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Written by Wade Johnston, a contemporary writer and professor of history and theology.

What do you see when you look at the cross? You have the God you see there. If you see a God angry with sin, full of wrath for sinners, you have that God. It is indeed sin that put Jesus on that cross. But, on the other hand, if you see a God who loves you so much that he went to that cross, embraced it, climbed up on it and held himself there in order to keep hold of you, you have that God. You have a God of love. I’ve noticed that the crucifix is an interesting thing in modern American Christianity. American Christians love the baby Jesus in the manger, but they sometimes don’t like Jesus on the cross. I’ve even heard some argue that an empty cross is better than a crucifix, because Jesus rose. Using that logic, though, an empty manger would be better, too. If you want something empty, the tomb is the way to go. The point of the manger is that Jesus was in it. The point of the cross is that Jesus was on it. It’s interesting that throughout history some of the saints, our fathers and mothers in the faith, who most contemplated and embraced and confessed the cross, Christ crucified, also eagerly contemplated and embraced and confessed the manger. Why do you think that is? It’s because in both they found the same thing: love.

But God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us. [Romans 5:8]

Written by Peggy Stackle from the Village Church.

We saw a license plate at the gas station not long ago: Godi2de.  We had to ask.  The driver said “Goditude: God will take care of it.”  What a great testimony and reminder, especially if you’re sitting on the freeway with heavy traffic and crazy drivers out there.   When I was a singer my favorite hymn, and warm up exercise was Spirit of the Living God.

Spirit of the living God, Fall afresh on me.

Spirit of the living God. Fall afresh on me.

Melt me, mold me, fill me use me.

Spirit of the living God, fall afresh on me.

It still is and it’s the prayer I pray for confession.  Jesus died on the cross for us.  And before that he was God’s messenger to us. He was trying to teach us how to live together successfully.  It’s what that window in our sanctuary is about: This way, follow Jesus.  Be as much like Jesus as you can be.  Try.  I pray for forgiveness for not meeting my potential and I am confident that God will take care of it.  God will make me an instrument whenever it’s part of God’s plan.  I am so thankful for God’s grace and forgiveness.

You became imitators of us and of the Lord, for you welcomed the message in the midst of severe suffering with the joy given by the Holy Spirit. [1 Thessalonians 1:6]

Written by Dale Melenberg, a contemporary pastor.

Jesus encouraged his disciples to give up their lives for the kingdom. Do that, he says, and you will live. These words are intense—even harsh, like bad-tasting medicine. But the effect is life-altering—the gaining of our soul. What can we possibly give in exchange for our soul? We must deny our own pride and ego. We must deny that we can manage this life on our own. We must deny our sinful impulses to do things our way. We must deny our very selves. We must take on ourselves the cross that Jesus bore for us—and follow him. Jesus went the way of the cross to die, to lose his life—only to take it up again. We are invited to do the same. And we will be saved. For whoever loses their life of sinful human impulses—pleasures, pursuits, pride—for Jesus, will find life to the full…Jesus asks us to receive his grace, the Father’s love and mercy extended through him, and to simply follow after him. Maybe it’s not as difficult as we think.

Truly I tell you, some who are standing here will not taste death before they see the Son of Man coming in his kingdom. [Matthew 16:28].

Written by David Herman, Director of Adult Ministries at the Village Church.

“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” Once, when encountering this line, Martin Luther contemplated it in stillness for hours. Finally, astonished he remarked, “God forsaking God. Who can understand it?” I don’t understand it either, I admit. And yet the more I follow Jesus I live in that paradox. In life’s darkest moments, I repeatedly discover that in the precise place God cannot possibly be, there God is more than ever before. Isn’t that exactly Christ on the cross? “No. Not him. We thought he was going to redeem us. We thought he was going to restore us. No, God cannot possibly be there, crucified, forsaken.” Every time. When those I trusted betrayed me. When my prayers hit a steel ceiling. When my dad suddenly died.  I thought life was going to be here. No, only death. Strangely enough, only in accepting death do we find new life. When we refuse to recognize the chapter of darkness as our current reality, we remain in misery. Yet without going through, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Psalm 22:21) we never arrive to “From you comes my praise in the great congregation” (Psalm 22:25). As it turns out, it was my gods that needed to die so that I could see that my God is truly alive. Every time.

About three in the afternoon, Jesus cried out in a loud voice, “Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani? (which means “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?) [Mark 15:34]

Written by Joni Eareckson Tada, a contemporary artist, author, and ministry leader.

The Christian life can seem so impossible. Jesus tells us to take up our cross and follow him, but we are often clueless as to how to do it. We know Jesus doesn’t want us to stiffly resign ourselves to the weight of our cross or resentfully submit to the inconvenience of it. Or to cope with it or comply with a woe-is-me attitude. Even dry acceptance of one’s cross somehow seems less than what Jesus had in mind.  The cross–whether yours or Christ’s–is all about crucifying sin. To take up your cross means to die tothe sins that Jesus died foron his cross. You don’t do that by resigning yourself or by submitting, yielding, coping, or complying. It’s not dryly accepting your burden. Rather, when you die to sin, you put to death everything. You die to comparing your lot in life with others who seem to have it easier. When you die to whining or constantly chafing against your afflictions, God strengthens you with his resurrection power, enabling you to miraculously prefer Christ over comfort, the Lord over leisure, and even embrace the Redeemer when there is no relief from pain. Only the power of the resurrection enables you to lift your cross with grace… When suffering nearly decimates you, when all looks dark and you wonder why you “signed up” for the Christian life in the first place-when grief numbs your soul and bitterness or despair foment in your heart–do not give up. Survey what Jesus did on his cross for you: at the cost of his own blood, he purchased the mighty strength of the resurrection for your impossible situation. And if God calls you into a deeper affliction, he will provide a deeper portion of Christ and his power.

Then Jesus told his disciples, “If anyone would come after me, let him     deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. [Matthew 16:24]

Written by Rebekah Freed, a contemporary pastor.

The empty tomb is where the hope of new life is found, an important place as we journey through the toughest moments of life and death.  However, at the cross we see God’s heart of love, a love that poured out and sacrificed EVERYTHING so that our suffering would be temporary in this life.  We see, there at the cross, a God who is with us in our suffering and pain because He understands suffering and pain.  We see at the cross that God can make beautiful things out of the most devastating and horrible situations… Easter is coming, but first, the cross.

A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another: just as I have loved you, you also are to love one another. [John 13:34]

Submitted  by Laura Metzger from the Village Church

Village Church has a wall of crosses in our Fellowship Center – crosses purchased by people of the congregation when they were travelling to various places throughout the world.  If you’ve never stopped by  to look at it, it’s worthwhile to do so.  The wall has crosses of various styles—wooden, ceramic, carved, mosaic,  painted, simple, ornate. They come from different countries, different cultures, different hands. No two are exactly the same, yet all point to the same shape, the same story. Lent invites us to slow down and look at the cross again—not as decoration or symbol, but as reality. A reality that has been carried, interpreted, and lived by people across the world and across centuries. Each cross on the wall represents a place where faith met suffering. A place where someone learned that following Christ is not abstract. It costs something. It always has. The materials may differ—olive wood, iron, ceramic, stone—but the weight is familiar. Jesus’ cross stood in one place at one moment in history, yet its shadow stretches everywhere. It stretches into refugee camps and quiet chapels, into bustling cities and hidden villages. It stretches into our own lives, where grief, sacrifice, love, and hope intertwine. As we look at this wall of crosses, Lent poses a personal question: Which cross am I carrying right now? Not in comparison to others. Not minimized or exaggerated. Just honestly named.

For God was pleased to have all his fullness dwell in him, and through him to reconcile to himself all things, whether things on earth or things in heaven, by making peace through his blood, shed on the cross. [Colossians 1:19-20]

Written by Kristi Gaultiere, a contemporary psychotherapist, spiritual director, and  author.

It’s easy to develop compassion fatigue when caring for people — especially when you frequently hear about pain, trauma, and conflict. An attitude that tries too hard to save others is usually hidden underneath the exhaustion.  Those who play the “fixer” role almost always have good intentions to love others, obey God, and do good for those around them. They’re usually good listeners who feel with people and genuinely care about them.  I didn’t realize I was giving too much empathy until I hit a wall. My energy to love God’s people left me, and even my affection for God grew faint.  Now I can see that reaching my limits was God’s grace. It allowed me to step back from my natural drive to support everybody and pay attention to my soul. God helped me see I had some codependent tendencies that had developed during childhood. I didn’t like feeling needy and emotional, so I protected myself by managing the emotions of my family. I hadn’t realized this cycle continued through how I served others in ministry. I’ve learned that I need to receive empathy so I can be healthy and whole when giving it to others. This helps me disentangle myself from their feelings so I can clearly see how Jesus is moving in their lives. It helps me discern how to trust God and respect my limits. Learning to care for your soul under God will empower you to more fruitfully care for the souls of those around you. 

A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another. [John 13:34-35].

Written by N. T. Wright, a contemporary theologian, author, and Anglican bishop and Michael Bird, a contemporary theologian and Anglican priest.  This is an excerpt frm their book “Jesus and the Powers.”

Perhaps the single greatest threat is not the rise of secularism or the emptying of churches, but the apathy and indifference of the churches that are still here. People too self-absorbed and too affluent to care for anything outside their own social media bubble, beyond their own circle of friends, and beyond the view of their front lawns. Too many so-called disciples committed to Jesus to the point of convenience, not to the point where their discipleship cost them anything. Yet Jesus bids us all to come and follow him, to leave the worldly trinkets behind and do hard things, crazy things, and impossible things for no other reason than that he is our king, walking alongside us, suffusing our earthly endeavors with the energy of the spirit.

I know your works: you are neither cold nor hot. Would that you were either cold or hot! So, because you are lukewarm, and neither hot nor cold, I will spit you out of my mouth. [Revelation 3:15-16]

Written by the Theodyssey, an organization that helps people encounter God and be radically changed by the truth of His love. This is an excerpt from their study “When We Pray.”

Whether we realize it or not, we all live under the influence of a kingdom. Something – or someone – shapes our choices, directs our desires, and governs what we pursue. Everybody worships . . . the only choice is what to worship.Even those who love God can still find their hearts pulled toward other allegiances – success, comfort, approval, control. These desires may begin as good things, but they can quietly become ultimate things. And they start to rule us – and without realizing it, we’ve built our own cage. Dallas Willard stated:  “There is no avoiding the fact that we live at the mercy of our ideas. This is never more true than with our ideas about God.” Our inner world governs our outer life. What we believe about God and ourselves — and about what makes life worthwhile — shapes the kind of people we become. The Kingdom of God reorders our loyalties. It is radically upside-down. Jesus redefines greatness as servanthood, blessedness as spiritual poverty, and wholeness as dependence. His Kingdom isn’t built on striving or status, but on surrender. That’s why this can’t just be about trying harder — we must ask God to change our hearts. It’s why we must repent and change the way we think. Every day, we choose — and we live according to what we believe matters most….Many of us long for the fruit of the Kingdom – justice, peace, mercy – but struggle with the cost of surrendering to the King. But we cannot have the Kingdom without the King…To say, “Your Kingdom come, Your will be done” is to choose surrender over self-rule. It is to step into a story that is bigger, truer, and more beautiful than the one we could write for ourselves. It is inviting God to change us, so we become the people who bring the Kingdom into our unique contexts. It’s believing that God’s Kingdom is worth giving up everything to grab hold of it.

No one can serve two masters. . . You cannot serve both God and money. [Matthew 6:24]