During the Easter season from time to time our church has a cross that is placed up on our stage by our pulpit. Our cross is made up of two 4 x 4 posts that have been sanded down, stained and varnished. The construction is incredible and it really makes an impression up there on the stage. Our cross and all crosses for that matter are symbols. A reminder of what Jesus endured for us and our sinful nature. A way to visualize that terrible wonderful moment when our Savior spared our lives by sacrificing His.
As my mind drifted during the service (not during the sermon I promise) I was looking at the cross and thinking there seems to be something missing. Now don't get me wrong, the thing that I feel that is missing is NOT Jesus. I don't like the idea of him hanging there because that's not what the cross is about. He spent His time on it and thankfully He is no longer there. No, what I noticed was our cross has no holes. No place where the spikes were removed from. No indentations to remind us of what had taken place on that dark dark day. The answer to that seems simple enough. We want a icon that is neat and tidy, prim and proper. We don't want dirt or wood shavings or sawdust to mar our worship area. We want our symbol to be acceptable to the world but more importantly acceptable to ourselves. I think sometimes we forget the holes. We forget the spikes. We forget the heavy, rough sided, torture device that held our Savior until His earthly body could take no more. Sometimes only in our hymns do we remember the blood that "flowed mingled down". There is no way that we can wrap this up with a neat little bow and make it presentable. Screams rang out. Blood was spilt. Nails were driven into our Redeemer and He was left to die.
I like the nice clean cross that we have at our church but I love that old rugged cross. The one with the rough edges. The one with the blood. The one with the holes.
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