The Cross as Protest Sign

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Link to video: https://www.facebook.com/stlukesferndale.org/videos/184293950129298

Clare L. Hickman

St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Ferndale

February 28, 2021—Lent 2B

Genesis 17:1-7, 15-16; Psalm 22:22-30; Mark 8:31-38

“God, forbid it!” That’s the sentiment missing from the beginning of this gospel story. Peter declares Jesus to be the Messiah, and Jesus takes a moment to congratulate him for noticing, then drops the mother of all “other shoes” on him: “Which means that I will suffer, be rejected by the authorities and killed, and then rise from the dead.

Peter. is. Horrified.

In Mark, we are told that he rebukes Jesus for this. In Matthew, he says “God, forbid it!” which I think expresses our reaction nicely. Because really, we are having none of that noise. If that’s where your ministry leads, Jesus, then let’s rethink things a bit!

As ever, Jesus knows better. Because unlike us, he can hold steady through the message of suffering and death, and keep paying attention through the part where we get to resurrection. And so he speaks into our fear, and is honestly giving us a pep talk here: you can do this. We can do this. Pick up your cross and follow me, because the destination is new life, a new world, a better world. We’re headed for resurrection!

“Pick up your cross” has so often been used as shorthand for any kind of suffering in this world, and has even been used to convince people that their suffering is God’s plan for their sanctification. And certainly, the cross assures us that God is with us in even the worst pain of our lives. And indeed, our own suffering can help us to stand more firmly with others who suffer.

But when Jesus tells those who wish to follow him that they must take up their cross, he is not saying that suffering is a spiritual end, in and of itself. He is, rather, telling us that the task of the Jesus-follower is to confront those who cause other people to suffer (economically, socially, politically, religiously). And he is speaking the simple truth that doing so, that speaking up for those who are oppressed and cast out and trampled, will almost always come at a cost. It has social costs. It can have economic costs. And in situations as volatile as his, it can cost you your freedom, or even your life.

All this, he needs us to know. But Jesus also wants us to remember this: the pain and suffering and death will happen, but it isn’t the end of the story. Resurrection is. We pick up our cross not in order to suffer, but because it is only by confronting the death-dealing powers of this world that we can get to the life on the other side. No matter how much pain it might bring, it is the only road to resurrection!

Still, our instinct often echoes Peter: “Lord forbid it!”  Because we can’t always see far enough ahead to glimpse the resurrection. All we know is the desire to avoid the pain and loss that come from speaking up against the death-dealers.

And so this story stays with us. We hear ourselves echoing Peter’s words, telling Jesus to step back, to avoid the conflict, to choose another way. But then, if we are honest, if we are open to the working of Jesus in our heart and in our life, we can hear his rebuke; can hear him warn us that we are choosing against the kingdom of God; can hear his anger and his grief that we are making the decision to resist resurrection.

I have to ask myself: when have I avoided speaking up? When have I echoed Peter’s “Lord forbid it”? In what ways do I avoid making myself or other people uncomfortable, avoid considering ways in which I might benefit from things that oppress, disadvantage or simply hurt other people?

When do I choose to remain silent, for fear of the cost of speaking up?

I saw a graphic the other day about the layers of power and privilege. And many of us here have a couple of ways in which we have been on the downside of those categories: Half of us are female. Many of us are LGBT. Some of us are economically unstable, neuro-atypical, or suffer from some level of mental illness.

Which means that many of us have some level of experience of being on the underside of things. But that doesn’t guarantee that we are good at extending that empathy to others who have different ways in which they are last and least in this world. Which is good news, spiritually, for the straight, white, economically-stable men out there: because it isn’t just you. It’s all of us here, pretty much, who need to remain aware of the ways in which the gospel is always, always calling us to focus on such matters.

Because, as theologian Howard Thurman points out in Jesus and the Disinherited, Jesus preached and worked in a country whose dominant reality was one of a land occupied by the Roman Empire. Everything he said was infused by that reality.[i] When he spoke of the last being first and the first being last; when Mary sang about the mighty being cast down from their thrones, THAT’s what those early followers heard. Yes, the gospel also speaks on individual and more internal levels. But at its core, it’s about re-forming society into a world that more accurately reflects the values and dreams of God. And when it speaks about evil, that very much centers on economic disadvantage, social exclusion, and the abuse of power.

And so we are all asked whether we can recognize ourselves in Peter’s cry: Lord, forbid it! Are there times when thoughts like this have crept from our mind or our lips? Lord, don’t ask me to say things that will disturb powerful people, who might then strike back! For that matter, please don’t force me to call attention to the unfairness of systems that are actually doing me just fine!

God, forbid it.

I don’t want to say things that will upset my friends or family or co-workers. Don’t want to call them out for their comments, their insular attitudes, their support of policies that solidify disparity and widen the opportunity gap. I’m afraid to ask them to hear the experiences of those who are different from them, or to consider the ways in which those people might not have had the same advantages they did. Because I know it will feel like I’m questioning their goodness, Lord.

I know that, because that’s what it feels like when I ask all the same things of myself. And sometimes I want to forbid that too. I want to avoid looking at my own life, and the ways in which I participate in and benefit from systems that harm other people. Because it’s painful. Because it feels like loss and a little bit like death.  

But this gospel story continues to speak to me. Reminding me that the voice inside me that tells me to stop looking at, stop talking about, stop taking action to dismantle oppressive systems: it’s Satan. So, resist it! Keep going. Even though it will almost undoubtedly lead to pain and push-back, keep going. Because it is also the only path through to new life. It’s the road to resurrection. So, pick up the cross, which is the protest sign against oppression and domination of all kinds, and march with Jesus into the Kingdom of God. May it be so. Amen.

[i] Howard Thurman, Jesus and the Disinherited, p. 11-35