Reflections on “CrossWalk”

When the Lord gave me the idea for the CrossWalk, I was excited. I hoped to convey my personal feelings for carrying a cross through the community and show that excitement to my congregation. I felt this would be a terrific testimony for the Lord, and my prayer was that others would be inspired to join me. A little background before I continue: CrossWalk was designed for fifteen individuals to each carry a cross for 550 feet, over a total distance of 1.5 miles, from "downtown Westwood" (locals will get that joke) to our church. I hoped we would get 15 volunteers; the sign-up sheet filled up quickly, with others saying they wanted to at least walk the distance.

I called local authorities to get permission, telling them I anticipated about 20 walkers and carriers, as well as perhaps two vehicles for those who couldn't walk the entire route. I imagined that we would start out, see some faces at the windows and doors of the houses along the road, as well as a few horns honking from those who passed by. I imagined a warm spring evening followed by an outdoor devotional and song service, then a picnic-style fellowship and Easter egg hunt for the kiddies. Here's what really happened:

Gray skies hid the sun from view as a cold wind pressed the stinging flakes of snow into the faces of the crowd. And yes, there was a crowd. I estimate between 30 and 40 people were walking the entire route with us. As we marched the first 550 foot leg of the journey, I looked back to see car after car in the procession. Most belonged to us; some did not. The traffic jam caused by such a group inspired many, and angered some. I was fortunate enough to share a delightful conversation with a gentleman who seemed somewhat peeved that this event was preventing him from reaching his destination in a timely manner. After explaining to him the purpose of the event and a hearty "God bless you," this gentleman rolled up his window and said something that seemed to be somewhat rude. I prayed for that man, but that is the kind of person I wanted to reach.

Others came out of their homes to wish us well; some stayed in the vehicle procession for a while, happy that we were doing this. After motioning our cars off of the road to let others by, I jogged to catch up to the walkers, no small feat for an overweight, high-blood-pressured asthmatic. At times I thought I would have a heart attack, then I thought my left leg would fall off. But I knew the Lord wanted us, wanted me, to do this. I prayed a small prayer for strength and continued on. News crews were documenting the scene for a story on the late local news (a story which, surprisingly, lasted nearly two minutes, a practical "War and Peace" for a 35 minute telecast), and the walkers, wet and cold and tired, continued onward with smiles and songs.

As the pastor of the vast majority of the group (people from other congregations joined us on the walk) I felt a responsibility to make sure things ran smoothly. I had thought about what this entire event would mean to me, and thought about what I would write at the end. Would I have some divine revelation, some new connection with Jesus that had thus far eluded me? What did I want to get out of a mile and a half walk through the quiet streets of our neighborhood?

I was the last to carry the cross, dragging the lightweight, padded, and wheeled cross up the final stretch to our parking lot, then into the Church itself, laying it at the altar. After a brief interview with the news reporter, I went in to start the devotional service (the snow prevented an outdoor shindig), finally sitting down to catch my breath and reflect on the day, the event, and the history, the why we were doing this. I seemed to identify with Christ's suffering, in that I was tired and having trouble with my asthma. But there was something else I took from the experience, something I did not expect.

First of all, I survived the walk. That in itself is a tremendous feat (and relief!). But from the moment we began the CrossWalk, I was deeply touched by the sheer number of those who wanted to, and did in some way, participate. They braved the elements, set aside their time, and truly wanted to be there. As I stood watching the carriers, the walkers, and the drivers of our little parade, I knew it would be an inconvenience for some to take part (or, as some did, get caught in the traffic jam of these religious zealots and freaks). There was laughter, there was singing. It was an extremely solemn occasion remembering the death of Christ on the cross for our sins. But we still had much joy in our hearts. Why? I think it was because we were able and willing to publicly show our love for Jesus, and that we know that the story didn't end on that Friday, some two thousand years ago. We were happy because we knew that Jesus is alive.

As a pastor, I feel that it is partly my responsibility to inspire my congregation, to impart something to them which they will take and use throughout their lives, whether it is as a source of strength for themselves or as a means of witnessing to others and perhaps leading them to the Lord. Through this one act, dozens of people were touched in ways that words of mine could never accomplish. My philosophy has always been, "It doesn't matter who does the work or even who gets the credit, as long as the job is done and God gets the glory." That happened with our First Annual CrossWalk. It didn't matter who carried the cross or walked alongside those who did. It didn't matter who rode in vehicles behind the procession or stayed at the church to get things ready for the fellowship. It didn't matter who publicized the event, who made the posters, or even who came up with the idea. This was all about Jesus.

It is easy to question motives, to wonder why people do what they do. On this cold and snowy spring evening, for the very first time in my life as a pastor, I could feel and see the motivation of these individuals. It wasn't about who would get the most camera time or who carried the cross further. It was about being part of an active testimony in a community we love. We don't get the chance to show that love as much or as often as we would like. But on this day there was no doubt in my mind and, I believe, in the minds of those participating, that this entire scene was placing the focus on Jesus.

So what did I get out of the CrossWalk? I didn't feel the lashes on my back, nor the crown of thorns on my brow. I did not feel the nails in my feet and hands, nor did I experience the humiliation or the weight of sin which Christ bore. Instead, I found the Living Lord. And it wasn't as I carried the cross myself. I found Jesus Christ alive in the hearts and faces and lives of those who joined in this unique expression of love and faith. Seldom have I seen such a tangible testimony for Christ. We knew, I knew, that we serve a risen Savior. The cross was the means of purchasing salvation for us, but that empty tomb we already knew about is what sealed the deal. Carrying that cross with my Christian brothers and sisters was a way to come together, and those fifteen separate 550 feet sections along that mile and a half route, that thirty minute walk, was one continuous "Thank You" to our Lord.

I don't think I can put it into any more words, but there is so much more that I have in my head and heart that will stay with me forever. I am unable to express the deep experience of emotion and spirit that this first CrossWalk has given me, but I know one thing:

I found what I needed to find.

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