To the cross...
In an age when Christian voices intermingle with those of issues and political agendas, it seems all the more important for me to look at that Cross and all it means in my life and for the lives of those I love. It's ironic how easily it's meaning gets lost under the loud cloud of human voices.
I find myself asking if it even does matter. How could the suffering and death of one man, beaten and hung on a cross still matter 2000 years later? How could it matter in light of the suffering inflicted in His name in the centuries since. How can He possibly matter in light of all the suffering that continues in this world today.
This Easter the reasons for Christ's relevance have come into focus for me in a way they never had before. Because of where I've spent the past few weeks. He still matters BECAUSE there is still suffering. As long as there is suffering there will be a need for hope, the kind of hope I've only found in him.
He is good. He always has been, he always will be. In and through suffering, what happened on that cross brings hope into this world. It was what happened there, suffering, on a wooden cross, nail pierced hands...that allows me and believers like me around the world to persevere when it all seems hopeless.
These last few weeks 4 amazing people entered my life... Julia, Nicholas, Diana and Jesus...a family like thousands of others around the world that hope for something better for their children and their future. We can look at them through our first world lens and think they are poor Mexicans that need our benevolence. But the people I meant weren't poor, not in the ways that matter anyway. They are rich beyond measure, their smiles constant and ineffable. The only tears witnessed were ones of joy. Are their lives perfect? No. They struggle and suffer, their "home" prior to our arrival was a shack made of scraps and their bed supported by odd sized rubbermaid totes.
Why must they struggle and suffer? Because without struggle or suffering, there would no need for hope. For faith.
There would be no opportunity for glory.
There would be no opportunity for God to touch earth today.
The cross would no longer matter.
It's taken me nearly a week to process what happened on the day we gave Julia, Nicholas, Diana, and Jesus a home...while we went as a group, those final moments before they entered their new home for the first time, for me...got very personal. It was difficult for me on many levels to be singled out amongst a group of people that acted in so many ways as a whole body.
We stood in a circle, each holding the keys for a moment and saying a few words. You would think the words spoken would be about the gift we were giving, but they weren't. In most cases they were about the gift we received. The most commonly spoken words in that circle were thank you. From moms and dads, students and young people, brothers and sisters from a comfy suburb of Vancouver BC. They said thank you for your friendship, your lives, your hope, your hearts, how you've blessed us. How on earth can a poverty stricken family in living in desperate conditions bless 33 missionaries from the comfy suburbs of Vancouver, BC?
Jesus. ON A CROSS.
Julia spoke thanks, and gratitude for their home. Then she turned and pointed to me.
This is where it gets real people, when a woman points to you and says that God revealed your face to her in her dreams for months before you arrived, that she knew before you came that you were the woman that helped her and would help her. This is where heaven touches earth and the cross still matters.
I'm a mother too, and I can only imagine what Julia's prayers for her children would sound like...probably very much like my own.
Protect them, guide them, keep them from illness and harm. Help them to grow strong of faith and character. Be with them.
She would probably add in prayers I can't imagine... about having a home for them, where they could be healthy, and live to grow up, protected from the wicked cold that set in in the evenings. From the illness that is often carried from the dirt floors into the weak lungs of small children. Prayers I can't imagine praying.
Jesus, on a cross was God touching earth. 2000 years ago. BUT...that's the thing, if what happened remained there 2000 years ago, what happened this week wouldn't have happened.
Julia wouldn't have prayed for her miracle. A home. I wouldn't have prayed, trapped in my first world jail of depression and emptyness 11 years ago to the man who died on the cross, asking Him if He was real to reveal himself to me.
By giving into that power, I gave the man that died on that cross permission to change me. To tell me to take a team to Mexico in the midst of the busiest year of my life. To find a way to juggle full time work, full time school, family, fundraising and somehow maintain my sanity. I said yes, despite the fact there was no way it would work logistically or financially. I thought that was all about my sacrifice. It wasn't.
He came down.
I felt deeply humbled and even more so, uncomfortable for the temporary spotlight that seemed to shine on me as Julia spoke. I realize now that my discomfort came from thinking in that moment that she was focussing on me. Today I realized as I reflected on the cross that while Julia spoke she was not shining light on me, she was shining light on the cross.
I was the very human woman, sunburnt, covered in mud, more than a little frazzled...a woman who forgot blankets (made by hand by little children) at the outreach centre on dedication day and messed up the baskets we were supposed to bring.
The cross was firmly planted in the ground, Christ's blood poured into the earth. Why would he show Julia my face? Because he wanted her to know that HE was at work today. That His power claimed on the cross, continues today to work in and through ordinary people.
TODAY. 2000 years later.
His cross still matters.
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