Broken Cross

It's Maunday Thursday. It's time to bring the big cross, the one made from 4 X 4's, up out of the boiler room and lug it over to the Sanctuary. Tonight it's inside. Tomorrow it goes out in front of the church. It's part of my discipline for these days.

I went to check on it, the cross I mean. It was broken. Sometime during the year it had fallen over and the top broke off. I said a prayer of thanksgiving that some one hadn't pitched it. Broken stuff is trash after all. Then I went to get the wood glue. Someone who knew better reminded me that I needed marine wood glue. Water disolves the other stuff. There are no guarantees about weather.

In some ways it makes sense to have a busted and repaired cross. The original wasn't pretty. Just another blood stained torture devise. And besides, we're busted, broken by the ups and downs, the ins and outs and 'round about's. We all carry scars. But that doesn't make us any less important. The nasty thing stands there are a brutal reminder of our broken-ness and the power of love to heal.

I like the cross. It matches me.