TAKING UP THE CROSS

Scripture Lesson: Matthew 16: 21-28

Dr. Matthew S. Brown

July 16, 2006

Visually, at least, it seems to me that the creativity of God and the ingenuity of his children intersect on a golf course. The plush green undulating blanket of the fairway leading up to the meticulously cut and sculptured emerald putting surface, crowned with a garland of brilliant azaleas and dogwoods or white-capped waves and bleached sand.

I love it when the television commentator takes you aboard the low flying helicopter to give you a close-up insider’s view of the hole’s layout. The 13th of Augusta National; the 18th at Pebble Beach; the Road Hole at St. Andrews - It is a beautiful sight where ingenious individuals with names like Jones, Dye, and Ross have celebrated the basic elements of God’s creation in such a majestic way. Up in Burke County, when you look out from the 17th tee of Silver Creek toward the South Mountains, not even a poor swing can spoil the beauty of the surrounding vista.

I thrill in the walk down a well-manicured fairway. I guess it was a couple of years ago that I finally resolved I have no business being out there. Of course, when I was out there, I didn’t spend a great deal of time in the fairway anyway. I may not be the worst golfer on the course, but we’re close enough in the line to be on speaking terms. My game could be described as follows: rare flashes of brilliance snuffed out by a rainstorm of ineptitude. There are days when I’m sure the club pro should hand out pith helmets to all who foolishly venture onto the course I’m playing. My boys and I love the exchange between golfer Rannulph Junah and his caddie in the movie The Legend of Bagger Vance: Junah says after a rare good shot on a bad day, “I think I’ve found my game!” To which Bagger Vance replies, “That’s great, Capt’n Junah, now we’ve just got to figure out what game that is.”

As of yet, I haven’t figured that out myself. But, O, there were moments, sporadic moments of triumph trumped by a few too many “agonies of defeat.”

I was in a familiar position, the scuffed ball resting near the stump of a young tree after rattling through its limbs and leaves. I looked to the green up the hill with my fifteen year old eyes and with an air of confidence thought, “That’s an eight iron,” as though I had any idea of what shot an eight iron should produce. Occasionally, though, even a duffer like me will accidentally find the rhythm of the perfect swing, and you know it as soon as the club strikes the ball. “Wow!” I said as the ball climbed high up into the atmosphere. I had never hit an eight iron like that. I had never hit any club like that. And, I had even hit the correct angle. Amazingly the ball was headed straight for the flag, only when it reached the flag, it was still some forty feet in the air. The Top-Flite’s homing device had apparently found another target.

Now, at the cozy confines of the Mexico Country Club, nestled behind the 3rd hole was the 19th hole, the bar where hops-hyped golfers in plaid polyesters and sweat stained Dockers exchanged dirty jokes, stock tips, football prognostications, and derogatory comments about the friends who weren’t there, the language saltier than the popcorn and pretzels they swallowed with their beer.

The bar was enveloped by these large tinted Plexiglas windows looking out onto the course so that its patrons could keep track of and comment on what was going on outside. I couldn’t see them, but they could surely see me as I helplessly stood there watching that kamikaze Top-Flite complete its mission. “No! No! No! Yes!” The rattling Plexiglas filled the sky with the sound of thunder, and was that the howling sound of raucous laughter? Suddenly, the only hole I was interested in was one I could crawl into.

My Father looked at me with the look that fathers always share with their adolescent sons, a look that falls somewhere closer disgust than pity. “Well, go get the ball.”

I cannot say what I said in response to my father’s direction, but I did make it abundantly clear that I was not going anywhere near that building, and at that moment, in my mind that meant forever.

Like an Army Ranger on a mission, I stealthfully darted between tree and bush, trying to sneak to the next tee, praying the hopeless prayer that I had not just become the toast of Happy Hour.

Although many would say that golf is an invitation to suffering, on that day, and in life in general, I was, I am suffering averse. And I know that I am not alone in that. How many of us have searched out that path that would take us away from suffering. Weekly, we pray, “Lead us not into temptation,” but far more often we are thinking, “Lead me not into suffering.”

We’ll avoid making the difficult phone call to an estranged friend. We’ll put off approaching the painful nooks and crannies of our relationships. We’ll actually listen when the commercial advertises the miracle pill that burns calories while you sleep. “No need to worry about diet and exercise. Sleep those pounds away.” We’ll cross the street and duck into the store when we see the person who has hurt our feelings. We’ll ignore the symptoms, pretending the possible illness will just go away. We’ll look to the floor when they call for volunteers for the difficult or thankless job. We’ll build gated communities and just pretend that three quarters of the world is not living in poverty.

To be averse to suffering is to be human, and so we can’t judge Peter for objecting to Jesus’ predictions that day in the district of Ceasarea Philippi. Matthew says, “From that time Jesus began to show his disciples that he must go to Jerusalem and suffer many things from the elders and chief priests and scribes and be killed, and on the third day be raised.”

So shocked, so put off was Peter by this teaching that he could not hear the complete lesson. He heard the word suffer and the objections began. “God forbid, Lord! This shall never happen to you.”

The idea of a suffering messiah made no sense to Peter. Wasn’t the messiah supposed to save us from suffering? And if the messiah was to suffer, what would that mean for the rest of us? It just did not compute. Biblical scholar Douglas Hare tells us the contemporary Jewish thought at that time “found no reference to a suffering Messiah in the Hebrew Scriptures, and the idea is absent from the vast literature of Jewish apocrypha and pseudepigrapha, including the Dead Sea Scrolls. Nothing in their background prepared Jesus’ disciples for the notion that Israel’s eschatological champion should suffer a shameful death.”

No, if Jesus was the Messiah, as Peter had just confessed, he was the one who would be inflicting the suffering and death on Israel’s enemies, not experience it himself. If Jesus was going to suffer, what did that mean for Peter and the rest of the disciples? The fear of, the aversion to suffering was so consuming, Peter and the others couldn’t even hear Jesus’ words about a resurrection.

“God forbid. This shall never happen to you.”

Jesus reacts sharply to Peter’s objection, hearing the echo of the tempter’s voice out in the wilderness inviting him to take power without suffering. Do you remember that story of temptation? What was the tempter’s message, “Join with me, no suffering and all the power in the world.”

Recalling the power of that temptation, Jesus says to Peter, “Get behind me, Satan! You are a hindrance (the Greek word is skandalon, meaning stumbling block. All of a sudden, Peter, the rock of the church, has become the stone over which Jesus could stumble.) ...You are not on the side of God, but of men.” Jesus knew the power of that temptation - follow one’s own will and not God’s. Seek power without any pain. What would be his prayer in his darkest hour? “My Father, if it be possible, let this cup [this suffering] pass from me; nevertheless, not as I will, but as thou wilt.”

Peter’s perception was certainly attractive at that moment. It would be the greatest temptation Jesus would face, but it was Jesus’ conviction not to do what was attractive, but what was right. “...Not as I will, but as thou wilt.”

Jesus knew that the way of the Messiah, and the way of all who would follow him was the way of the cross. “If any one would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me.”

You know, church marketers don’t like that verse so much. “If any one would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me.” It’s hard to mount much of a sales campaign on that. “Come and visit our new gym and family life center. Come and eat in our renovated food court.” “That will sell. We just won’t mention anything about all that cross bearing.”

Church evangelists can’t find a good sales slogan for cross carrying and so they tend to ignore it, saying something different like, “Jesus paid the price so you wouldn’t have to,” which is just a stone’s throw from something like - “Sleep your sins away. All the gain without the pain.” You don’t find a lot of cross bearing references in church brochures.

But following Jesus doesn’t necessarily mean a life with no suffering, with no sacrifice, with no challenge. What is it that Bonhoeffer said? “When Jesus calls a man, he bids him to come and die.” We shouldn’t be surprised that Peter balked at Jesus teaching, because Peter’s response is our response.

Suffering? Cross bearing? “Hey, this is not what I signed up for.” I didn’t come to die. I came to be fed. I didn’t come to offer. I came to receive. When Peter left his nets, when we signed on the dotted line, the reasoning was, “Hey, this is going to be good for us.” Let’s follow Jesus, not to Jerusalem, but to Rome and we’ll sit in the Coliseum seats and cheer as he vanquishes our enemies. All the gain. None of the pain.

“But now Jesus has to go and say something about me taking up my cross? Forbid it, Lord!” If we put it in the church brochure, would anybody sign up?

“If any man would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. For whoever would save his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it.

Alyce McKenzie astutely points out that Jesus’ journey to the cross and the meaning of the cross in our lives can easily be misunderstood. “Too often the cross has been equated with what should really be called oppression. Women in situations of domestic violence, who have gone to their pastors for advice, have been assured wrongly, ‘It’s your cross, sister. You must bear it, because it’s your cross.” That’s not what cross bearing is about. “Slaves were told by white preachers that slavery was the cross the Lord wanted them to bear.” That’s not what cross bearing is about.

At other times, the cross is too casually defined as an everyday nuisance that has to be tolerated. Hearing things like “Putting up with my daughter’s boyfriend is my cross to bear,” or “Driving this old car is my cross to bear” trivializes Jesus’ teaching beyond recognition.

The self-denial of cross bearing is also often misunderstood. Denying gifts. Living without joy so that everyone can see how serious you are about your faith. Playing up how you are living without, playing up how much of a martyr you are. Suffering for suffering’s sake. Lord knows we have enough long-suffering Christian martyrs parading around wearing their suffering like an Olympian’s gold medal. With hand to forehead and frequent loud sighs they whine, “If anyone knew how I’m suffering for the kingdom.” Get a life!

If we’re suffering for suffering’s sake just so everyone else can see it, taking pride in it, we’re not doing it for Jesus, we’re doing it for ourselves, and that’s not cross-bearing.

Taking up one’s cross is about discerning the purpose God has for your life, and pursuing that path no matter what it entails, no matter what it costs, no matter what the neighbors think. Duty. Responsibility. Obedience. Purpose. Meaning. Love. Mercy. Compassion. You should be able to find those words etched in the wood of the cross you take up.

One our significant failures as parents and as adults in relation to children is manifested whenever we engage a child in conversation. When we talk to a child, what do we almost always ask?

“What do you want to be when you grow up?”

We are training them to live according to their wants with no consideration of what God may want for them; what God’s will is for them.

Taking up one’s cross is finding that intersection where the gift God has given you meets up with the world’s greatest need and pursuing that purpose, no matter what.

If we accomplish anything as a church we need to make it this. We need to change the question we ask our children. Instead of asking what they want to be when they grow up, we need to ask: “What do you think God may want you to do with your life?” “What purpose does God have for the gifts he has given you?” Tell them, once they find it, to pursue it with all their heart, soul, mind, and strength.

That’s what cross bearing is all about. It may involve suffering. It may involve pain. The neighbors may not understand. But it is where life is to be found.

It may be that those thoughts won’t look too good on a church brochure, but you’ll find that those who take up the cross are the ones who are truly living. Amen.