The cross. The shed blood of Christ. These are the thoughts that make me bow my head and weep. These are at the core of my story as a believer. Let me be washed in the blood of the Lamb. The resurrection is coming and with it great rejoicing. But we cannot go running past the cross to get there. We must endure the cross and its shame.
I have a young artist friend who is about to present her senior show as part of her graduation requirements from a Christian college. This summer she shared with me a piece that was to be a part of this show. It was one of her most beautiful pieces. In ink, she had intricately drawn the outstretched hand of our beloved Savior on the cross. His wrist pierced with a spike, his red blood dripping down. The hand with middle two fingers down in his palm eloquently stating “I Love You” in American Sign Language, the language of the Deaf. It was powerful. It drew me in. The borders of this work of art were completely filled with the “I Love You” of Christ in Swahili, and Tedim, and Korean, and French, and Tagalog, and Yoruba and 67 other languages from around the world; most were written by the hands of someone from that particular language group. A stunning and captivating work of art.
Yesterday this artist shared with me that her professor was not going to allow the piece in the show. His reasoning… “the offense that might be taken at the perceived violence in the painting.” Perceived violence? Was the violence inflicted on our Savior merely perceived? My heart aches at how ludicrous this is. I cannot help but find myself at the foot of that cross as I weep.
The cross. Doesn’t scripture tell me to take up this cross daily; to be willing to lay down my life? While some days my trials may very well be perceived, or at least blown out of proportion, I know that Christ collapsed under the burden of the load He carried. HE was bruised and beaten and bloodied and He succumbed to weight. And where were the followers, the believers, the disciples? Did they take up His cross? No. Perhaps they too were offended by the blood and pain – the violence. No, the soldiers picked a man out of the crowd to help the Christ. I long to believe that if I had been there Simon of Cyrene would not have been an actor in this Passion play. I would like to think that I would have run to the side of my Savior and lifted the load. And yet I know that being made of flesh and bone means my heart would probably have failed in that moment like all of the others.
But my soul pulses with the knowledge of WHO He is. And my spirit cries out “let His blood flow down. Let it flow on my head and on my hands. Let it stain my very soul that I might never forget the price He paid for me. “I am not offended by the blood of Christ. I wear it. Without it I would be naked and I would be bound in my shame. With it, I am washed and I am free. Lord, let me never be offended by Your cross.
At the Cross
By Isaac Watts (ref. by Ralph E. Hudson)
Alas! And did my Savior bleed
And did my Sovereign die?
Would He devote that sacred head
For such a worm as I?
Thy body slain, sweet Jesus, Thine--
And bathed in its own blood--
While the firm mark of wrath divine,
His soul in anguish stood.
Was it for crimes that I had done
He groaned upon the tree?
Amazing pity! grace unknown!
And love beyond degree!
Well might the sun in darkness hide
And shut his glories in,
When Christ, the mighty Maker died,
For man the creature’s sin.
Thus might I hide my blushing face
While His dear cross appears,
Dissolve my heart in thankfulness,
And melt my eyes to tears.
But drops of grief can ne’er repay
The debt of love I owe:
Here, Lord, I give myself away,
’Tis all that I can do.
Refrain:
At the cross, at the cross where I first saw the light,
And the burden of my heart rolled away,
It was there by faith I received my sight,
And now I am happy all the day!
*Note – A special thank you to Katie Wincek for allowing me to use her art here in this space. A follow-up note - she wrote a poignant letter to the college president regarding her position on this piece. He relented and allowed the piece in the show.