I wear a simple cross made of copper and supported by a cheap, Army issue metal chain; the same type of chain used for a soldiers “dog tags”. It was the type of cross offered by Army Chaplains during the Vietnam War.
Many soldiers took one but rarely wore them because of the conditions in that type of combat zone. After all, in the jungle heat and humidity, the less one wore around one’s neck, the better.
When I take it off and look at it, I can see stains from blood and Agent Orange and the metal is pitted from sweat. I remember the torrential monsoon rains and the mud and the disgusting swamps it was dragged through. I still see the typhoon that ripped it from my neck and remember finding it lodged in a nearby tree branch.
I still have nightmares about the Viet Cong that captured me and beat the daylights out of me when they found the cross around my neck. I remember how they would pretend to give my cross back and hope I would reach for it. If I did they would hit me in the head with a rifle butt and laugh as they spat on it. God gave me the strength to get out of that spot and take my cross back from the hands of my dead captors.
Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? [shall] tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword? Romans 8:35
For decades I kept it hanging on a wall alongside a picture from Nam. I tried to replace it with a decorative one from a jewelry store but it never felt right; it was just too fancy. After a while, it ended up on the wall with the first one.
I quit wearing a cross for a long time until recently. One reason I quit was because of nerve damage that drives me nuts if something touches a certain spot on my neck. It can feel like a hot poker sticking me there, if irritated. The other reason was the negative feelings of Nam connected with it.
Recently, I was reflecting on the just what a cross symbolizes and I took the original, stained and beat up little cross off of the wall, washed off the dust and put it back on. The blood and Agent Orange it encountered and the fierce weather and jungle conditions and the fight to get it back after my enemies spat on it are nothing compared to what Christ went through for me and everyone who wears, or plans to ever wear a cross.
And shall deliver him to the Gentiles to mock, and to scourge, and to crucify [him]: and the third day he shall rise again. Matthew 20:19
I cry when I think about it. Those Roman soldiers beat Jesus so badly, his friends could barely recognize him. The tortures described in the Bible and every story ever presented about Jesus defies the physical ends to which even the strongest man could endure.
Now, the only thing that makes me hesitate when I put on my cross is that I don’t feel worthy. Still, when I read about lawsuits started by the ACLU because a Muslim is offended by a cross displayed somewhere, the old soldier in me comes out. I get fighting mad and say, “Each time you give up a piece of your faith to fit in with the ways of the ‘world’ you lose it forever and the ‘world’ will never give it back”. I refuse to give any of my faith away.
People have worn crosses around their necks for much longer than I’ll ever know and I find it amazing, especially when you think of the attacks on Christianity throughout history and especially now. Crosses have been burned, abused, spat upon and discarded and those wearing one have been ridiculed and spurned and even killed for their faith the cross portrays. Yet we keep on wearing one. Imagine that.
How will you respond, the next time someone asks you, “What does the cross mean to you”?
The glorious gifts of God are not to be cast aside.
Wherefore thou art no more a servant, but a son; and if a son, then an heir of God through Christ. Galatians 4:7
Many soldiers took one but rarely wore them because of the conditions in that type of combat zone. After all, in the jungle heat and humidity, the less one wore around one’s neck, the better.
When I take it off and look at it, I can see stains from blood and Agent Orange and the metal is pitted from sweat. I remember the torrential monsoon rains and the mud and the disgusting swamps it was dragged through. I still see the typhoon that ripped it from my neck and remember finding it lodged in a nearby tree branch.
I still have nightmares about the Viet Cong that captured me and beat the daylights out of me when they found the cross around my neck. I remember how they would pretend to give my cross back and hope I would reach for it. If I did they would hit me in the head with a rifle butt and laugh as they spat on it. God gave me the strength to get out of that spot and take my cross back from the hands of my dead captors.
Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? [shall] tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword? Romans 8:35
For decades I kept it hanging on a wall alongside a picture from Nam. I tried to replace it with a decorative one from a jewelry store but it never felt right; it was just too fancy. After a while, it ended up on the wall with the first one.
I quit wearing a cross for a long time until recently. One reason I quit was because of nerve damage that drives me nuts if something touches a certain spot on my neck. It can feel like a hot poker sticking me there, if irritated. The other reason was the negative feelings of Nam connected with it.
Recently, I was reflecting on the just what a cross symbolizes and I took the original, stained and beat up little cross off of the wall, washed off the dust and put it back on. The blood and Agent Orange it encountered and the fierce weather and jungle conditions and the fight to get it back after my enemies spat on it are nothing compared to what Christ went through for me and everyone who wears, or plans to ever wear a cross.
And shall deliver him to the Gentiles to mock, and to scourge, and to crucify [him]: and the third day he shall rise again. Matthew 20:19
I cry when I think about it. Those Roman soldiers beat Jesus so badly, his friends could barely recognize him. The tortures described in the Bible and every story ever presented about Jesus defies the physical ends to which even the strongest man could endure.
Now, the only thing that makes me hesitate when I put on my cross is that I don’t feel worthy. Still, when I read about lawsuits started by the ACLU because a Muslim is offended by a cross displayed somewhere, the old soldier in me comes out. I get fighting mad and say, “Each time you give up a piece of your faith to fit in with the ways of the ‘world’ you lose it forever and the ‘world’ will never give it back”. I refuse to give any of my faith away.
People have worn crosses around their necks for much longer than I’ll ever know and I find it amazing, especially when you think of the attacks on Christianity throughout history and especially now. Crosses have been burned, abused, spat upon and discarded and those wearing one have been ridiculed and spurned and even killed for their faith the cross portrays. Yet we keep on wearing one. Imagine that.
How will you respond, the next time someone asks you, “What does the cross mean to you”?
The glorious gifts of God are not to be cast aside.
Wherefore thou art no more a servant, but a son; and if a son, then an heir of God through Christ. Galatians 4:7
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