I woke up thinking about the cross
I wear one
Small and worn
Purchased in an ancient cathedral on a rainy English day
We preach “Christ crucified”
“Pick up your cross and follow me”
How did they feel, those early followers
Who had seen the beloved die
Leaving behind bile and bloodstains
How did they feel about the cross
It was an instrument of terror.
A tool of tyrants
Used to intimidate, punish, and control
No wonder they used a fish
As a symbol of faith
“Be ye fisherpeople,” drawing people to God’s love
But then came the unlovely cross
Which shouted love and sacrifice
A giving up
A dying
And then the cross was transformed.
As the church was transform
From motley clusters of people preaching love
Relegated to the fringe
Out
To an instrument of the state
And slowly the cross too
Became a symbol once again of empire
A tool of the powerful
To intimidate, control, and punish
An instrument of terror
It was emblazoned on shields.
Carried by intense zealots in front of armies
Burned on lawns
Crusaders, conquistadors, and clansmen
Appropriating it
Jesus wanted to transform the world
More than conquer it
To fill it with love and peace
Lion and lamb, child and adder
But here we are
Crosses draped in flags
Adorning massive pickups
Showing up where hate is preached
And empire
Poor cross
My faith is not weak, or soft
I believe in the power of Sacred
And the power of love
And in the power of letting go, and giving
I believe that when Jesus said “Take up your cross and follow”
He was talking about expending one’s self for others
Giving one’s all for love
Even if that means selling all one has and giving it
To Haitian refugees in Ohio
Or that woman hugging her child on the border to Mexico
Even if that means turning the other cheek
I want the cross to remind me that “blessed are the meek”
And that justice and equity are more important than coercive
power
And that people are more important than money
And that my faith is never, ever, ever to become a tool
Of empire
I want the cross back.
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