The Way of the Cross

There is a struggle playing out in our gospel lesson today. The struggle isn’t new; in fact, it is as old as time. If you pay attention to what Matthew has been writing in his gospel account so far, this is a recurring theme. Two sides are vying for control, expressing very different ideas of why Jesus has taken on human form and walked among us. Two different ideas for what it means to be the Messiah.

Jesus is preparing the disciples for his eventual death. He keeps hinting at it, but they keep seeing him do wonderful, miraculous things, and a deep disconnect develops. How can Jesus suffer and die when he’s doing all this good stuff? This isn’t what they expected, and the disciples are surprised by it and perhaps a bit fearful.

Finally, after listening to Jesus explain how he must suffer and die at the hands of religious authorities, Peter has had enough. He pulls Jesus aside, and he is rather emphatic in his words: “God forbid it!” he tells Jesus. “This must never happen to you!”

Now, we can understand Peter’s distress. If someone you deeply loved and admired told you they were going to suffer and be murdered by the religious establishment, you might, I hope, have a similar reaction.

But Jesus rebukes Peter. And if you thought Peter was using strong language, the words of Jesus will cause you to pause, perhaps even stagger. “Get behind me, Satan!” Satan! This is the same Peter that Jesus has just promised to build his church upon. It is a harsh rebuke, and if Jesus delivered it to us, we’d be stunned.

But when we read this passage, we should demystify the word satan. Jesus isn’t saying the ‘devil’ or implying that Peter is somehow dressed in red, has horns, a tail, and is carrying a pitchfork. Instead, we should read it as we find the word used in the book of Job. The satan is a being who acts as an adversary to God’s will, an opponent who tests, tempts, and questions the path forward. Peter’s well-intentioned love has become a stumbling block to the very mission of God. Chelsey Harmon profoundly notes that when Peter hears what Jesus has to say, he cries out, “God forbid it!” But the truth is, in Jesus’s suffering, death, and resurrection, God forbids anything from stopping him.

Jesus continues by expressing how those who will follow him will experience a difficult path. The passage about picking up our crosses is well known, but there is a warning there too. Some people are a bit too eager to pick up their cross. Some use it as a weapon to judge others, and some use it as a crutch. Neither approach is a good example of discipleship.

We also have a highly sanitized notion of the cross today. Time and space have softened the absolute brutality of crucifixion. In his commentary, Andrew McGowan reminds us that crucifixion was associated strictly with slaves and rebels. It was a shameful, prolonged process deemed appropriate only for people of the lowest status. McGowan notes that our mental pictures of it are often inaccurate; the condemned did not carry the whole cross, but the heavy wooden cross-bar, dragging it through the streets while people watched.

So when Jesus tells his disciples to “take up the cross,” he is referring to that journey of profound shame. He is not talking about noble suffering; he is evoking vulnerability, ridicule, and rejection by the world. To us today, taking up the cross refers specifically to the struggles we face because we choose to follow the radical, loving path of Jesus. It is not an invitation to view general human suffering, illness, or tragedy as a “test from God.” Rather, it reminds us that the way of following Jesus runs entirely counter to the wisdom of the world. Dominican theologian Herbert McCabe put it acutely: “If you don’t love, you’re dead, and if you do, they’ll kill you.”

The passage holds up two contrasting ideas of the Messiah. Peter is shocked—this isn’t what I signed up for! But Jesus knows that to break the bonds of sin and death, he must take on that brokenness himself.

This tension between worldly power and the cross hasn’t gone away. Eugene Gibson writes that Western Christianity, which is often built on pillars of capitalism, white supremacy, patriarchy, and heteronormativity, has a very difficult task in grasping the idea of self-denial. When Jesus asks, “What do you gain if you have the whole world but lose your soul?”, it acts as a mirror, revealing how often the church has sought worldly power rather than the way of the cross.

(The Daily Meditation from the Center for Action and Contemplation talks about this passage from Matthew. You can read the full devotion here: Center for Action and Contemplation – Following in Jesus’ Footsteps.)

While preparing for this morning, I came across an illustration from Fyodor Dostoevsky’s novel The Brothers Karamazov that sums this up beautifully. In a parable called “The Grand Inquisitor,” Jesus returns to Earth during the Spanish Inquisition. He performs miracles, but is promptly arrested by the leaders of the Church and sentenced to burn.

The Grand Inquisitor visits Jesus in his cell and explains why the Church voted “yes” to imperial power. “The Church no longer needs you,” he says. “You were wrong to refuse the power to feed the poor, perform a miraculous leap from the Temple, and grab rulership over the world. We picked up where you left off… In fact, we corrected your mistake. What you don’t understand is that humanity cannot handle the free will you gave them. We gave them what they really need: security.”

Jesus doesn’t respond, except to listen in silence. When the Inquisitor is finally finished, Jesus silently kisses him on his bloodless, aged lips. Startled, the Inquisitor lets Jesus go with a warning: do not return again.

There are some striking, chilling words in that story:

The church no longer needs you.

We picked up where you left off.

In fact, we corrected your mistake.

For many years, this is exactly what the capital ‘C’ Church has done, knowingly or unknowingly. We judge people. We discriminate. We exclude. We like to think of ourselves as welcoming, but welcoming to whom? We want to help, but often the people we help just look like us.

People who attend church often wonder where everyone else is. Don’t they know how nice we are and what good we do? And the answer is, no, they don’t. When those outside the church think of us, they often think of the times we chose power over love. They think of the blemishes that turned them away.

What might attract them? The church has been trying to figure that out for years. We’ve been trying to create programming, activities, and worship experiences for people to come in and consume. But maybe that’s the problem. Jesus wasn’t telling Peter to be the next best thing. He wasn’t telling Peter to be a central pillar of societal power. The message of Jesus isn’t about grabbing power or providing a polished product. It is about radical humility.

Deny yourself.

Pick up the cross.

Follow Jesus.

The path is difficult, and it runs counter to everything the world tells us is important. But in walking it, we receive a reward far beyond our understanding. In this way, and only in this way, can we truly be at peace with God, with each other, and with ourselves.

Amen.