I carry a cross in my pocket. It is not a fancy cross; it is not an expensive cross. But it is a VERY, VERY special cross. It came to me this way; many in the JM family belong to another family whose common link is that they have been on a Walk to Emmaus (see Luke 24). Regardless of where their walk took place, they are now part of the Ashland Area Emmaus Community. My Walk was in Ashland in 2005 and since that time I have had the privilege of serving as part of the team that supports the retreat weekend for new Pilgrims. I was asked to serve for the event this April. When I had committed to the Community that I would help, Kim bought this cross. She carried it and while holding it would pray for me, for the team, for the Pilgrims and for all involved in the Walk. She gave the cross to me, along with its history, as I left for the weekend in Ashland. While there, as a reminder of the Walk and of the information I was responsible for delivering, I gave each person a small silver cross connected by a chain to tiny plastic foot. This symbolized Christian-Action. Because I had the special cross from Kim, I simply attached a foot to the chain of that cross – the one in my pocket. I carry it everywhere, and it is now that my story resumes.
This summer, the youth of JM (along with their leaders) attended a ‘once every four years’ United Methodist Youth event in Greensboro. The Youth ’07 event was called SPLAT (Seek Pray Learn Act Teach). One morning as I was loading my pockets (wallet, keys, spare change, room key, etc) it took only an instant for me to recognize that something was missing. I exclaimed to the room in general, “I’VE LOST MY CROSS.” I knew deep down that iPods, cell phones and Sponge Bob made my declaration rhetorical, but nonetheless I proceeded to tear the room apart in search of my cross. I looked in every drawer, under the beds, around the suitcases – I looked in clothes that I had worn during the journey > I looked in clothes that I had NOT worn. I was desperate. I did find the cross. It was in a very unlikely place. I had inadvertently stashed it in a small pocket of the backpack I carried to and from the event. Wow, what a relief.
In the time following I have veered to the other side of the street to avoid a person that I felt certain might ask me for something I didn’t want to give, I have fussed at fellow drivers for not following “my” rules of the road, I have been less than understanding with my children, WAY less (and more vocal) than understanding with some of my customers, not diligent in my Bible reading … I feel as though I should once again exclaim “I’ve lost my cross. This time it’s the cross given to me by God. The one that teaches me to love and be compassionate, the one that lights my path and shows me the way. I should search as frantically as that Greensboro morning to find this cross. I know that I must strive harder to keep my cross in sight. For in the moments that I am the furthest from God – guess who moved? It’s not the cross that is lost – it is me.
Seek and ye shall find. Knock and it shall be opened.
Steve Matthews
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