Crucifixed
“O that old rugged cross, so despised by the world, has a wondrous attraction for me.”
Excerpt from the hymn
“The Old Rugged Cross”
From the first moment I entered a Catholic church, the crucifix has had a strange pull on me. Perhaps it is because I started out in a church so extremely fundamental that they would not allow a cross to be displayed in or around the building. Interestingly, there was one on top of the building that remained there until the congregation moved on. Was the deterrent to performing a crossectomy merely the physical danger from the height, or the fear that the cross might prove to be a lightning rod for the wrath of God? One of the many unanswered questions in my spiritual luggage, though not one of the significant ones that led me away from that faith community.
I can’t say that the bare crosses I encountered in my subsequent church hoppings rang my spiritual chimes. They struck me as a trademark, the golden arches of Christianity identifying a hang-out for those crazy folks that believe a Jewish carpenter from a backwater town, who wouldn’t stay dead, is the living and true God. I’ll say one thing for those crosses, they were clean. You’d never know they nailed people to them with their smooth and ofttimes shiny exterior. Kinda removes that uncomfortable image of brutally torturing and executing an innocent person which is the launch point for the followers of Christ.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying that those faith traditions with the corpusless crosses are any less connected to our Maker than anyone else. They are most likely just as in touch with the Suffering Servant as anyone, if not more so. I’m the one that has to see him up there to bolster my tenuous faith.
As far as the crucifix is concerned, in modern parlance, “it is what it is.” No matter how artsy or graphically dumbed down it may be—no blood, no wounds, no nails, etc.—we know what it is and what that guy is doing on it. Even when the Nazarene looks like he’s launching himself into the wild blue yonder, we are still aware that the not-so-nice folks that put Him there did not do so to bring pleasure to Him or us. It was one of the grislier ways of physically disposing of those who disturbed the peace of the warlike.
So, what is this “wondrous attraction” from the aforequoted hymn that reaches down into my soul, welling up whenever I find myself before the crucified Christ? First, seeing my Lord on the cross reminds me of his power. Not power like us humans see it, flashes and explosions and all the enemies of God cowering before the overwhelming presence of the incomprehensible source of all existence. I’m referring to the strength inherent in compassionate sacrifice, the forcefulness of sympathetic and caring restraint practiced on those who seek to deny the good and loving planted deep within all of the Creator’s work.
Merely the sight of the price tag attached to my salvation reminds me of the enormous debt I owe to the Lord. Not only for my life, but for my eternal life. I am well aware that Jesus suffered and died a tortuous death for at least one person who was not the least bit worthy of the cost. The divine torch that God is carrying for us is so intense, that our Savior made a beeline to Jerusalem to become the supreme oblation for those heading to damnation. As one of those broken souls that have been “cruci-fixed” I find I have run up an infinite tab to a being who not only has everything, but IS everything.
Fortunately, the ol’ apostolic tax collector, Matthew, relates Jesus’ friendly and easy repayment plan for my IOH:
And that, finally, is what it’s all about: love. What I have been created for. What I am here to do. The seed I am to sow. The song I am to sing. The essence of what it means to live. An itinerant preacher/working man was executed by the minions of a powerful and merciless empire, and this cruel act is transformed by the force of love into salvation for all of us, even the executers. Christ gave it all. He paid our ransom in full. It’s my turn to give what He gave.
In case you missed these from last year’s Holy Week:
A Child of God's Garden of Adversity
In Defense of Simon of Cyrene
