False Crosses

 

- Palm Sunday of the Passion of the Lord, Year C -

Fr. Robin Koning, S.J.

 

Jesus carries his cross, as we have just heard. And he calls each of us to carry ours. "If any want to become my followers, let them … take up their cross daily and follow me." [Lk 9.23] Holy Week provides a unique opportunity for following this command of the Lord's. But I can easily take up a cross which is of my own fashioning, and not at all the cross that Jesus would have me carry. For there are false crosses, crosses that we create for ourselves, or have thrust upon us by others, or by a false image of God, which are not the cross that Jesus wishes us to take up. If we take up such a false cross, there is no guarantee that the suffering we endure in carrying it is redemptive suffering, the sort of suffering that leads to life, and life in its fullness. As in all discernment, the question of which cross we are called to take up is about which one leaves me free to gaze lovingly upon Jesus - to keep my focus on him, and not on the hurts I've received, or on my sinfulness, or the responsibilities and burdens I face. Let's look at three such false crosses in light of the three "last words of Christ" in Luke's passion.

Firstly, the cross of Jesus is not a cross of bitterness and anger, of resentment and unforgiveness. This cross is one we burden ourselves with. Yet I can imagine it is a cross Christ would have me carry, for so many of my resentments are so reasonable. The world would be far better if only people would do things my way, would think the way I do, would believe what I believe, would see priorities as I see them. And I can have a whole slew of life experiences, of authoritative texts, to back up my assessment that others just have it wrong. Or, I can be so certain of the injustice of what I have suffered from others, from bosses, from family, from the church, that I feel completely justified in not forgiving them - in fact, it is practically a matter of justice, to not let them off the hook. Meanwhile, it is I who am on the hook, it is I who am drinking the poison of unforgiveness, it is I who am carrying a burden which will kill me.

Jesus shows us the way. Having been betrayed, denied, misunderstood, having been condemned after three times being declared not guilty, Jesus has every right, by our criteria, to be resentful, bitter, unforgiving. Instead, he cries from the cross: "Father, forgive them, they know not what they do." We take up so eagerly the false cross, the false burden, of unforgiveness, weighing ourselves down with it, nailing ourselves to it. Jesus' cross has nothing of this weight. His is the cross of love. On it, He dies to any temptation to hate, to resent, to close his heart to anyone, even those nailing him to the tree.

Secondly, the cross of Christ is not a cross of shame and self-hatred, of false guilt and self-loathing. This is another cross we burden ourselves with. It's a cross we can even imagine Jesus is calling us to take up. Does he not challenge us to repent, to humble ourselves, to not so much as lust in our hearts? This is a cross of despair - despair of ever getting it right, despair of ever being free of patterns of sin which have been with me all my life, despair that it is too late for me to change my ways. It is the cross by which I am never ready to forgive myself, to give myself a break. It is the cross carried by the Robert de Niro figure in the film, The Mission, unable to forgive himself for having killed his brother, and encouraged by a wise Jesuit to devise his own punishment, his own penance. And so he journeys long and hard, struggling over rough terrain and up the side of a high waterfall, dragging behind him the armour and weapons of battle he used to prize so highly. An unnecessary burden, self-imposed.

In the face of this despair about myself, Jesus again shows the way. One of the criminals crucified there, in his self-despair, has given up on himself He can do no better than attack this good man crucified beside him. The good thief is in the same situation. His external freedom is just as limited - he is bound to a cross, unable to move, close to death. He, too, might be tempted to despair, to give up on any hope of a future, to say I've made an absolute mess of my life, this is it. But having just heard Jesus forgive his persecutors, this criminal finds hope in his despair. He finds an inner freedom. He acknowledges his guilt - "we are getting what we deserve for our deeds" - but he does not get trapped in shame. He hopes for a future. "Jesus, remember me, when you come into your kingdom." And Jesus, who has inspired this hope in him, promises him its fulfilment. "Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise."

Thirdly, the cross of Christ is not a cross of perfectionism, of needing to get everything right, to bring everything to a resolution, to have closure on every situation, to have everything neat and settled and in order. Yet this is another cross we burden ourselves with. It's a cross we can imagine Jesus is calling us to take up. Doesn't he challenge us to be perfect as our heavenly Father is perfect, to go the extra mile? This is the cross which says, I am God, and I carry the whole weight of the world on my shoulders. Or if not of the whole world, at least of my own little world - the whole weight of responsibility for my marriage, for my children, for my church community, for my workplace. If anyone's unhappy, it's my burden. If anything is left messy and unresolved, it's my problem to resolve. If anything is flawed and could be done better, then I sacrifice everything else to that goal. This is the cross of fear - fear that things will fall apart if I don't keep them together, fear that the world will not be saved if I am not the Messiah, fear that I will never find completion and fulfilment if I don't find it in this situation.

In the face of this fear, this unbelief, Jesus again shows the way. "Father, into your hands I commend my spirit." Even as God, as God the Son, Jesus needs to surrender to the Father. To surrender his spirit. To surrender his whole mission, which is so obviously unresolved. The disciples he has spent so much time training and preparing to carry on his mission, are in disarray. One claims no knowledge of him, one betrays him to the authorities, the rest scatter. The leaders of his own religion regard him as a blasphemer. So many people remain unhealed, untouched by his word, even in Jerusalem, not to mention the rest of Palestine, the rest of the known world, and the vast unknown world. There is no closure here - only surrender to God of what is, of the reality of the situation, of his spirit. Jesus' cross is the cross of faith, of dying to the temptation to work it all out myself, to have to play God, to be a Messiah in the established sense.

As we enter Holy Week, Jesus does challenge us to take up our cross and follow him. But the cross he calls us to take up is not any old cross, not one I create for myself, but the one he offers. In place of my burden of needing to play God, to hold it all together, to be the Messiah, Jesus offers me the cross of reliance on God, of surrender to God, of faith: "Father, into your hands I surrender my spirit." In place of my burden of despair at my failings, despair of a future, Jesus offers me the cross of hope: "Today, you will be with me in Paradise." In place of my burden of unforgiveness, resentment, Jesus offers me the cross of love: "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do." As we enter Holy Week, we have an opportunity to leave our false crosses at the foot of the true cross of Jesus by celebrating the sacrament of reconciliation tomorrow night. We can give up the crosses of fear, despair and hatred, and take up the cross Jesus offers, the cross of holiness - of faith, and hope and love. Let us not doubt that this cross is a very real cross. It does involve suffering and pain and dying to self. But compared to any cross I create for myself, which is ultimately about my ego, and becomes an ever heavier and more lifeless burden, the true cross always leads me to Jesus and ends up in freedom - for, he assures us, "my yoke is easy, my burden is light." [Matt. 11.30]