relationship or injustice. The cross proliferates in our country and culture and yet in
the Early Church—the first few centuries during which Christianity began to
take shape, the idea of wearing a cross would have been appalling.
One
main symbol for Christianity at the time was an anchor, representing the hope
and peace found in Christ. In the
midst of persecution, the anchor was a reminder of the anchoring people had in
their faith in Christ.
The
ichthus was another important symbol for Christianity. The word ichthus, meaning “fish,” has
come to stand for “Ἰησοῦς
Χριστὸς Θεοῦ Υἱὸς
Σωτήρ", meaning, Jesus Christ, Son
of God, Saviour.” The ichthus was used particularly in the Early Church to
identify fellow Christians. If you
encountered somebody and wanted to know if they were Christian, you could draw
a curved line in the sand with your foot.
It wouldn’t stand out on its own, but if the other person was also a
Christian, they would draw a curved line from their perspective and together
they would make an ichthus. Then
you would both know each other and the evidence could be quickly erased.
This
was key because the Early Church, the initial followers of the Way, before
Emperor Constantine’s conversion, were persecuted. Their lives were literally at stake. The cross was a weapon—the ultimate
weapon—of the Roman Empire. If
anyone tried to rebel—even just a rumor of revolt was enough for Roman soldiers
to arrest and crucify the people of first century Palestine.
The
way crosses work is that people who were crucified, would be unable to breathe
if they couldn’t hold up their body weight. So, in order to breathe, they would have to push up with
their legs and pull up with their almost certainly dislocated shoulders,
causing excruciating pain, to gulp a breath of air before slumping back
down. In this way, the life of a
crucified person could drag out for days.
The crosses themselves would be lined up along the road as a visceral
visual reminder of the cost of rebelling against the Roman Empire.
This
didn’t stop with the resurrection, and the early followers of the Way frequently
found themselves victims of this state-sanctioned violence, so it would have
been unthinkable to use this instrument of torture and death as a symbol for
our faith. It would be the
equivalent of the noose from a lynch mob in the twentieth century.
In
fact, Black liberation theologian, Rev. Dr. James Cone puts it this way, “The
cross and the lynching tree interpret each other. Both were public spectacles, shameful events, instruments of
punishment reserved for the most despised people in society.”[1]
So
when Jesus says, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves
and take up their cross and follow me,” he’s not talking about the regular
burdens of life. He’s talking
about real and horrific instruments of violence and injustice. This is the theology of the cross—that
God in Jesus is understood most clearly as the one who takes on the sufferings
and injustices of the whole world.
So
when Jesus says, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves
and take up their cross and follow me,” honestly, I hesitate.
I
want to say no. Maybe like last
week’s Peter I want to say, “God forbid it, Lord! This must never happen to…”…me. I don’t actually want to take up my
cross. I don’t want to be
crucified.
Yet
there are so many in this world upon whom the cross is unjustly forced. Those who do not choose persecution, do
not choose suffering and injustice for a larger purpose, and yet are forced to
experience it anyway.
Victims
of domestic and sexual abuse, communities plagued with violence, families who
have to teach their children how not to get shot by police, people forced into
sweatshop work throughout the world, people who experience first-hand the
devastation of global climate change, people forced into the shadows and
silence because of documentation status, people with no shelter under which to
lay their head, people living in situations of poverty.
These
life circumstances are not God’s will.
This is not what it means to bear your cross.
When
you are crucified, you do not choose to take up your cross and follow Jesus,
the cross is unjustly forced upon you.
So this choice and invitation that Jesus extends is an invitation to
solidarity with those who are being crucified. An invitation to digging deep into relationships of
solidarity and accompaniment with those who have little or no choice about the
crosses forced upon them.
And
if I’m being honest, a lot of the time I don’t want to take up that cross. I don’t want that suffering and even
when I do take up the cross, I drop it a lot. I get compassion fatigue, feeling overwhelmed and exhausted
just hearing the news and learning about the suffering of the world, to say
nothing of trying to figure out what to do to work against the evil plaguing
us. I get distracted. I get lost in the bubble of our corner
of the world. I get caught up in
my own life struggles.
I
struggle a lot with the cross.
And
that’s ok. Because Jesus doesn’t
ask us to do it perfectly. Jesus
just invites us to join him. Not
because it’s required and not because it is dependent on us, but because, as
Aboriginal activist, Lila Watson states, “If you have come here to help me you
are wasting your time, but if you have come because your liberation is tied up
with mine, then let us work together.”
Our liberation is tied up together. When one person is oppressed, none of us are free. And so Jesus’ call to take up the cross
is a call to struggle with each other, to struggle against the evil in the
world, to join the side of those who are oppressed.
And
sometimes we even get it right—struggling through the mire of deportation
proceedings with someone, holding those in power accountable for death and
illness from losing health care—fighting to save health care, getting in the
way of violence against others, giving up comfort for the sake of a more
sustainable environment.
We
can, however imperfectly, risk taking up the cross to follow Jesus.
Because
no matter what, Jesus will always be there as the Anchor of faith, with the
crucified, working for liberation for every single one. Whether we show up or not. Whether we are the crucified, in
solidarity with the crucified, crucifying them, or just not doing anything to
stop it. Jesus still shows
up.
Jesus
always shows up. Jesus carries the
cross to the end and through the end.
Never leaving us behind, but instead journeying through the pain,
literally to hell and back for the liberation of all people and all of
creation.
Thanks
be to God.
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