We sometimes absentmindedly sing "Oh, the wonderful cross."
And it's true, the cross is . . . wonderful. It means our debt we owe to God of our sin has been paid and that condemnation does not have to be ours. But, I think we have become desensitized to what the a cross truly symbolizes. We make it out of diamonds, we paint it on walls, it's become a design to wear on purses. I am guilty myself; today I have pink crosses painted on my ring fingers for Easter. I am not claiming that anyone is sinning by painting crosses on their nails, wearing them around their necks, or having them printed on their purses. I'm reminding that Jesus' cross was made of splintery wood, blood, and sorrow. And I'm admitting that today I am having a hard time calling it wonderful.
I read in a book recently that Jesus commanding you to take up your cross and follow Him is equivalent today as taking up an electric chair and carrying it. It is your instrument of death. If I were to somehow have pink crosses on my fingernails in Jesus' time, how shameful it would be! How utterly despised. Once, I sat in the car at a gas station and across from me was a cross by the road adorned in flowers with the name of the deceased person written on it. I thought about how it was written on Jesus' cross, "Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews"- written as an accusation, not a beloved memorial. I recall sitting in church as a young girl and seeing crosses on pews, on podiums, and now I see them everywhere but none of them are bloody.
I am not suggesting that we should paint bloody crosses on our fingernails instead, or tote around purses with the grizzly scene printed on them. I am not trying to persuade the readers of my blog to really do anything, even. I am stating that the cross will be viewed differently in my eyes. It is a wonderful symbol of faith, and I know I painted them on my nails this morning out of a burst of love and joy for my Lord. Yet, I pray that for the rest of my life I will still remember what Jesus' cross looked like, what it meant in that time, and (in any way I can somehow try to understand) what it meant for Him.
I no longer want to glamorize it. If I wear it at all, I want it to be because I understand the gravity of what it means in my life to truly take up my death and follow Jesus.
