I Meant What I Said

Palm Sunday. Lent ends, Holy Week begins, and time collapses.

Well, at least that's how I feel when we read today's Gospel (Mk 14:1-15:47). Palm Sunday is about Jesus' triumphant ride into Jerusalem but the focus is already on Holy Thursday and Good Friday. Why are we already talking about the cross when that's still five days away?

The passion and death of Christ on the cross is a sobering reminder of what lies ahead. Today, Jesus is heralded as a hero, welcomed as the Messiah, called the King. In just five days, we -- like those gathered in Jerusalem 2,000 years ago -- will turn on him, abandon him, mock him, and avoid persecution by being identified with him. Today's Gospel not only speaks volumes about Christ (as does the Second Reading, Philippians 2:6-11, on which I wrote about last Palm Sunday (03/16/08) -- so you can select the label to the right for why this earliest of all Christologies is so significant). It also speaks volumes about us. And what it has to say isn't exactly pretty.

Have you ever wondered why the cross is the central Christian symbol? Why -- and how -- did a form of the death penalty become the symbol by which we profess our faith? Isn't it wholly depressing to consider that we place this cross not only on churches and in classrooms, on t-shirts and cars, around our necks and in body art as something so "normal"? Do we really consider what it means to be saved by the cross? Do we think about the pain and torture that this symbol represents? Do we realize that this method of execution was reserved for only the worst criminals and the worthless social outcasts? Do we think of the thousands of people who died upon these wooden transepts? Or do we just think of the One? And why do we need the cross to remember the Christ?

A friend of mine responded to this question by saying, "The cross reminds me that Jesus not only loves us enough to die for us or to save me from sin and death. The cross reminds me that Jesus is telling me -- then and now -- that 'I meant what I said.'"

It would have been easy for Jesus to give in to Pontius Pilate, change his tune about the purpose of his ministry, or never head into Jerusalem in the first place. Jesus very well could have avoided the cross. But he didn't. Instead, he stood by his word of unequaled and unconditional love for us (for more about this, read John 15:11-17). He, as the Second Reading tells us, gave himself to us in self-gift, no matter the pain, torture, embarrassment, or misery he was in for. The cross tells us -- then and now -- that Jesus meant what he said. He followed through on his word to the very end.

Since we are at the end of Lent, it might be a good time for us to think about how we spent the past 40 days. Did we make more time for prayer? Did we fast in order to increase our hunger for God? Did we serve those in need or give alms to the poor? Whether we gave something up or took something on, have we grown closer to Christ over the past six weeks? Have we opened ourselves to God's grace to more fully rely on God's providence?

We talked about doing all these things just 40 days ago. How do we measure up today?
Did you mean what you said? How does God know?

Maybe that's why the cross is our central symbol? Because it reminds us that Christ meant what he said. He did what we simply cannot do, because of our finitude and sin. And of course, Christ knew that we certainly could not save ourselves; we cannot even follow through on our word. And Jesus loves us anyway. He loves us enough to die for us like a despised criminal. And that's just not something we can ever let become "normal" to us.

The next time you see a cross, think about what it means:
"I meant what I said."

Do you? How do we know?