Nailing Jesus Back on the Cross

Nailing Jesus Back on the Cross

Theology in the Trenches

by Kathleen Kjolhaug

 

I was hanging Jesus up…figuratively speaking…sort of. Happening upon a small wooden cross gifted many a year ago, I thought it might look nice at a spot within a room I’d recently rearranged. The little crucifix was carried to where it was to be hung, and that’s when I noticed the problem. His outstretched arm, more specifically, his left hand was detached from the cross beam upon which it was nailed.

Immediately, going into “fix it” mode, thoughts about how to construct a small nail to hold his hand into place came to mind. The hole was tiny. Perhaps a paper clip chip could be snapped into place. Perhaps part of a thumbtack might work well. Better yet, maybe a little nail around the house just might do the trick.

Just as I opened the junk drawer to find something to fasten Jesus back on that cross, I paused. Suddenly, it seemed quite obvious that finding a solution to the problem which held him there was no longer an option because for the life of me, I could not imagine nailing Jesus back on. Closing the drawer and setting the cross down, I walked away. Dueling banjos played a tune within. One played on the strings repeatedly assuring me that it was only a symbol, only an image, only a reminder, only a piece of wood, and only a little metal. But the other tune that played out as I looked at that small cupped hand with a piercing already through it, was that there was just no way I was going to participate in nailing him once more to that cross.

My sins had done enough. They’d been responsible for that little hole which represented the markings He’d torturously endured, for me, for you, and the only waves washing over were tumultuous ones of nausea. Truth be told, I wanted to rip the other two nails holding his still small frame to the cross and free Him up.

I know that He is already free. He has risen, and although my sin helped nail Him, it was love which set Him free. All who look upon such symbols know they hold no power in and of themselves. But what it did do was remind me of my weakness. It reminded me of His strength, of His humble love lived out, and it helped me remember what true love looks like.

My ability to love must reflect no less than Christ crucified, and in one swooping conviction I was reminded of my inability to live that out. I cannot…He can. Galatians 2:20 reveals how that is possible. “I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.”

No matter the sin, the price has been paid. He died for you…for me…and whether or not one believes it, makes it no less true. There is power in the cross, power to convict in love, power to forgive in full, and power to carry the light of Christ into the dark. No longer can we possibly nail Him once again to that cross for it is finished…forever and ever… Amen.