A Cross Speaks

I’m a cross. Not just any cross. I’m the cross they used to crucify Jesus.

I was one of many crosses employed during Jesus’ time on earth. The Romans ruled the known world during that period, and I was a good-sized tree they converted into a cross.

Some say I was made from an olive tree or a dogwood, but I was formed from the trunk of a pine tree. I could brag about my strength or the forest from which I came, but those are minor points compared to the one thing I’m most proud of. You see, I became the altar, so to speak, that served up the Son of God. He had said, “And I, if I be lifted up from the earth, will draw all men unto me.” I was the cross that lifted him up from the earth. I did my job well. I did not fail.

As a youth, I had no idea what I might grow up to be. Some trees live to ripe old ages. Many are used for furniture or flooring. I weathered the elements for years before some Jewish woodcutters took me down. They hacked away my bark and shaped my sides until I became square in form. They sold me, a long, rough-hewn piece of timber, to the Romans, who cut me into two pieces and made me into a cross. The Jewish men would sell me only as lumber. They refused to form me into a cross. The Romans shaped me into an instrument of death.

After realizing I was not destined to serve as something practical for a family to use, I felt sad. Perhaps it was the “luck of the draw” that I was selected from a pile of wooden crosses and ended up as Jesus’ death device.

They nailed Jesus to my rough surface, and they raised him high. I heard him groan; I absorbed some of his perspiration; and many of his blood drops soaked into my dry and thirsty fibers.

  

As I listened to his conversation, I knew the man I held aloft was no ordinary thief. While I held him tightly and he agonized in pain, he forgave a criminal hanging near him on another cross. That dying man said,  “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” Jesus told that man, “Truly, I say to you, today you shall be with me in Paradise.” When Jesus finally said, “It is finished,” I knew something mysterious had happened.

Later, they took Jesus down. I felt lonely and empty. But, for a while – for a few hours, at least – I was something special. God made me a tree, and I was proud to serve him. Yes, I also served him as an instrument of death, but, in a way, I became an instrument of life.