Three Crosses

Isaiah 52:13-53:12

Within 24 hours this last week-end I encountered three very different crosses.

The first was brought to my attention in a phone call from our custodian.  I was working at my desk on Saturday morning when he called to tell me that the church had been tagged with graffiti the night before.  He told me where it was and described it for me, but then went on to say that they had already covered it up with cardboard and duct tape until they had time to better remove it.

I sat with this a while as I continued to work on my Palm Sunday sermon.  I felt the sickness in the pit of my stomach that often comes with the realization that someone has meant you harm.  I knew I needed to go and look for myself, but it took me a while before I made my way to the back kitchen door. 
It turns out the graffiti artist was not much of an artist after all for a stencil had been used -- a stencil which was not the markings of a local gang as I would have first suspected, but held rather a satanic symbol complete with an upside down cross.  I shuddered at first to see the red paint on the faded wooden door. And yet, even as I walked away I found myself remembering the legend that Peter had been crucified on an upside down cross -- considering himself unworthy to be crucified as Jesus was.

I'm not sure I knew this before, but it turns out the upside down cross is actually an ancient Christian symbol.  The police told us it was meant as a sign of disrespect.  Still, in spite of their apparent intentions, our late night visitors were actually marking us with that which is actually already ours.

On Sunday morning I was gifted with the image of another cross.  As I was greeting our people after Palm Sunday worship, a young family approached.  Six year old Lillian's mother handed me a piece of paper: a crayon drawing Lillian had done in school this week. She wanted me to have it, but was too shy to hand it to me herself.  It is beautiful and bright with pinks and purples and oranges filling inside the outline of a cross.  I bent down to thank the little girl, telling her I would hang it in my office. 

It was a wonderful counterpoint to that other cross, which even though that one is also 'ours,' this one that came as a gift from a child's hand, served as a beautiful reminder that our crosses are not something stenciled on, but instead take on the hues, the shapes, even, of those who carry them, who live them, who offer them and all we are for the sake of the life of the world.

And as for our graffiti?  It was easily removed, but I have to say its memory still leaves me a little shaken, a little angry perhaps, and certainly more than a little wondering about who would do this.  It could be it was just some kids messing around, but their action was clearly planned out and intentional.  So maybe these bearers of red spray paint are those who actually understand themselves to be followers of Satan.  Most likely I will never know.  Part of me would like to 'catch' them, to engage in conversation, to wonder at what is shaping their lives and feeding their hope.

Wherever this goes, this much I know.  We stand this week in the shadow of another cross, a third one.  One that was the means of death for the very Son of God who died for one and for all, who "was wounded for our transgressions, crushed by our iniquities."  (Isaiah 53:5).  Who gave of of himself for a little girl whose cross is bright and colorful.  For those who by the dark of night left a mark meant to hurt or at least to insult on a building dedicated to service and to love.  And for all of us with all of our mixed up hearts: good and evil both all together at the same time --- For all of us who gather around the cross of Jesus in this Holy Week.  And I wonder now what it will look like for us to actually bear the cross of Jesus as we encounter in the world those who differ from us, whose intention might even be harm or insult.   I wonder what it would look like if we did this as Jesus did.  I wonder if our crosses will bear the bright colors of a little girl.  I wonder if they will look hopeful or somber or wise.  I wonder if my cross might not also be upside down as Peter's was as I remember that I am no more worthy than those who marked our back door last Friday night.  I wonder...

• This particular graffiti incident has me wondering how it is we are called to encounter those differ from us.  How do you think are we called to do this? As those who follow the Crucified One, what should our posture be?
• What does it look like in the world today to face down evil with good?  Can you think of times when you have seen this happen?  When you have been part of it?
• What role does the cross of Jesus play as we deal with evil, suffering, or hurt in our lives?  What might a 'suffering servant' as described in Isaiah 52:13-53:12 look like today as we encounter one another?  What does it mean for us in our own journeys of life and faith? 
• If you were to 'color in' your cross, what colors would you use?  Would you use words or symbols or sounds?   What would they be?  How would 'your cross' look different from any other?

The Gift of Good Friday: It All Belongs to God

Isaiah 52:13-53:12

On Wednesday morning I got called away as it appeared to those closest to him that Cliff would not make it through the day.  Cliff is my brother-in-law’s dad.  He is 92 years old.  He has been widowed for many years and in these last years has depended on the attentive care of his children.  Last week-end he suffered a massive stroke and in the days since has been in a hospital bed.  It appears he is no longer aware of what is happening around him, but still his body struggles to breathe as the part of the brain which controls such basic functions forges on. 

The surroundings and circumstances of course are entirely different from what Jesus looked down on from the cross.  The hospital Cliff is in is shiny and new.  Those charged with his care are doing all they can to make his last hours as comfortable as they possibly can.  His children and grandchildren are able to lean in close and remind him of how much he is loved.   On Wednesday afternoon a representative of the Veterans Administration came to talk about options for honoring his service to  country  for Cliff was a veteran.  As part of his visit he attached a pin representing his World War II service to his flimsy hospital gown and saluted him.  When we gathered Wednesday morning we offered prayers for his comfort and for the family's strength and we spoke prayers of gratitude for the marvelous promise that Cliff was made God's Own in the gift of Baptism many years ago. As is often the case, tears and laughter both have marked these days...

And while it is not easy, this one seems to me to be as good a death as any death can be.  For there should always be as little suffering as possible.  One should be surrounded by those one has loved.  One ought to be honored for the gifts one brought to the world through a long life well lived.   And even in those difficult times when none of those may be so, we are blessed to be among those who are able to commend the one we have loved into God’s tender care.  As difficult as any death may be, yes, this one seems to be the best that it can be. 

And again I can't help but notice in this Holy Week that this death is so very different from the death that Jesus died.  For aside from the sponge of sour wine offered to assuage his thirst, there were no physical comforts offered that Friday afternoon.  His was a public, shameful, painful death. Jesus was subject to ridicule, not tender salutes.  And in a remarkable reversal, even as Jesus hung dying on the cross he offered comfort to those gathered, rather than the other way around. For those who executed him by what they did and what they did not do, he pleaded for God’s forgiveness.  To the thief hanging next to him, he extended the promise of salvation.  To his mother and his disciple, John, he pointed them to a future of mutual care of the sort that should always be shared between mother and son.  And at the end, those who heard him commend his spirit into God’s own hands must have known some measure of comfort as Jesus lived his faith in God’s promises with his dying breath.

Still, it was not by most any measure we would bring to it a ‘good death.’  And yet it was the most remarkable death that ever was.  For even in his last words, Jesus gathered up all the gifts of God and extended them to those who would follow him.  Forgiveness of sins.  An endless future with God.  And in the meantime, tender care for one another.  Surely in these and all his dying words we hear Jesus’ own certainty that it all belongs to God.  Our times of joy and times of struggle, our experiences of pain and in gifts of comfort shared, in our faith and in our doubt, in life and in death it all belongs to God.

And so it is when we bury Cliff we will use Jesus’ own words to send him on his way.  For at the last Jesus said, “Into your hands I commend my spirit.”  (Luke 23:46) And so for Cliff and for all of those whom God so loves we are privileged to say with resounding hope, “Into your hands, O merciful Savior, we commend your servant…. A sheep of your own fold, a lamb of your own flock, a sinner of your own redeeming...”   

We are able to say this for one another because of what happened on that first Good Friday.  No, Jesus did not suffer a "good" death.  Instead he died a death which allows all of our deaths to be marked by the goodness of God's gifts that carry with them the hope and the promise that it all belongs to God.  In life and in death, and in all that they hold, it all belongs to God.

1. Of all of Jesus' words from the cross, do any carry special meaning for you this year?  Why is that?
2. How has the gift of Good Friday come to life this Holy Week for you?
3. What measure of comfort does it bring to you to know that 'it all belongs to God?'  How does that certainty make all the difference?