The Way of the Cross

​Our Gospel reading describes the single most important turning point in Jesus’ entire ministry.
 
Back at the beginning of the Gospel, Jesus called his disciples to follow him. But Jesus didn’t tell them where he planned to lead them. Jesus just said, “Follow me” (1:17, 20).
 
Immediately, Jesus starts doing amazing things. Word spreads, and Jesus gains a small but committed following and a considerably larger fan base.
 
As they watched all this happening, I’m guessing the disciples were excited about where they seemed to be heading.
 
Just before our passage, Jesus asks the disciples who they think he is. With breathless excitement, Peter blurts out, “You are the Messiah” (8:29). Jesus confirmed that Peter was right.
 
We need to pause here.
 
Already the disciples have displayed impressive faith. They dropped everything to follow Christ, without any questions asked or any idea where they were headed.
 
But so far, the disciples haven’t lost anything they can’t get back. Peter could still return home and resume fishing if he wanted.
 
But at this point, Peter and the others must have been confident that following Jesus was a good decision by even the most worldly standards. They had given up life as peasants, and, for one blissful moment, the disciples could reasonably hope that Jesus was about to establish a kingdom, with them by his side.
 
But only for a moment. Because the very next thing Jesus does, in the first line of our reading, is tell them that they are NOT heading towards an earthly kingdom. Instead, Jesus himself will suffer and die.
 
Peter is understandably shocked. How could the Messiah die? How could Peter lose his beloved lord and master? And what about Peter’s hopes for greatness and glory in Jesus’ kingdom?
 
In what comes next, Jesus makes it worse. Not only is Jesus leading Peter and the gang to his own brutal execution. Jesus adds that anyone who wants to follow him should be prepared to take up their crosses too. Anyone who followed Jesus had to be prepared to suffer painful death themselves out of loyalty to Jesus.
 
This is a real test of faith, maybe the first real test the disciples have faced. Can they stick with Jesus, letting go of their hope for immediate earthly rewards? Can they follow Jesus on the way of the cross?
 
That’s the test for us, too, a test we focus on more in Lent than any other season. Can we walk the way of the cross with Jesus?
 
The disciples passed the test. They kept following Jesus. We can ask, what kept them going? Which is a way of asking, what do we need to keep going?
 
The first answer is, hope. Thankfully, there were bits of hope even in the midst of this grim message. After Jesus was killed, he would, he promised, rise again. And those who were prepared to lose their lives for Jesus’ sake would, in some mysterious way, gain their lives back.
 
Jesus means two things here. One is a promise that his followers will rise again after death and enter into eternal life with God. That is Christian hope in the face of death and loss.
 
But Jesus was also telling them that they could find true life even now if they were totally dedicated to him. True life, and divine love, and forgiveness, and joy. On the way of the cross. Only on the way of the cross.
 
That’s the promise to us, too. We look forward in hope to eternal life, and we believe that even now we can experience the joy that comes with living as God calls us to live.
 
But the cost may be high. It takes at least a willingness to give up everything, including life itself, for God.
 
Like the disciples with Jesus that day two thousand years ago, we are offered the promise but also issued the call: to put Christ first, no matter what it costs, in the faith and hope that true life is in Christ, both now and in eternity.
 
Trusting that promise enough to answer the call takes faith. It took faith for the disciples, and it takes faith for us.
 
Our reading from Paul can help on this. Paul offers the Old Testament patriarch Abraham as the model for all of us who live, or try to live, by faith. Abraham received promises from God, promises about his future and the future of his family. And even when the promises seemed impossible, Paul reminds us, Abraham kept “hoping against hope” that the promises of God would come true.
 
That is our challenge: like Abraham, like Jesus’ disciples, to hope against hope, to hold onto God’s promises even when it is hard, to keep the faith on the way of the cross.
 
And because it is sometimes hard to keep hoping against hope, we practice. Abraham shows us the way. As Paul tells us, Abraham “grew strong in his faith as he gave glory to God.” I love that line.
 
People sometimes think that faith comes before worship, as if they have to figure it all out, as if they have to be firm in their convictions, as if their faith has to be strong before they can pray or worship. But they have it backwards. Strong faith doesn’t lead to prayer and worship. Prayer and worship lead to strong faith.
 
Abraham struggled along the way. But Abraham kept giving glory to God and, as he did so, his faith grew strong enough that Paul calls him the father of all who believe. The disciples botched it over and over again. But they kept following Christ and, slowly but surely, they grew in their faith and understanding to the point that they became great heroes of faith.
 
The same is true for us. When we are struggling in our faith, we should give glory to God. When people around us struggle, we should invite them to pray or to worship with us. And if we, or they, have reservations, that is all the more reason to give glory to God.
 
I know that daily prayer bolsters my faith more than anything else I do. I bet many of us could say the same. Lots of other things help, and we necessarily rely on God in the end to provide us with the faith we need. But what we can do to cultivate faith and hope in God’s promises, and so endurance on the way of the cross, is pray. Pray and worship and give God glory.
 
This is not rocket science. But it’s easy to slip into bad habits. I know that from recent experience. In the weeks before Lent, I had begun skipping one part of my daily prayer routine with some regularity, and missing another part more often than necessary. If I had continued down that road, my faith would have suffered eventually.
 
And this is why I love Lent. Lent is a season to commit, or recommit, to life-giving spiritual practices. I am back to my full routine, and it is a relief. To be more faithful in prayer feels good. I am a bit more grounded in God, a bit stronger in my faith, and therefore a bit more able to handle the trials and tribulations of life with grace and sometimes even with joy.
 
If you are not already doing so, I encourage you to commit to a daily prayer practice for the rest of Lent.
 
But for now, I give thanks to God for Christ, who leads us on the way, sustains us along the way, and invites us to prayerful relationship with him. In Christ’s name. Amen.