The Cross

I don't wear crosses anymore.

I have a ring I got when I was in college that I've kept, but I don't buy shirts emblazoned with a cross or wear necklaces that dangle a silver shape down the front of my shirt. Part of the reason for this is that I just don't find the cross terribly fashionable. But a big reason is that the cross as fashion has no meaning to me.

I've noticed, especially since the early part of the 2000's, that the cross is a growing symbol. Ed Hardy-esque shirts have the cross in the midst of tattoo like graffiti. James Avery made the cross jewelry fad super popular- its where my never worn ring came from. Now one can find crosses fashioned with baubles of all colors, shapes and sizes, from pink to black. I see celebrities wearing their crosses and talking about who made them. Cross tattoos are common on rappers, rockers - usually seen on arms extending a middle finger or knocking back large quantities of liquor - and athletes.

I don't wear crosses because they don't mean anything anymore.

Not theologically, of course- they will always have meaning for me there- but in the public eye the cross is just decoration. I remember a class in college that talked about how a culture group or ethnicity would take a slur, a negative nickname, and claim it as their own. In doing so, they lessened the sting of the vulgar word to the point their bigoted enemies would stop using it because it had no affect on them. Christianity co-opted the Cross and made good use of it for a couple thousand years, turning the image of a death instrument into a symbol of hope. But now, the over-saturated image has lost it's punch.

The cross used to bring to mind forgiveness, rescue, sacrifice, despair and hope. Once, a wearer of a cross was identified WITH the Cross- no person who didn't believe would wear it. The Cross was a definer of us. Now it is an accessory.

So, with Good Friday coming soon, I've been thinking about the Cross. About how I won't wear a cross until my view of the Cross is right. If I ever put one on again, I want it to be a reminder of the horror of that day. Of the copious amounts of blood that was shed. Of the torn and mutilated flesh of Christ as He hung there, shedding more forgiveness that He shed blood and sweat. I want to remember that it was my sin that made Him choose to die this way, on this barbaric death-torture device. That it was me He forgave for not knowing what I was doing. That when He finally breathed His last, and said it was finished, He was really just beginning.

I want to once again look at a cross and be reminded of Christ, not a designer. I want to be broken, shattered to the point of tears when I gaze upon the horrific and beautiful Cross. I want to to be shocked out of apathy when I see that symbol that speaks deeply of Jesus love and sacrifice for me.

I want to wear a cross again only when it means as much to me as it did to Jesus.