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February 20, 2013

Beneath the cross of Jesus I long to take my stand

Preacher: Pastor Braun Campbell Series: Lenten midweek 2013: Beneath the Cross of Jesus Category: Biblical Scripture: Philippians 2:1–2:11

Lenten Midweek 1
St. John's Lutheran Church, Alexandria, VA
Philippians 2:1-11

“Beneath the cross of Jesus I long to take my stand”

Christians have a weird fondness for crosses. Certainly, it’s not just Christians that display crosses. All kinds of people wear crosses on a necklace or bracelet, or pin it to a jacket. You can get crosses for hanging on your wall or carrying in your pocket. For some people, it’s about fashion. Others think that it brings good luck. And to be fair, some Christians look at the cross that way, too. But for most, the cross has some other kind of meaning, a meaning that speaks to a deep need, a meaning that has made the cross the prominent symbol of the Christian Church. Here at St. John’s, we’ve got no less than 24 crosses depicted on the fixtures and paraments in our sanctuary during this Lenten season, crosses of varying shapes and sizes, most notably the large “floating” cross suspended above the altar.

It’s still weird, though. The cross wasn’t designed as a symbol of hope and peace, or even as anything that you’d wear for decoration. It was an instrument for execution, and one that promised a prolonged and painful death, at that. The condemned were tied or nailed to a cross until they suffocated or their hearts finally gave out, a process that could possibly last for days. The guillotine and the electric chair are a couple of modern equivalents, devices that deliver a far swifter death than the cross; however, you generally wouldn’t want to wear miniature versions of those around your neck. Going to the cross was a bad way to die. The cross was ugly. The cross was accursed. Yet for Christians, the cross is somehow something more: it serves as a reminder of an essential part of our history and identity.

For Christians, the cross represents redemption. Jesus of Nazareth went to the cross to save you and me. Giving himself up to death, he changed everything. History pivots at the intersection of the beams of the cross. There on the cross, Jesus fulfilled his role as the Messiah, the Savior who would bring humanity back to God. There on the cross, he carried the full weight of mankind’s separation from God because of our sin. There on the cross, he who was perfect swallowed up your faults and failings so that you could know God. There on the cross, he died, his body marked by the nails in his wrists and feet and, posthumously, gashed by the spear in his side. A crucifix is a cross that bears Jesus’ image, showing him as the suffering Servant affixed to the cross on Good Friday. Some Christians take offense at the crucifix, saying they don’t want to use it because “Jesus isn’t on the cross anymore.” When they say that, they’re half-right: Jesus was taken down from the cross and laid in an empty tomb, from which he rose, alive, early on Easter morning. As we confess in the Creed, “He ascended into heaven, and is seated at the right hand of the Father.” and “He will come again to judge the living and the dead.” Jesus lives. He is no longer on the cross. But the crucifix still shows who he is. As St. Paul writes in 1 Corinthians 1, “For Jews demand signs and Greeks seek wisdom, but we preach Christ crucified, a stumbling block to Jews and folly to Gentiles, but to those who are called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God.” Jesus’ resurrected body still carried the marks of the crucifixion because they are part of his identity as our Savior.

The cross is where Jesus fulfilled his role as the Messiah, the one sent from God who would restore humanity’s relationship with our Creator. Particularly in this season of Lent leading up to Holy Week and Easter, our community of faith recalls how we have all fallen short in life, failing to live in active love towards God and towards each other. But Jesus did not fall short. God Himself came to live among us, acting in love towards God and all humanity. And that life of love led him to a cross, where we see the truth of the hymn that Paul recorded in our text from Philippians. The Son of God set aside the glory that has been his since before time began to go to the cross for you and me. He humbled himself – lowered himself – farther than anyone has or could, all to reveal the depth of God’s love for broken people in a broken world. That’s why we can look at the cross and see life instead of death.

Elizabeth Clephane lived life looking at the cross in the same way that Paul encouraged the Philippians. The daughter of a minister in Scotland, Elizabeth and her sisters gave away what they did not need in order to care for the poor and suffering people of their village. There in Melrose – a beautiful place that I visited a number of years ago, some 30 miles southeast of Edinburgh – Elizabeth was known as “the Sunbeam.” While she herself experienced ill health, she reflected her Savior’s love in service to others. One year before her death at age 38, with the end of this life already on the horizon, Elizabeth wrote the poem that serves as the lyrics for the hymn that we sang this evening, and around which our midweek Lenten services take shape: “Beneath the Cross of Jesus.”

What do you see when you look at the cross? Paul saw the love that lead the Lord of Life to set aside the unimaginable glory to enter into life as we know it. He saw the humility that God the Son exhibited in becoming a human being like you and me. But in looking at the cross, Paul also saw what came after it: the throne from which Christ now reigns and before all creation shall bow down. I see the reminder that God cared about me and my life and my world. I see the sign that shows what God has done to bridge the gap between us. I see the evidence that we have a hands-on God who is allows himself to suffer rejection and scorn, all to rescue us. I long to take my stand beneath the cross of Jesus because that is the only place of sure and certain hope for people who keep falling down.

Elizabeth Clephane may have been called “the Sunbeam,” but she knew that Jesus was the light of our life. Beneath his cross, let us set aside selfish ambition and conceit, trading it for the real, selfless love of our Lord this Lent.

Amen.

other sermons in this series