Pentecost 13 A: Take Up Your Cross
Dear Partner in Preaching,
We’re at “part 2” of the Caesarea Philippi scene, and once again, I find that our present circumstances are prodding me to look again at a text I felt like I knew. Typically, I would focus on the heartbreak of the rebuke Jesus levels at Peter. And then connect Peter’s disappointment to our own, as we, too, often want a strong God, even a warrior God, who will come in to save us from our problems. Those – I would argue quite understandable – desires make it hard to accept, let alone celebrate, Jesus coming to us in vulnerability, suffering, and death. Until, that is, we realize that it is exactly in our own vulnerability, suffering, and death that we most need God and where Jesus promises to meet us in the cross. And, once again, that’s not a bad interpretation. J
But this week, and in light of, well, everything, I find myself instead drawn to the verses I often pass over: Then Jesus told his disciples, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it” (16:24-25).
I find these verses often elicit two distinct reactions. Some folks embrace Jesus’ words, feeling themselves both called and capable to make decisions that reflect their Christian commitment, even to the point of sacrifice. For them, these words are an invitation. Other Christians, however, struggle to find joy in these words. Some may be aware of their own limitations and so doubt their ability to embrace the cross, while others experience this as a request to denigrate themselves and can point to too many examples in culture where specific persons or groups have been told by their oppressors to “bear their cross.” Not all struggle and suffering, they will remind us, is sacrificial or beneficial, and so they are understandably leery of any blanket statements that legitimate unholy oppression. For both these latter groups, Jesus’ words are a burden, whether imposed on them by Christ or by others.
There may, however, be a third way to interpret these words, which is simply to recognize a) that suffering happens and b) whether you choose it, embrace it, or resist it, Christ is present with you in it. I think that sometimes we are so keenly aware of Jesus’ words of his impending suffering and death that we assume it was all part of some plan (presumably God’s plan). But what if, instead, God’s plan was to send Jesus to bear a word of redemption and grace and love and the cross happened as a result? (See John 3:19.) That is, it’s not that the only way by which God could conceive of redeeming humanity was for God’s son to be violently put to death, but rather that God in Jesus came amongst us bearing a vital message of love and acceptance even though Jesus knew that humanity’s likely response would be to reject the message and kill the messenger. In this sense, the cross was not Jesus’ goal, but rather the outcome of Jesus’ fidelity in the face of unfaithful people. He didn’t choose the cross but rather trusted God to work even through the extreme of the cross for the sake of the world God loves so much.
Similarly, the cross isn’t something we choose, but rather it is something that finds us. Sometimes what is redemptive in our suffering is obvious – the sacrifices we make for our family members and friends, foregoing individual “rights” during a pandemic for the sake of community health – and sometimes it’s hard to tell if there is anything good at all, let alone redemptive, in the suffering we see and experience. And yet Christ identifies with all of our suffering, took it all on himself in his suffering, and promises to meet us in ours.
What does “take up your cross and deny yourself” look like in this case? Perhaps it’s following Jesus’ lead and, to the best of our ability, to make decisions and act in a way that reflects God’s love for us and all people, God’s acceptance of us and all people, God’s desire for abundant life for us and all people. “Deny yourself” is not the same, I think, as “forget all about yourself” and certainly is not “debase yourself.” By linking “and all people” to “us,” we realize God is in it for everyone, not just us and that is, I think, what denying yourself looks like – seeing that you and I are part of something larger, in recognizing that there is, in fact, no meaningful “you” or “I” apart from “us.”
Suffering doesn’t need to be – and, quite honestly, should be not be – spiritualized. And it should not be justified. And it should regularly be resisted, particularly as we are moved to resist the actions and systems that we undertake or in which we are involved that increase the suffering of others. But trust me, suffering – chosen and sacrificial or unbidden and at times even unholy – will find us. And Jesus will be there.
This is a lot, I know, and perhaps can feel like theological “heavy lifting” in a sermon. So perhaps it is enough to say that this may be a time simply to give folks a chance to name where they are suffering. Where they are tired or hurting or fearful or insecure or anxious or in pain or distressed. To name these things honestly, in the sense of biblical lament, in order to hear again God’s promise in Christ be in it with us, to see in our hardships a kindred experience to Christ’s cross, and to count more fully on Christ’s presence and power to see us through. We literally cannot save our own lives, and our attempts to do so often take a toll on ourselves and others. But as we surrender that impulse and hear and trust God’s promise, we discover that those things which seek to take our lives are no match for the crucified and resurrected Christ and we discover new life even amid them.
There is so much suffering going on just now, Dear Partner. Whether related to COVID, racial injustice, economic hardship, emotional despair, or more. In all these things, not just Christ’s cross is present, but Christ himself – holding us, lamenting with us, encouraging us, and promising us the strength to endure and, having endured, to flourish and, flourishing, to help others do the same.
Thank you for your fidelity and courage, Dear Partner. In and through your words, Christ is once again present in our midst. Blessings on your proclamation, this week and always.
Yours in Christ,
David
Hi David,
I find your words a great comfort in these times of uncertainty. As I address those to whom I minister your words will inspire me.
God Bless
Thank you, David.
I’m stuck in my own despair over the state of our country. The violence, the hate speech, the divisiveness, the lack of care and empathy around Covid. It all feels like too much. But your words inspire me this morning. Thank you very much. Blessings, Holly
David, a big, powerful paragraph starting with “There may, however, be a third way…” and ending with, “for the sake of the world God loves so much.” Thankyou, for your insight.