April 2011 - Vol. 49
.The Cross of Christ - the Measure of the World
“When I am lifted
up from the earth, I will draw all people to myself” (John 12:32)
A great number of people live and die without reflecting at all upon the state of things in which they find themselves. They take things as they come, and follow their inclinations as far as they have the opportunity. They are guided mainly by pleasure and pain, not by reason, principle, or conscience; and they do not attempt to interpret this world, to determine what it means, or to reduce what they see and feel to system. But when persons, either from thoughtfulness of mind, or from intellectual activity, begin to contemplate the visible state of things into which they are born, then they find it a maze and a perplexity. It is a riddle which they cannot solve. It seems full of contradictions and without a drift. Why it is, and what it is to issue in, and how it is what it is, and how we come to be introduced into it, and what is our destiny, are all mysteries.[Note: The following is excerpted from Newman's sermon The Cross of Christ - the Measure of the World, first published in Parochial and Plain Sermons, Volume 6, London & New York: Longman, Green, and Company, 1891. Minor changes, including capitalization style, were made to allow the text to be more accessible to modern readers. Sub-headings were also added. - Editor]
In this difficulty, some have formed one philosophy of life, and others another. Men and women have thought they had found the key, by means of which they might read what is so obscure. Ten thousand things come before us one after another in the course of life, and what are we to think of them? What color are we to give them? Are we to look at all things in a happy and mirthful way? Or in a melancholy way? In a desponding or a hopeful way?
interpretation of this world
How are we to look at things? This is the question which all persons of observation ask themselves, and answer each in his own way. They wish to think by rule; by something within them, which may harmonize and adjust what is without them. Such is the need felt by reflective minds.
Now, let me ask, what is the real key, what is the Christian interpretation of this world? What is given us by revelation to estimate and measure this world by? The event of this season – the crucifixion of the Son of God.
It is the death of the Eternal Word of God made flesh, which is our great lesson how to think and how to speak of this world. His cross has put its due value upon every thing which we see, upon all fortunes, all advantages, all ranks, all dignities, all pleasures – upon the lust of the flesh, and the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life. It has set a price upon the excitements, the rivalries, the hopes, the fears, the desires, the efforts, the triumphs of mortal beings. It has given a meaning to the various, shifting course, the trials, the temptations, the sufferings, of his earthly state. It has brought together and made consistent all that seemed discordant and aimless. It has taught us how to live, how to use this world, what to expect, what to desire, what to hope. It is the tone into which all the strains of this world's music are ultimately to be resolved.
Look at the cross
Go to the political world. See nation jealous of nation, trade rivalling trade, armies and fleets matched against each other. Survey the various ranks of the community, its parties and their contests, the strivings of the ambitious, the intrigues of the crafty. What is the end of all this turmoil – the grave. What is the measure – the cross.
Go, again, to the world of intellect and science. Consider the wonderful discoveries which the human mind is making, the variety of arts to which its discoveries give rise, the all but miracles by which it shows its power. And next, the pride and confidence of reason, and the absorbing devotion of thought to transitory objects, which is the consequence. Would you form a right judgment of all this? Look at the cross.
Again, look at misery, look at poverty and destitution, look at oppression and captivity. Go where food is scanty, and lodging unhealthy. Consider pain and suffering, diseases long or violent, all that is frightful and revolting. Would you know how to rate all these? Gaze upon the cross.
Thus in the cross, and him who hung upon it, all things meet. All things subserve it, all things need it. It is their center and their interpretation. For he was lifted up upon it, that he might draw all peoples and all things to himself.
Sweet to the lips
– bitter to the taste
The world seems made for the enjoyment of just such a being as humankind, and humankind is put into it. Humankind has the capacity of enjoyment, and the world supplies the means. How natural this, what a simple as well as pleasant philosophy, yet how different from that of the cross! The doctrine of the cross, it may be said, disarranges two parts of a system which seem made for each other. It severs the fruit from the eater, the enjoyment from the enjoyer. How does this solve a problem? Does it not rather itself create one?
I answer, first, that whatever force this objection may have, surely it is merely a repetition of that which Eve felt and Satan urged in Eden. Did not the woman see that the forbidden tree was "good for food," and "a tree to be desired"? Well, then, is it wonderful that we too, the descendants of the first pair, should still be in a world where there is a forbidden fruit, and that our trials should lie in being within reach of it, and our happiness in abstaining from it? The world, at first sight, appears made for pleasure, and the vision of Christ's cross is a solemn and sorrowful sight interfering with this appearance. Be it so. But why may it not be our duty to abstain from enjoyment notwithstanding, if it was a duty even in Eden?
But again, it is but a superficial view of things to say that this life is made for pleasure and happiness. To those who look under the surface, it tells a very different tale.
The doctrine of the cross does but teach, though infinitely more forcibly, still after all it does but teach the very same lesson which this world teaches to those who live long in it, who have much experience in it, who know it. The world is sweet to the lips, but bitter to the taste. It pleases at first, but not at last. It looks happy on the outside, but evil and misery lie concealed within.
When a person has passed a certain number of years in it, he or she cries out with the Preacher, "Vanity of vanities, all is vanity" (Ecclesiasties) Nay, if men and women do not have religion for their guide, they will be forced to go further, and say, "All is vanity and vexation of spirit." All is disappointment. All is sorrow. All is pain.
A world made miserable
It may be granted, then, that the doctrine of the cross is not on the surface of the world. The surface of things is bright only, and the cross is sorrowful. Iit is a hidden doctrine. It lies under a veil. Iit at first sight startles us, and we are tempted to revolt from it. Like St. Peter the Apostle, we cry out, ”God forbid, Lord! This shall never happen to you” (Matthew 16:22). And yet it is a true doctrine – for truth is not on the surface of things, but in the depths.
And as the doctrine of the cross, though it be the true interpretation of this world, is not prominently manifested in it, upon its surface, but is concealed. So again, when received into the faithful heart, there it abides as a living principle, but deep, and hidden from observation. Religious men and women, in the words of Scripture, "live by the faith of the Son of God, who loved them and gave himself for them" (Galatians 2:20). But they do not tell this to all people, they leave others to find it out as they may.
Our Lord's own command to his disciples was, that when they fast, they should "anoint their head and wash their face" (Matthew 6:17). Thus they are bound not to make a display, but ever to be content to look outwardly different from what they are really inwardly. They are to carry a cheerful countenance with them, and to control and regulate their feelings, that those feelings, by not being expended on the surface, may retire deep into their hearts and there live. And thus "Jesus Christ and he crucified" is, as the Apostle tells us, "a hidden wisdom." Hidden in the world, which seems at first sight to speak a far other doctrine. And hidden in the faithful soul, which to persons at a distance, or to chance beholders, seems to be living but an ordinary life, while really it is in secret holding communion with him who was "manifested in the flesh," "crucified through weakness," "justified in the Spirit, seen of angels, and received up into glory."
The heart of religion
And in like manner the sacred doctrine of Christ's atoning sacrifice is the vital principle on which the Christian lives, and without which Christianity is not. Without it no other doctrine is held profitably. To believe in Christ's divinity, or in his manhood, or in the Holy Trinity, or in a judgment to come, or in the resurrection of the dead, is an untrue belief, not Christian faith, unless we receive also the doctrine of Christ's sacrifice.
On the other hand, to receive it presupposes the reception of other high truths of the Gospel besides. It involves the belief in Christ's true divinity, in his true incarnation, and in man's sinful state by nature. And it prepares the way to belief in the sacred Eucharistic feast, in which he who was once crucified is ever given to our souls and bodies, verily and indeed, in his body and in his blood.
But again, the heart is hidden from view. It is carefully and securely guarded. It is not like the eye set in the forehead, commanding all, and seen of all. And so in like manner the sacred doctrine of the atoning sacrifice is not one to be talked of, but to be lived upon. Not to be put forth irreverently, but to be adored secretly. Not to be used as a necessary instrument in the conversion of the ungodly, or for the satisfaction of reasoners of this world, but to be unfolded to the docile and obedient. To young children, whom the world has not corrupted. To the sorrowful, who need comfort. To the sincere and earnest, who need a rule of life. To the innocent, who need warning. And to the established, who have earned the knowledge of it.
Sow in tears –
reap with joy
Let no one go away with the impression that the Gospel makes us take a gloomy view of the world and of life. It hinders us indeed from taking a superficial view, and finding a vain transitory joy in what we see. But it forbids our immediate enjoyment, only to grant enjoyment in truth and fullness afterwards. It only forbids us to begin with enjoyment. It only says, if you begin with pleasure, you will end with pain.
It bids us begin with the cross of Christ, and in that cross we shall at first find sorrow, but in a while peace and comfort will rise out of that sorrow. That cross will lead us to mourning, repentance, humiliation, prayer, fasting. We shall sorrow for our sins, we shall sorrow with Christ's sufferings. But all this sorrow will only issue, nay, will be undergone in a happiness far greater than the enjoyment which the world gives. Though careless worldly minds indeed will not believe this, ridicule the notion of it, because they never have tasted it. And they consider it a mere matter of words, which religious persons think it decent and proper to use, and try to believe themselves, and to get others to believe, but which no one really feels. This is what they think. But our Savior said to his disciples, "You now have sorrow, but I will see you again, and your heart shall rejoice, and your joy no man takes from you." ... "Peace I leave with you; my peace I give unto you; not as the world gives, give I to you." (John 16:22; 14:27.)
And St. Paul says, "The natural man receives not the things of the Spirit of God, for they are foolishness to him; neither can he know them, because they are spiritually discerned." "Eye has not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God has prepared for them that love him" (1 Corinthians 2:9,14). And thus the cross of Christ, as telling us of our redemption as well as of his sufferings, wounds us indeed, but so wounds as to heal also.
And thus, too, all that is bright and beautiful, even on the surface of this world, though it has no substance, and may not suitably be enjoyed for its own sake, yet is a figure and promise of that true joy which issues out of the Atonement. It is a promise beforehand of what is to be. It is a shadow, raising hope because the substance is to follow, but not to be rashly taken instead of the substance.
Mercy and comfort
This was but a vain and hollow pageant, nor did our Lord take pleasure in it. It was a shadow which stayed not, but flitted away. It could not be more than a shadow, for the passion had not been undergone by which his true triumph was wrought out. He could not enter into his glory before he had first suffered. He could not take pleasure in this semblance of it, knowing that it was unreal. Yet that first shadowy triumph was the omen and presage of the true victory to come, when he had overcome the sharpness of death. And we commemorate this figurative triumph on the last Sunday in Lent, to cheer us in the sorrow of the week that follows, and to remind us of the true joy which comes with Easter Day.
And so, too, as regards this world, with all its enjoyments, yet disappointments, let us not trust it. Let us not give our hearts to it. Let us not begin with it. Let us begin with faith. Let us begin with Christ. Let us begin with his cross and the humiliation to which it leads. Let us first be drawn to him who is lifted up, that so he may, with himself, freely give us all things. Let us "seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness," and then all those things of this world "will be added to us."
They alone are able truly to enjoy this world, who begin with the world
unseen. They alone enjoy it, who have first abstained from it. They alone
can truly feast, who have first fasted. They alone are able to use the
world, who have learned not to abuse it. They alone inherit it, who take
it as a shadow of the world to come, and who for that world to come relinquish
John Henry Newman, 1801-1890, was an influential writer and major figure from the Church of England in the Oxford Movement. In 1845 he became a Roman Catholic priest and was made a Cardinal late in life in 1879.
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