One day I found a small, black, wooden crucifix lying in a parking lot. What a strange thing to find, I thought. How did it get lost here? I picked it up and put it in my pocket. As I walked along, I became philosophical. A lost crucifix dropped on the ground is a metaphor for our times. Christ has been dropped from so many lives today.

I thought about the church I knew  in the 1950s–three generations of some families belonging to the same church. Not enough room to fit everybody in the pews on Easter and Christmas. Sunday Schools bursting at the seams. I get nostalgic like that sometimes.

In my more clear-headed moments I wonder about how much the image of Christ actually dwelt in the people back then. I know there was gossip about women who didn’t dress “properly” when they came to church. I know some people would have quit the church if a Black person had joined.  I know some people had great trouble translating what they heard on Sunday into their everyday life the rest of the week. Blessed are the poor? Fine, as long as they stay in their own neighborhood.  Maybe Christ got dropped a long time ago, but we didn’t notice.

Yesterday was Holy Cross Day, commemorating the time when St. Helena, the mother of the Emperor Constantine, was said to have found the cross of Jesus in Jerusalem. May we find the meaning of the Cross in our lives and be transformed by it.

Read 1 Corinthians 1:23-24 and remember: God loves YOU unconditionally.

Wayne