Monday, November 22, 2010

Dear God,

On Sunday morning our pastor talked about the cross. As he asked people on the days leading up to Sunday morning what the cross meant to them, people responded differently. My first response was to kiss it. Why? Because the memory of Henri Nouwen taking down the crucifix and handing it to one of the handicapped men at Daybreak Community is still fresh in my mind. How much can one love you?

Images of the cross flashed across my mind. The crosses in the holy city of Jerusalem. The crosses at Christ in the Desert Monastery. The cross at Carmel in Israel. The crosses at the Carmelite Monastery. The crosses at St. Joseph Retreat Center. The crosses along roads across America. The cross Rev. TK held up to the wall at the Ankaase Faith Healing Hospital in Ankaase, Ghana. The crosses in Egypt, Greece, France, Italy, Jordan, and England. The cross that hangs above and in front of the congregation at Calvary. The cross at the Abbey of Gethsemane. The various crosses I have purchased and carried on the way of the cross in the old city of Jerusalem, the same crosses I gave to confirmands on the day of their confirmation. The variety of crosses I purchased at holy sites such as Corinth, Taize, Bethlehem and Assisi. The Palm Sunday crosses we made out of palm branches. The cross at Shepherd of the Hills in Missouri. The cross under which I stood at the Cathedral of Notre Dame. The cross at Brother Roger's grave. The crosses at the American Cemetery in Normandy. I have seen thousands of crosses across my lifetime in churches from Atlanta, Indiana to Lucerne, Switzerland. I am always stilled as I ponder just one scarred, blood-stained wooden cross used to kill a man.

Am I worthy to wear a cross on my necklace, on a stole around my shoulders or on a tee shirt? No, of course not. I am not worthy to wear any of them. The cross is so far removed from me; yet, your own son made it possible for me to claim my identity as a Christian believer. When I act pompous, arrogant or smug, I fail to remember that a cross claimed my life. I have nothing about which to be anything but humble.

Today's message caused me once again to pause, to remember, to give thanks, to weep, to confess, and to let my faith grow and my love increase.

Thank you,
God of Possibility,
for reaching
into the heart
of a wanderer,
for one
who strays
off the path
to do
my own thing.
Let the shadow
of your cross
always fall
upon me
so I
will not forget
the price paid
for my existence,
I pray.

Love, Andrea