Mark 8: 27-36
A few years ago Peter Senge, author of The Fifth Discipline, was asked why books on Buddhism were selling better than books on Christianity. “I think,” he said, “it’s because Buddhism presents itself as a way of life, and Christianity presents itself as a system of belief”[i] He was making a distinction in how these two religions “present” themselves, with Buddhism as a way of living and Christianity as a set of beliefs. How ironic is that contrast since the early Christians were known as the people of The Way. The first Jesus followers, living before the church councils were convened and the creeds were composed, saw themselves as faithful Jews practicing their faith in the way of Jesus of Nazareth. Jesus’ followers identified themselves not through a shared set of beliefs but by a commitment to Jesus’s spiritual path. Likely those early Christians resembled Buddhists more than modern Christians in their approach to spirituality. They were “following in Jesus’ hopeful way,” to use a key phrase from Open Table’s mission statement.
When and why Christians began to create doctrines and institutions—and then formed their identity around them—is a topic for another day. What’s important at this Lenten season is for us to recall, once more, that Jesus’s Way led him to a cross. We will be following him liturgically to that cross and beyond until Easter. As our Gospel reading today reminds us, the writers of Mark’s Gospel understood Jesus telling them that if they followed him, they too, would have to take up a cross. If Senge is right—that Buddhism offers a way of life—must those of us who do recall the original Christian commitment to Jesus’s Way then concede that Christianity’s way is the way of the cross, the via dolorosa, the way of death rather than life? If so, why would any sane person take that path?
The easy Easter answer is that Jesus’ death leads to life.
But let’s be honest: a paradox devolves into mere contradiction if it doesn’t ignite insight. A paradox deserves to survive only if it is produces light and life. The way of Jesus should be equated with the way of the cross only if the cross somehow leads past horrific and undeserved violence to healing love.
For centuries some have used Jesus’ cross, the linchpin of Christian theology, to rationalize violence. Many who know it has been misappropriated now wonder if the cross can remain a viable symbol for Christianity. While one can argue that even the most innocent of symbols are subject to misuse, the cross was arguably a logical emblem on the battle flag of the Crusaders and as a trademark terrorism tactic for the KKK. That’s because the cross of Jesus is deeply rooted in a theology of violence in service to a God of violence. Many have misconstrued Jesus’s crucifixion as an act required by a righteously angry God who exacted the life of an innocent victim to pay the penalty of human sin.
But that unfortunate assumption that God required an innocent victim in order to forgive humanity—which is the foundation for substitutionary atonement theology—led Christians to use the cross to sanctify their own need for new scapegoats. And because Jesus told his disciples they, too, would have crosses to bear, the powerful in this world have sometimes justified oppression by telling the powerless that, well, we all have our crosses to bear.
Heartrending examples of how Jesus’ cross continues to create new victims are found in the book Proverbs of Ashes: Violence, Redemptive Suffering, and the Search for What Saves Us.[ii] The book begins with the story of one female pastor, Pat, whose parishioner, Anola, was stabbed to death by her enraged husband, who wielded ten kitchen knives in front of their three children. One of the children would later report, “Daddy bent the knife in Mommy’s tummy, then he went to get the sharp knife. We was crying when Daddy was killing Mommy” (19). Pat, their minister, confided to one of the authors that Anola had thought it “her religious duty” to return to her abusive husband even though Pat counseled her otherwise and offered her shelter at the parsonage. Pat explained, “I t[old] her it’s her religious duty to protect her own life and take care of herself so she can protect her children. But my words . . . [were] not enough” (Brock and Parker 17). The author, upon hearing this colleague’s anguish, responded:
“Pat, the only way you could have helped Anola more is if the whole Christian tradition taught something other than self-sacrificing love. If it didn’t preach that to be like Jesus we have to give up our lives in faithful obedience to the will of God.”
“But,” Pat said, “this IS what the church teaches. And Anola is dead.”
The author says from then on she tested Christian theology against this question: “Would this theology have helped Anola . . . resist the violence [she] faced?” (28-29).
I tell you this story before unpacking today’s text because I believe the church has often misunderstood Jesus’s call to “take up our cross.” I think this misunderstanding especially takes place when a religious authority or some other person in power tells someone else who has less power—to take up their cross. This is such a serious matter that I will not talk about taking up the cross of Jesus without this warning: no one but Jesus has the right to ask you to take up your cross. No minister or loved one or institution can even define that cross for you. If someone asks you, explicitly or implicitly, to sacrifice your selfhood, your freedom, your dignity to enhance their power and privilege, consider this: Such a request is likely an act of disrespect at best and abuse at worst. Remember Jesus believes you are worthy of infinite love. Remember that those who can offer selfless love are able to do so only when they have whole and healthy selves to share. Remember that any virtue can be twisted into something harmful and that selfless love can be misshapen into self-loathing and self-destruction.
It’s no wonder, friends, that the apostle Paul wrote to the Corinthians that proclaiming “Christ crucified” was “a stumbling block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles” (I Cor. 1: 13). That the Messiah would endure an ignoble death surely seemed confusing and even foolish. But worse than confusion, worse than foolishness is the harm caused by those who’ve used the cross to justify oppression and violence. Let us remember that the cross--at the “crux” of Christian theology--should remind “its followers and all other religions that to know God is to be concerned about [all] victims of our world”[iii].
Wary of how the cross has been misused, we return once more to Jesus’s warning that if the disciples were going to follow him, they would have to take up their crosses, too. As soon as Peter expresses his understanding of Jesus as the Messiah (the anointed one whom God sent to save them), Jesus explains that to fulfill the Messianic role, he’ll have to suffer and die. Peter believes Jesus has misunderstood. How can Jesus rally the people and resist Rome if he’s killed? So Peter takes Jesus aside to correct him. But Jesus corrects Peter and then explains to all who were gathered: If you want to be one of my followers, the cost is high. You must deny yourself and take up your cross and follow me. Because in order to save your life, you must lose it. A key theme in Mark is the high cost of discipleship.
Now keep in mind that Mark’s Gospel was written about the year 70 CE, not long after Rome burned in 64 CE and Nero, who blamed the Christians, then incited their persecution. So Mark’s readers were already suffering for being Jesus followers. The community that produced Mark is both recalling Jesus’s teaching that God’s way is costly—and actually experiencing suffering for being followers of The Way. This story puts together the community’s memory of Jesus and their current experiences of living with the cost of being his followers.
Of course, you and I live in very different circumstances. Certainly in some parts of the world some Christians endure persecution. But when Americans who live in the Deep South and who live as part of the Christian majority complain that they are being persecuted—when they complain, for instance, they are not allowed to pray publicly in schools or erect a cross on public property—they’ve confused persecution with simple restrictions that respect others’ rights. Our cultural situation differs greatly from the political/social conditions of Mark’s readers. We are in no danger of being crucified because we follow in Jesus’s way.
And yet, in some sense, we too, are called to take up our crosses. While aware of the misuses of the cross, we nevertheless find deep wisdom at the core of Jesus’ teaching that is, back to the Peter Senge comparsion, not so different from a Buddhist teaching. To be “crucified with Christ” so that, as St. Paul said, we no longer live but Christ lives in us, is like the Buddhist concept of Sunyata, which literally means “Emptiness.” “Not emptiness in the purely negative sense of nothingness but emptiness in the sense of being able to receive anything. . . . Sunyata means to have one’s own existence blow away (crucified?).” (Knitter 12). Buddhists experience Sunyata when they let go of selfishness to become other-centered and inter-related with all. Christians experience the unitive “mind of Christ” when they die to self in order to become Christ-centered and inter-related with all.
To die or crucify the self is not an act of masochism but of letting go, a turning loose, a trust in something larger than oneself, a relaxing into God’s arms, a relinquishing of the illusion that we are in charge of the universe. This kind of spiritual dying is freeing as a false self dies and a truer, fuller self is born.
As we take up our crosses, notice that means each of us has a distinctive cross to bear. Jesus’s way, I believe, is less about all of us finding the same route and more about how we travel whatever road. Jesus, you see, never spelled out what exactly his followers were to believe and very little about what they were to do. Instead, he said, “Follow me,” as if they’d only understand by watching and by taking one step at a time. Good teacher that he was, Jesus didn’t lecture; his students learned by doing, by being with him, and then by reflecting on what they had done. So together they fed the multitudes, broke some religious laws, healed the sick, listened to parables, etc. No wonder multiple Gospels developed: everyone’s experience of Jesus was a bit different. Like any meaningful relationship, your followship of Jesus will be uniquely yours.
Likewise, the cross you take up is unique to each of you.
But for all of us there is some kind of dying we must do in order to live. There is something in our lives that we grasp too tightly and we can be saved only by letting go of it, or at least our dependency on it. It may not threaten our physical life, but it compromises our spiritual health. It may not be a bad thing in and of itself, but it may be limiting us.
Even in our community of faith, friends, we must learn to love and care for this fellowship while holding it lightly. What a spiritual challenge! To love with deep commitment but without a sense of ownership. Open Table will continue to mature only to the extent that we can hold it closely, dearly, yet not tightly. We can’t follow Jesus into freedom and spiritual maturity if we are overly concerned about the mere survival of our young church, or if we equate our membership in Open Table with our relationship to God. Self-preservation cannot be our highest goal.
You and I cannot, as individuals, follow Jesus except, step by step, moment by moment, crucifying our egos and agendas upon our customized crosses. We cannot follow Jesus by adopting a correct belief system that demands little from us. Instead, we follow Jesus by carrying a cross weighted with the cares of the world. This is a demanding discipleship. But Jesus leads on ahead of us.
PRAYER
O Dying and Rising Savior and Friend, teach us, day by day, to bear our crosses, to trust the God of Compassion enough so that we can love more deeply and live more freely. Amen
[i] McLaren, Brian. Finding Our Way Again. Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 2008, p. 3.
[ii] Brock, Rita Nakashima and Rebecca Ann Parker. Proverbs of Ashes: Violence, Redemptive Suffering, and the Search for What Saves Us. Boston: Beacon Press, 2001
[iii] Knitter, Paul. Without Buddha I Could Not Be a Christian. Oxford: OneWorld, 2009, p. 126.
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