The Cross

Yesterday in my College-level United States History class we watched a movie. Yes, movies are a large part of our curriculum. But that's not the point. The movie we watched was called Cinderella Man, which, in case you haven't seen it, is a movie about a boxer, not a prince or a princess or a slipper for that matter.

The problem with watching movies in class is that the movie takes longer than even our 90 minute classes. So the boxer, played by Russell Crowe, breaks his hand in three places. Russell comes home to wife Renee Zellweger, jobless. Power cuts off shortly after. Not enough money for food. Son steals a slab of meat from the butcher. Russell takes him to the butcher to return it, where son tells papa that he was afraid of being sent away like his friend, whose parents had to send him to relatives because they didn't have the money for him to stay here.

Now, by this point, I am closer to tears than I have been since I watched Inspector Gadget lying in the dump in the theaters when I was four. I couldn't grasp life like that. And the feeling wouldn't go away. Why do I feel so sick about this?

So Russell tells the stealing son that he will never be sent away. They will always be together. Always a family. (This scene actually took place before Russell broke his hand, but it fits better here in my narrative.) So Russell breaks his hand. Power cuts out. No food. Finally, Russell comes home to find from Renee that she had sent the children to their relatives, and that it was the only thing she could do. Heated argument.
"You don't have a right to make desicions about our children without me!"
"You weren't here!"
"You could have waited a few hours!"
"What else can we do Jimmy!?!?"

"I PROMISED HI--"
Cue the bell, turn on the lights, and cut the sound.

Don't worry, things turn out better in the end. But for the rest of the day I was thinking about how terrible it would be to live like that. And for the rest of the day I wondered why I couldn't get my mind off of this thing. I wondered why it hurt so much, why it tingled, why I felt burdened. The next period was the period right before lunch, thus everyone was talking about food. So there I sat with them bantering on and on about how hungry I was, but still being depressed about the Depression. Then, somewhat slowly, I realized that there are real people out there in the world of war-torn, poverty-stricken, waterless communities, who are seperated because they don't have what they need. The difference with them is that their seperation is lifelong. Children and parents alike die of malnutrition, water conamination, and a large variety of diseases, while I sit and talk about food. I reminded myself of the snobbish jerks in the movie who looked out at Russell and his family with disdain from their custom-made suits and beautifully designed and decorated apartments and houses. How could I be so sick?

So off I go to lunch, thinking about how much of a jerk I am for not caring enough, and thinking about how much I'm going to fast and give all my money to help send the love of God to far off countries, when all of a sudden, I feel the call of the wild. Or rather, the call of the chocolate. Before I know what's happening, I walk up to the candy counter, pull out a dollar, and get a twix bar in return. When asked if I will donate the quarter (twix is 75 cents) to the golf team I did; not because it was a good cause. Only because it was easier. As I sit back down, somebody mentions that I have writing on my shoes (it's the new cool thing), and I think some people don't have shoes. Pause. And I just bought a candy bar just for the heck of it.

The previous paragraph relates to a far more broad subject concerning the difference between submission and relationship, and which fuels which. That is for another couple of blogs. To big of a concept to really understand. . . period.

Anyways, for some reason, sitting at the lunch table, I thought about the verse (really verses, because the story is recorded in multiple gospels) where Jesus said something like "take up your cross and follow me." I would like to say that I had long been pondering this verse, and yesterday God revealed the meaning of it to me, but the truth is that this verse had not really ever occured to me as unusual before. All it really meant to me was that life as a christian is probably going to suck. But God stuck that verse in my heart yesterday. Almost like a lifeverse (kudos to Jeff for that one).

So I've been wondering, what is my cross, and was Jesus talking directly to me as He said it, or does everyone share the same cross? Paul told the Galatians that our sins were crucified with Christ, so why do we need to carry our crosses? Perhaps a cross is more than just an "emblem of suffering and shame" as the song goes. The cross that Jesus carried was an emblem of sacrifice and ultimate love.

One of the more major reasons I haven't been blogging lately is that for the past three weeks I've been preaching at the youth group about worship. Despite how qualified others thought I was to preach about this subject, I personally didn't feel very qualified. I didn't want to preach about something so vast, so awesome, and so. . . in the process for me. I felt like I was trying to explain puberty while my voice jumped all over the place, cracking and squeaking and such. I was talking to myself more than anyone else. I was so small. I didn't understand it all, yet I had the responsibility of explaining this concept that has baffled very smart people I know.

All that to say, these past weeks have been a journey of discovery for me. And everything I found about worship pointed me to love. Love comes in many different forms, but often it involves giving something up. Making a sacrifice. So maybe my Cross is just worship. Worship has different avenues for different people. I know a girl who doesn't seem to be super big on singing, but she gives like nobody else. Her generosity is her most prominent act of worship, though her worship is not limited to just that. Some people worship quietly and contemplatively and living their quiet, confident lives to the glory of God, and some worship vibrantly with dancing and shouting and telling people about Jesus. We are the body of Christ, each with different purposes, jobs, and opinions. None are more spiritual than the others. None are better. We are all called to love, and in so doing, we carry out the commission of denying ourselves and carrying our crosses.

Jesus gave the ultimate sacrifice, his life for ours. Jesus died so that we could live. There's no need to be the "Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world." That's already been done. So what cross will we carry? What will we sacrifice? Will we give up our candy for the sake of starving, parent-less children all over the world? Will we step down from our snobbish American (or Canadian) pedestals to give of our time, our money, our life, to the hurting, lonely people around us?

Deny yourself. Carry your cross. Follow Christ.

Then Jesus said to his disciples, "If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross and follow me."
--Matthew 16:24--