Crosses - Rood, Man

I’ve always thought that it was interesting, growing up Catholic as I did, that the abiding icon of our faith was a turn of the millennium Roman torture device. In a world where other religions have crescent moons and stars, it seems strange that Christians – those paragons of love and peace – should have the namesake of their religion hanging from an instrument of pain with railroad spikes driven through his hands and feet. Despite the reframing done by modern religious philosophers and well educated adherents, the rood is still evocative of a more barbarous time and the idea of salvation through suffering.



I’m sorry if I am upsetting the sensitivities of some of you but I did warn you in the title.



I am not undertaking this examination in order to ridicule either the symbol or the worshipers who venerate it but I think that some serious questions need to be asked about the significance of ‘The Cross’ as the central icon of one of the world’s largest religions. As always, I believe that all questions are fair game and the degree of evolution of any belief system must be tied to its willingness to address all questions without recourse to dogma and threats of expulsion or death. The fact that my upbringing was Catholic and that I am even entertaining a challenge to such an important symbol tells me that, even though its entire basis is in the sleight of hand of metaphysics, Christianity is more evolved than most.



So why does such an apparently ‘progressive’ belief system place such a barbaric symbol in the focal point of its believers; why don’t Christians wear a dove around their necks or have a large hand making the peace sign at the front of their churches? . . . or a heart? . . . or a big happy-face? Why do believers sport the Roman equivalent of an electric chair on their lapels and neck-chains rather than an olive branch or Dürer’s praying hands? As an abiding symbol it may very well be akin to wearing a keepsake from a departed loved one or a reminder of a blood debt that binds believers to the belief system. Given the nature of the symbol, I’d go with the latter explanation.



Martyrdom is a big deal for Christians. The history of the religion is littered with burnt, gouged, dismembered and generally bloodied individuals who clung to their faith (or their virtue) in the face of some pretty grisly consequences. Christians seem to have a great appetite for other people’s blood in defense of their beliefs, commemorating not just the crucifixion of their “Saviour” but the nasty deaths of his supporting cast of martyred saints through the ages (most of which were dark though only one is identified as such). From Steven being pummeled with stones, through the human quiver of Sebastian to the unfortunates who died in the Roman circuses, Christians revel in their wounded healers.



In echoing the sacrifice of Jesus Christ, martyrs renew the covenant of blood and death that he established. With the vehicle of their passing often intrinsically identified with the story of their demise, the pyres and arrows and stones become their ‘crosses’ and one can well imagine, if their personal magnetism and some charismatic acolyte were powerful enough, a new religious sect with the instrument of their taking off as a cornerstone of its religious symbols. Martyrs are a sort of Christ “Mini Me” and, with very few exceptions, have become an endangered if not extinct Christian species.



There is a positive in this and let me tell you a brief anecdote to illustrate my feelings of hope. In one of my English classes at a Catholic high school a number of years ago, I put forth the question, “If a crazed gunman burst into this room and declared that he would kill anyone who would not renounce their faith, how many of you would face the bullet for your beliefs?” Three students put up their hands. All three were Shia Muslims. Although the focus of my question was to establish what people today truly believe in and are willing to die for and, as such the three young Muslims represented an example of the shallowness of western values, being ready to die (or kill) for some metaphysical concept seems counterintuitive from an existential point of view. Christians look up to martyrs in the same way they look up to Mother Theresa – they sure are glad that there’s somebody out there to take one for the team. It’s instructive that Christianity hasn’t had the same plethora of martyrs lately that Islam has had. That’s evolution.



But ‘The Cross’ is as prominent as it ever was, despite the fact that it has sometimes been replaced by symbols such as coffins in order to be politically correct. Although the more enlightened modern day believer has found explanations to reframe the barbarity of the symbol, it still stands as a reminder of the unenlightened past and a rallying icon for Arkansas fundamentalists. As a reminder of the precarious nature of revolutionary beliefs or salvation through suffering, it is obviated by the sheer numbers of modern day Christians (except perhaps in East Timor where it is still dangerous to wear crosses). As a symbol of sacrifice (in the sense of “giving up stuff”) and suffering, again with the exception of places like East Timor, it is extremely ironic.



Perhaps, at some point in the future (if we have one) when Christian beliefs have moved beyond the priests’ prestidigitations and embraced a philosophy that exorcises the “things that go bump in the night” metaphysics, we can retain the symbol as its ancient manifestation of the true bringer of life – the sun. With the idea being to appreciate rather than to worship, the sign would have come full circle and the idea of blood sacrifice would be replaced with the epitome of warmth.