I would ask you now to allow your imagination to go to work as we attempt to bring life to two pieces of wood attached to each other to make a cross. This same cross was used to crucify our Lord and now we hear it speak.
I am the cross, in stark reality I am the one who held Jesus as his last breath flowed from his body. When the nails pierced his skin, they also dug deep in my flesh. In truth, I had rather been burned and turned into ashes than to have been a part of his crucifixion, but I am lifeless and had no choice.
Had they been able, they would have heard my voice cry out in terror and scream “no, no, I want no part of this awful transgression against God.”
And yet when they took his body from my arms, I felt a loneliness that is beyond any explanation, and I knew indeed that it was I who had held the Son of God within my arms.
I have since rotted away and not a trace of me can be found.
But still I am. For three days after this terrible act, Jesus conquered death. A victory was won and I became a symbol of that victory.
And my symbol has gone forth into almost every battle since against Satan the arch enemy of Christ.
Men look at me and remember him, and strength and peace beyond understanding passes over them. Once, I was two pieces of wood that was part of man’s inhumanity against man.
But I am also a part of God’s unfailing love for a world that was lost.
I am the cross.