From a normally comfortable, relatively safe, anesthetized life in middle or upper class America, I think the cross frequently strikes us as odd or even bizarre–at best, an incredibly dramatic demonstration of God’s love and self-sacrifice (perhaps a little over the top); at worst, a grotesque and unnecessary death that sets a role model for us to follow in nonviolent resistance and fidelity to faith. In the West, we don’t like to think about a God of wrath, a God of justice. We prefer a God of forgiveness, but we don’t really stop to think what He’s forgiving us from. God’s forgiveness couldn’t actually require that–could it? Surely, God can forgive freely without a penalty for sin and the cross was purely a result of men’s decision, not also a meting out of divine judgment. How could God do that to His only Son? How could God be that angry? From my, marshmallow soft corner of the world, things seem to run fairly smoothly most of the time. We’re all basically good people, right? We don’t really harbor evil in our hearts. We just make mistakes, have off days, crack under pressure, etc., etc. It is easy to forget how evil sin is, how deep it goes, how destructive it is. Until weeks like this, that is.

When you cannot turn on the television or the computer or the radio without being gut-smacked with staggering statistics of inequity, violence, and prejudice experienced by African American communities throughout your nation; with footage of innocent police officers being shot down in the street while protecting those drawing attention to these inequities; with mass murders all over the world via terrorist attacks with suicide vests and large vehicles plowing into crowds; of entire countries being wiped out by civil war and thousands upon thousands of refugees whose homes have been literally decimated fleeing for safety with nowhere to go … suddenly it becomes a lot harder to downplay the gravity or the size of the problem, or to reduce sin to “mistakes” or the blatant evil in humanity to just an off day or result of societal pressures. When it becomes impossible to run away or avert your eyes from the true nature of the problem, the simple solutions don’t seem that simple anymore.”Free” forgiveness doesn’t seem so free when you’re confronted with the cost of what’s been done to the victims. There must be some sort of justice, some sort of judgment, some sort of atonement. But, that seems to lead to some scary places.

I remember reading a passage from The Reason for God in which Tim Keller quotes a scholar from Croatia who lived through horrific violence in the Balkans and wrote that the ability to refrain from retaliation is only possible if you believe that there is a just God who will execute judgment for sin. He writes, “If God were not angry at injustice and deception and did not make a final end to violence–that God would not be worthy of worship….My thesis is that the practice of nonviolence requires a belief in divine vengeance will be unpopular with many…in the West…it takes the quiet of a suburban home for the birth of the thesis that human nonviolence [can result from a belief in] God’s refusal to judge. In a sun-scorched land, soaked in the blood of the innocent, it will invariably die…” (qtd. on p.76-77). We need a God of justice, a God who will judge, who will execute judgment for the horrific atrocities committed. And I do believe in a final judgment, but that still leaves me with two dilemmas: 1. If I am completely honest with myself, way down deep under my marshmallow facade, I can find evil lurking in my own heart and I know that I cannot expect judgment for others without also incurring it myself, and 2. While it is comforting to know that God will eventually punish all sin and execute judgment, it does not always seem that we can see Him acting immediately in the here and now, today. Does God see what is happening now? In this place? How do we try to move forward while waiting for final judgment to come?

I find myself scanning the horizon for any sign of hope. As I survey the devastation, I find a familiar edifice standing amidst the rubble: the cross. It does not seem so out of place or extreme or bizarre now, amidst this landscape of bloodshed and violence and oppression. In fact, it seems strangely relevant and accessible–even to my suburban, Western sensibilities. And I find that while I do not know what God is doing at this exact moment in any particular situation in my country or in the world, the cross is a permanent, prominent, undeniable answer that He is here; He is involved; He is active.

Today I am thankful for the cross: the proof that God is neither ignorant of nor indifferent or immune to the suffering and injustice in the world, wrought by the evil in men’s hearts. Today I am thankful for the resurrection: the proof that God is also not impotent in the face of such evil, and that even in the face of such evil and devastation, His justice and wrath are tempered with a desire for a solution better than mere annihilation of the human race. And I am thankful that because of the cross and the resurrection, there is hope for us.

Thank You, Father, for being a God who is BOTH just and merciful. Thank You for being a God of wrath and justice–that we can rest in Your justice and leave vengeance in Your hands when evil goes unpunished in the immediate by our society or our government. Thank you for Your justice that enables us to let go of the dual burdens of needing to exact revenge ourselves or of being crushed by despair over there being seemingly no accountability for evil in the world. Thank You for being a God of mercy and love–that we can face the horrors of the atrocities committed by our own society, our own race, and even our own hearts without the need to justify, deny, hide, or excuse them because You already know them all and have made forgiveness possible through the sacrifice of Your Son on the cross. Thank You for sending Him to us, and for accepting His sacrifice on our behalf and raising Him from the dead.

Thank You, Jesus, for absorbing the guilt and penalty of our evil and God’s just wrath upon the cross,  and for living a perfect life that fulfilled the law we had broken. Thank You for taking on human flesh and literally becoming one with us while we were Your enemies, even though You knew we would reject You and kill You–simultaneously creating both the ultimate climax of our sinfulness and the fulfillment of God’s wrath in response. Thank You for exchanging Your perfect righteousness with our perfect rebellion. Thank You for relieving us of the impossible burdens of the need to be above reproach and of being crushed by our guilt. Thank You for giving us the freedom to confess our sins without fear of condemnation and to repent, and for allowing us to hide ourselves in You and clothe ourselves with Your righteousness. Thank You for interceding continually with the Father for those of us who do.

Thank You, Spirit, for continuing to do the miraculous works of resurrection and new creation in our hearts–granting us the gifts of repentance and faith, turning enemies into brothers and allies, replacing fear and resentment with love and forgiveness, teaching us to place our wrath on the cross as well. Thank You for giving us something better than fair condemnation, vindication, etc.: thank You for giving us new life, healing, wholeness; for taking our enemies and our conflicts and giving us brothers and reconciliation instead.

Thank You for the ways I have seen You do this in my own life, and in my own community. Please, God, do this for my region, for my country, for my world. Please bring repentance, healing, forgiveness, and unity to all of us. Let us meet as equals at the foot of the cross and rise again as one body unified in Christ; let us outdo one another in confession and repentance and forgiveness. Give us the cross, Jesus. Give us Yourself.

Amen.