Choosing the Cross

In August of 2003, the New York Times reported an unusual act of vandalism.  It happened at the Church of the Holy Cross in Midtown Manhattan after caretakers noticed that a 200-pound plaster rendering of Christ had been removed from a wooden cross near the church’s entrance. This was probably no easy feat. The statue was about four feet long, with a steel core, and had been bolted to the cross in four places.  Sometime between Friday afternoon and Saturday morning, the thieves unscrewed two bolts from behind the statue and made off with the other two bolts.  The church leaders were puzzled as to why someone would steal it, for one thing, but also why they only took Christ and not the entire crucifix.  I don’t know if the thieves were ever caught, but the thought is striking - they only wanted Christ, but not the cross.

I heard this news story yesterday, as it was read in a conference by Gracia Burnham, the New Tribes missionary to the Philippines who was kidnapped with her husband by Muslim terrorists in 2001. They were held captive for over a year before the Filipino army finally caught up with them in a gun battle that resulted in the death of her husband Martin, and a bullet wound in her own leg.  She read the story, and asked, “Do we want Christ, but not His cross?”

How many of us do that today?  We want the “Jesus Loves Me” and the “Wonderful Grace of Jesus” and the eternal home in Heaven with Jesus, but His cross? The suffering? Why would we want that too? 

The conference was sponsored by Voice of the Martyrs, a group that focuses on the persecuted church.  Gracia didn’t speak until late in the afternoon. We had already spent all day listening to people who themselves had been captured and persecuted, beaten, tortured with hot oil, suffered in chains, in prisons, and labor camps.  These were people who knew what it meant to bear the cross of Christ. They bear the marks on their own body.  Through the years, I have met several of these special saints.  Cinderella Agoubi and her husband Milad who were  beaten and imprisoned at the hands of Muslims in Iraq.  Ana Gonzalez, whose first husband Ramon Rivas was murdered by Communist guerillas in the jungle of Colombia where they served as missionaries.   Their faith is staggering to me, and yet they are not bitter.  Not one of them has a "victim" mentality. These people have a special joy and intimacy with God. I want to have that…but I certainly don’t want to go through what they did to experience Him in the way that they did.

How often do I want a faith that’s comfortable? If I’m truly honest, it's more often than I want anyone else to know. I want a faith that offers me forgiveness of my sin, but doesn’t require that I forgive my enemies.  A faith that offers me eternal reward at no cost to me in this present world.  I want to sit comfortably in an air-conditioned church where I can sing about my faith and the cross, but not have to really live it.  Yesterday, one of the speakers referred to the church in America as not persecuted, but mildly inconvenienced at best. It is fortunate that I have been born in a nation with religious freedom, and I don’t face imprisonment or death for attending church, but Christ said that we should deny ourselves and take up our cross daily. Paul said that “I am crucified with Christ, therefore I no longer live.”  When am I going to quit making my life about me? When will I be willing to do what He asks, no matter the cost? Will I sacrifice my pride? My “rights”? My want to have things my way? Will I let my “self” be put to death, so that He can live through me? 

Our pastor just began a series of messages in 1 John, and the challenge has been to examine our faith.  How many people claim to be a Christian because at some point in the distant past, they walked down an aisle, prayed a prayer, and then went on their merry way living their life for themselves? They took out a “fire insurance” policy to protect them from Hell, stuck it in their back pocket, and figured they didn’t owe God anything else but perhaps some church attendance and offerings every now and then.  But if that is all there is to it, why would we be told in Scripture to “count the cost”? What is the cost in that?  Bonhoeffer writes about “Cheap Grace” and unfortunately, that is what we keep passing off as the Gospel.  We water it down to make sure that people want it. It’s not just sad, it’s tragic. People are going to Hell from the pews of American churches.  And they are people I know. People all around me. People I work with. People in my family.

Am I willing to take a stand and make a difference?  Am I willing to take Christ AND His cross?