My son once fashioned a gnarled cross from two fallen limbs. Atop it he hung a twisted circle of rusty barbed wire he found in a field behind the church. Each year we paraded that weathered sign up the center aisle near the end of the Good Friday liturgy. And three times the gathered faithful would whisper, "Behold, the life-giving cross on which was hung the salvation of the whole world."
Through 20 centuries, the cross has never ceased shattering illusions about who God is and how God acts. Jesus, in whom the fullness of God is pleased to dwell, suffers horrifically and dies. In that dying the impenetrable mystery who is God takes on human face, and we see: God's nature is a determined, suffering love, not overbearing power or domination.
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