The cross, of course, is the primary symbol of our Christian faith and the
heart of its central mystery. It is one of the few universal images we share
with Christians of all kinds around the world and across the years. You will
see one somewhere in most churches, though some intentionally refuse to hang
any crosses anywhere because they see them as a kind of “graven
image” that might keep people from focusing on the inner reality of
Christ’s living presence. Other churches hang crucifixes, crosses with
the image of the suffering Christ upon them, while some churches prefer empty
crosses emphasizing the resurrection. These church crosses are wood and some
are gold or silver and some are decorated with other symbols or even precious
stones. Many Christians wear a cross around their neck. They also come in a
range of styles and consist of various materials, from wood or pewter to
precious metals set with rare gems. Part of the church makes the sign of the
cross when they pray in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy
Spirit. I’ve always liked that gesture and quietly wished we practiced
it, too, because it embodies Christian Trinitarian prayer in a distinctive way
and reminds us that we are called to carry the cross and that we are under the
cross and that we are covered by the cross. But isn’t it typical of us
Christians that we have frequently fought with each other over what kind of
cross to use and when to use it?
The cross has become so commonplace in Christian culture that we forget what a
scandalous symbol it was at first. In the Roman world, the cross was a symbol
of shame and violence, of humiliation and execution. The sight of a cross on
the edge of a city sent chills down the spine of anyone who passed by. The
cross was a means of execution reserved for the worst offenders: runaway
slaves, traitors, and rebels against Roman authority. No matter how evil the
crime, Roman citizens were spared the indignity of death by crucifixion. It was
beneath them. So at first, people reacted to Christians embracing a cross as
their special symbol the way we might react to some weird cult worshipping
around an electric chair or wearing a lethal injection syringe as an icon of
their god. It was weird!
Why would we choose such a negative image? There was a great deal of discussion
around the choice. The boat was one of the early contenders. Noah’s
ark, the stilling of the storm, fishers of men, and all that. So much more positive. So much easier to
sell. The fish was also a prime choice and both of those symbols would
have been easier to take, but the cross won out.
Why would they go with something like that? Maybe it was the simplicity. Two lines
intersecting – you see that everywhere you look, in nature, in art, in
architecture. You can’t escape it. What’s more, anybody can make
it. You don’t have to be much of an artist to put together a cross. But
it wasn’t the simplicity, I think. I think the cross won out because the
cross is the story.
Our text today from the Hebrew Bible is a curious tale from the time of the
Exodus when the Hebrews wandering in the wilderness are complaining against
God. Again. This is the second generation after they left
It’s an amazing story, with the surprising ironic twist that the very
thing which is killing them turns out to be the thing that saves them. The
therapists, psychologists, and seminary trained pastoral counselors would want
us to explore the depth dimension of this story. The snakes don’t go away.
They’re still crawling all over the camp. People still get snake bit
along the way. You can’t just run away from your problems because ninety
per cent of your problems are crawling around inside you. But when you face
your problem courageously, take responsibility to participate in your own
healing instead of denying it or fearing it or whining on about it, you can be
healed. The children of
It’s a great story and one of the few from the old Hebrew tradition John
applies directly to Jesus. When Nicodemus the Pharisee comes to Jesus in the
middle of the night he is an honest seeker but he comes with the usual
academic’s bag of excuses, conditions, rationalizations, ifs, buts, and
what-have-you’s, and questions, questions,
questions. Jesus cuts to the chase and tells Nicodemus he needs to be born
again. The sophisticated academic turns into an unsophisticated literalist. He
just can’t get his head around Jesus’ metaphor of conversion.
Nicodemus needs a whole new paradigm. Nicodemus needs a radical change of
thinking. Nicodemus needs a radical change of being. Nicodemus needs to start
over.
Typical of the fourth gospel, in the conversation which follows it’s hard
to tell where Jesus stops talking and John starts talking about Jesus. But John
explains what Nicodemus needs to do and why, what we need to do and how by
referring to this great old story from the Exodus. He says, “Just as
Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted
up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life. Nicodemus needs to look
up. You and I need to look up. When we’re stuck in the muck of the messes
we’ve made, we need to look up. When we’re pretending things
aren’t so bad and we’re still in control, we need to look up. When
we’re paralyzed by the details, confused by the conundrums, and bogged
down in the details, we need to look up. When we’re running scared and
whining out loud, we need to look up. When we’ve come to the end of our
resources and can’t see the way forward, we need to look up. When
we’re dog-tired, down-trodden, and snake bitten by life, we need to look
up and trust in God. And we’ll be saved.
Look up, John says. Look up to Jesus. Look up to the cross. When John says
“The Son of man must be lifted up” he means the cross, of course.
He means also the resurrection. And he means Christ’s ascension into
heaven. He means the exaltation of the risen Christ to the right hand of God.
And he means the adoration and worship of Jesus by God’s people. He means
all of it, the whole story, Jesus “lifted up” so that we can look
up and believe and be saved.
We don’t have time to unpack all the meanings of the cross of Christ in
one sermon – or in one season – or in one lifetime. But I ask you
to consider this today. The ugliest thing imaginable, a coarse instrument of
torture and execution used by an arrogant, dominating, violent power to enforce
its will against its weakest and least powerful subjects has become the means
of God’s healing all humankind. The worst crime humanity could perpetrate
and has always tried to perpetrate in a million individual and corporate and
official ways – the murder of God – God has turned into the means
by which we can be reconciled to God forever. That is why, in the Christian
story, it’s never over. No matter how bad things may seem, it’s not
over. No matter how hopeless things have become, we have hope. Even when death
has won the day, and evil parties in the streets, we stay tuned. We look up. We
look to the cross and we remember: our God can take the worst and turn it into
the best. We know that after the cross, resurrection waits. Glory waits. Jesus
waits and calls us to come forward.
When you read it in John, it sounds like so much metaphysical happy talk, but
I’m here to tell you it happens all the time in the laboratory of real
life. As a pastor, I have walked with people through some hard times. We have
living testimonies of the cross lift right here among us. Somebody here could
tell us about losing everything, no future left, and then by the power of God,
a new beginning, a good and meaningful work, a loving community, a rich life
after that death. Another might speak of the cross of addiction, and a new life
after overcoming that death. Yet another might tell of the cross of divorce and
the death of a relationship with its dreams and hopes, and the grave time that
follows, but then a new life beyond and a second chance and rich life after
that death was suffered. Someone else has learned that life can be even better
than before, more precious and vital in spite of the death of a bad diagnosis.
Someone else can tell us of losing a job or a career or suffering some failure
they thought they could never overcome. And then they say, “But God had
something even better waiting for me I had never dared to dream.”
We know these stories and they are real. They are new versions of the mystery
at the heart of our central story. So we lift up the cross of Christ. We wear
it. We preach it. We live it. And we create a church, the beloved community, a
place for grace where people of all kinds who are snake bitten, dying inside
and dying for some good news and dying in their struggle to survive in a dog
eat dog world can come and see. It’s not over. Look up. You see that
cross? It tells us God can take the worst things and turn them into the best
things. And God isn’t finished with you yet.
“For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone
who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.”
I’m going to say that one more time…
“For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone
who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.”
It’s true. God loves us. God isn’t mad at us. God loves us. Nothing
can separate us from that love, not even the worst we can do, the worst that
can happen, the worst we might do to each other, the worst others might do to
us. God loves us still. And God wants to give us life, full, overflowing,
everlasting. How do we know? Look up. Look to the cross. Amen.
May we pray?
Gracious God, loving Lord, comforting Spirit, sometimes we forget the
story. Sometimes we fail to trust. Sometimes we get so bogged down in our stuff
we walk around with eyes downcast and we can only see misery, disaster, sorrow.
But we are your children, Lord. And you love us. Lift our drooping shoulders
and strengthen our weak knees. Fill us with courage. Fill us with faith, hope,
and love. We look up to the cross and remember. We look up to you and we are
saved. Amen.
Mary Anne Biggs, Pastor
Nekoosa United
Nekoosa