The Promise and Burden of Responsibility
Last Sunday, we were considering an earlier passage from Matthew 16, which is Peter’s declaration about Jesus, “You are the Christ, the Son of the Living God.”  One of Jesus’ sayings, which appears in the context of that declaration, is, “I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven, and whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven.”
Well, in many Roman Catholic churches, you will see the sign of Peter, which is the keys.  The matter of binding and loosing appears a number of times in Matthew’s gospel.  It is difficult precisely what is being indicated here.  Without going into the details of it, suffice it to say that it would seem to indicate that, for those who share the faith of Peter, one’s actions, one’s life course, in the present time, have a sequel.  There is a permanent quality to what happens now.  There is a meaning which transcends present-day life.
Now, in the passage I read to you this morning, there is a condition, shall we say, placed on these words of promise to Peter.  Peter had contradicted Jesus on the matter of the suffering Jesus said he would undergo.  Jesus replied, “Get behind me Satan...”  And then, Jesus said to his disciples, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.”  That seems to be the condition associated with the earlier words of promise.  [To repeat:]  “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.”
Now, what does that mean?  What does that entail—taking up our cross, and following Jesus?  I am sure that there are all sorts of different responses to that question.  But perhaps we can find some wisdom in looking at Jesus’ own passion and death, and the circumstances surrounding it.  Perhaps that can help us understand more fully what it might mean for us to take up our crosses.
Well, one of the words of the cross—of course, there are considered to be Seven Words from the Cross, which are spread over the three or four gospels—one of the words of cross is a quotation from the first words of Psalm 22, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
Now, there are those who feel that these words of Jesus indicate an actual state of affairs—namely, that God did abandon Jesus.  “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”  Some understand it in a very straight-forward manner—God abandoned Jesus.  Of course, in order to see it that way, there is a certain understanding of Jesus’ death for us, taking the full brunt of God’s wrath, or the darkness associated with the absence of God.  That is one way of looking at it.
Another way to look at is that Jesus felt that God had abandoned him, and therefore said, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
There is one third interpretation, which we need not follow, I don’t think.  But it is commonly held.  And that is that, when Jesus quoted the first verse of Psalm 22, he actually had in mind the whole of the psalm which concludes in a very positive way.  So Jesus, when he used the psalm, ultimately had hope.
However, I think it is valuable for us to consider that Jesus felt abandoned by God.  Certainly, he was abandoned by his twelve disciples.  They left him in one way or another.
But, despite all of that, the prayer that Jesus makes, which is a quotation from Psalm 22:1, includes the words, “My God, my God...”  In other words, Jesus did not fall into so much despair that he would no longer address God.  He, like Job before him, addressed God in the period of his greatest need.
And perhaps, that is one way in which we can take up our cross—and that is, by bringing before God our need, even though we may feel that God may be distant from us, and not at all close.
But perhaps, there is another aspect for us to consider—and that is that, of course, we live in circumstances where we ourselves or others are in significant need.  And those others need signs that they are cared for, that people remember them, and signs of care are much appreciated.
Now, this is not always easy for us to carry out.  It is not always easy for us to be present to people in their need.  And frequently, I would say, we fail in this.  However, this is part of taking up our cross, I would say—to be with people in their need, so that they do not feel abandoned or forsaken.  On behalf of God, to be somewhat God’s presence with them in their circumstances.
Now, Jesus’ experience of the cross—and I am continuing to reflect on Jesus’ own experience of the cross, to see how this might connect with how we might take up our own cross—Jesus’ experience on the cross involved being put to death as a criminal, as a blasphemer.  The Jewish authorities were ready to put him to death, because, as far as they were concerned, he was blaspheming against God.  The Roman authorities were ready to go along with this, because there was a hint, at least, that he and his followers were part of an insurrection-movement—hence the title they gave him, King of the Jews.  He was there to overthrow Rome.  Even Pilate didn’t take that threat very seriously.  But he was crucified on that basis, Jesus King of the Jews.
Also, Jesus, in his experience from the cross, underwent a great deal of mockery, with him as the object of that mockery.  He was hit, spat upon.  He went through a whole charade of putting on a crown of thorns, and a scarlet robe.
So, all of those circumstances would tend, obviously, to humiliate a person, make that person feel like nothing, like a worthless piece of matter on the face of the earth.
However, as far as we can see, Jesus did not abandon his sense of self, as being uniquely connected to God, as Son, as a child of God.  Nor did he answer the abuse he received by giving abuse.  As the apostle Paul said, “[He overcame] evil with good, rather than answering evil with evil.”
Alexsandr Solzhenitsyn, the Russian writer, was interned in a Stalinist work camp, in the 1950’s and later, I believe.  One of the things that came out of that experience for Solzhenitsyn was a realization that, no matter what happened, or what sort of abuse he received (like his fellow inmates), the system, this Stalinist system, could not crush the human spirit.
One way in which we can take up our cross is not to allow circumstances to diminish us, to render us less than who we are, as God’s children, through faith in Christ.
And another associated way in which we an take up our cross is not to be people who diminish others, by our attitudes, our words, our approach, but practise, among other things, forgiveness, and, if there is to be justice, have that justice tempered by mercy.
So two ways, then, in which we can take up our cross—continuing to pray in our need, and being a presence to others in their need; holding fast to the sense of who we are, even though others’ words and actions, and circumstances, and our own actions, might diminish that; and also being forgiving and compassionate to others, even if justice is required.
Now, one of Jesus’ experiences of the cross was perhaps the threat, at least, that all that he had announced, all that he had lived, would then simply evaporate, would simply vanish.  There would be no sequel.  This would be the end.
Now, we read in the gospels, Matthew, Mark and Luke, that, despite there being really no one around with a receptive ear—there were people mocking him and the like—there was one soldier, who, when Jesus died, said, “Truly, this man was innocent” (according to Mark’s gospel), or “Truly this man was the son of God” (following Matthew’s gospel).  So here was someone already who was recalling, who was a witness of, Jesus, and who could recall this person to another person.
There were not the twelve there at the cross.  But there were three women, as we are told, in Matthew’s gospel.  There was Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James and Joses, and the mother of the sons of Zebedee.  These three women were an indication that this was not end.  And, in fact, at least two of these women were present when Jesus was buried by Joseph of Arimathea, and two of the women were also present at the empty tomb.  So they were a sign that this was not the end.
In our lives, we may feel that our efforts amount to very little.  Where do they actually go?  What do they actually contribute to?  However, there is the sense, through Scripture, that one of the crosses we bear is to hold out the hope that our efforts now have a sequel, not only in the immediate future but beyond that, in the completion of God’s purposes for humanity, both now and in the new creation that God is bringing into being.
But perhaps associated with that, another aspect of taking up our cross, is learning from what others have handed down to us.  And all of us have had people who have been role models  for us—people who have been very important in our lives, whether they are parents, grandparents, other special individuals.  We need to learn from their efforts, and be a living embodiment that there is a future to human efforts.
Now, there are, as we know, organizations that have come into being in this sort of way—people who have gone through something dreadful, at times, and learned from that, and they desperately want to pass that on to succeeding generations.  Of course, we have the Canadian Legion, which is devoted to that.  We have also the organization, MADD, Mothers Against Drunk Driving.  And that organization has sprung out of great grief and sorrow and anger, and the desire that drunk driving cease to be the plague that it has been, and continues somewhat to be.
I, myself, did not watch the entirety of the funeral service for Jack Layton, which took place in Roy Thomson Hall in Toronto.  But I saw the representative samples on the evening news, as perhaps some of you did, as well.  It was a funeral service like none other, almost.  But, in that funeral service, there were a number of elements, I would say, which reflected a human desire to learn from past errors, past injustices, past hostilities, and so on.  So, for example, an aboriginal person was part of the service.  The minister who conducted the service is a minister of the Metropolitan Church in Toronto, which is “for” openly-gay persons.  There were at least three persons reading scripture.  I saw two of them.  A Muslim woman read from the Koran, and a Jewish man from the Hebrew Scriptures, what we know as the Old Testament.  To me, that service had certain controversial elements.  But, for me, that service was an effort, was a sign, that we do learn from the past, from the agony that some people have gone through, from the hate that has been perpetrated between people of different religions, for example.  And so that is a sign, for me, of taking up the cross, as well.
There are these various ways of taking up the cross.  We continue in our prayer to God, in our need.  We also seek to be a presence to others, in their need.  We hold on to our identity as children of God, despite the circumstances, despite our own failures; and we also seek to be forgiving people, and compassionate people even in the midst of justice.  And, furthermore, we do not give up in the efforts of our lives; but believe that they do have a sequel, whether in the immediate future, or beyond.  And we also seek to be people who learn from the efforts, the agony sometimes, of people in the past.
As Jesus said, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.”