When I Look Upon the Cross

One of the most barbaric, painful, and humiliating tools employed in human execution may be the most recognized symbol in human history.

The Persians first practiced crucifixion as a means of execution 600 years before the execution of Jesus. The idea was to nail someone to a vertical pole topped by a crossbar in a manner that would extend his arms with his weight and allow gravity to exert downward pressure on his body, slowly decreasing his lung capacity, until the subject eventually suffocated. It often took Persian subjects three to nine days to die, with the desperate person increasingly doing everything possible, including the dislocating of joints in anguished attempts to pull oneself high enough to gain air. For several centuries, crucifixion was considered one of the slowest and most painful ways one could be executed.

Then the Romans took the Persian model and added a uniquely Roman element to increase the torture while somewhat shortening the process. They added a sharp peg to the vertical post between the man’s legs just below his butt, causing the subject to arch himself away from the post to avoid having his genitals punctured by the peg. This gave him less leverage to lift himself and hastened suffocation, causing most Roman subjects to die within hours rather than days. The Romans also drove nails through each side of the heel where the high concentration of nerves and low concentration of blood vessels meant greater pain with little chance of bleeding out. It was a form of execution reserved for the vilest of criminals and the worst of enemies until the Romans began using public crucifixions more broadly as a deterrent to any who might oppose Roman authority.

Today, the cross, as used in the execution of Jesus, is recognized throughout the world as a symbol representing Christianity. It’s come to have a much broader meaning than that given by the Romans or the Persians. The mention or sight of a cross may trigger many vastly different thoughts. Some may immediately think of a piece of jewelry or a tattoo. Others may think of judgement, bigotry, hypocrisy, or close-mindedness. Some see pain, shame, or guilt. Others see redemption, freedom, and hope.  

When I look upon the cross:

·      I hear the jeering of the crowd challenging Jesus to save himself.

·      I see Pilate’s intended sarcasm proclaiming, “The King of the Jews” in three different languages on the sign above Jesus’ head.

·      I hear the Roman guards backslapping and bragging about the scourging as they divide his clothes, cast lots for his tunic, and offer him their tersorium (vinegar and sponge on a stick issued to them to wipe their butts).

·      I see his naked, bloodied body, the torn flesh, dislocated joints, and agony on his face.

·      I see his mother and friends in inconsolable grief and overwhelming fear.

·      I see myself with a hammer in one hand, wineskin in the other.

·      I see the filthiest and most unholy moments of my own life.

·      I see my secret, selfish, grudge-welding tendencies.

·      I see those moments, or seasons, when my confidence crashed through the barriers and boundaries of civility to run over others with unbridled and reckless arrogance.

·      I see bloodstains that neither alcohol nor soap could begin to fade.

·      I see my own fallen sinful nature mirrored and magnified.

·      I see a debt impossible for me to even begin to repay.

·      I hear his final word, “Tetelestai,” meaning “It is finished.”

·      I see the light flooding into the darkness.

·      I see Satan, powerless to stop it.

·      I see his minions retreating.

·      I hear the roar of the Lion of Judah.

·      I hear the victory proclaimed.

·      I hear the unthinkable and improbable words, “For God so loved…”

·      I feel a swelling of gratitude from the depths of my being.

·      I feel the inadequacy of my own vocabulary in attempting to express my shock, my horror, my amazement, my praise, my all.

·      I feel the power of the Holy Spirit.

·      I hear the song of the Redeemed.

·      I know my place. I’m debt free. I have received immeasurably more.

Is this true every time I look upon the cross? I wish it was. It should be. But like you, I drift. Sometimes all this gets stuck somewhere in the ooey gooey grey matter between my ears. It’s there. I know the answers at any given point. But sometimes, my focus is on the world around me. I look at the cross without focusing on the cross, without seeing it, without choking up. My intentions may be as dark as the thief next to Jesus, or as self-righteous as the Pharisee’s. Either way, it’s a rather stoic look, without any real affect or compassion. I glance at it as I glance at my pen, or the flag, as if it were another useful part or symbol of my day, my profession. As the cross grows useful, I grow useless. Slouching into some mortal pursuit of comfort, achievement, or complacency.

Yet, in the same way that lovers rekindle their commitment through those times where they give each other their undivided attention, I find myself alone with God, in prayer or in the Word, seeing myself, my drift, mirrored and magnified in the reflection of the cross; and I know I’ve been living in the shadow of my old self, rather than in the light of the cross. It’s then that I see the cross anew, not for the first, hundredth, or ten thousandth time, but for the one time I need in that moment to fall before my Lord and say, “Thank you, Jesus.” And I am restored, undistracted, and recommitted until I am not. And He awaits my next visit, ready to restore and renew again, and challenging me to “Abide with me.”