Tuesday, September 11

a covered cross


Today, they covered up the cross.

It was like any other week, any other day, any other Tuesday.
It was like every other day that I sit behind the desk, complete a few tasks.
It was like every other work day.

But today, they covered up the cross.

Typically, I like a dreary day.
Typically, when the gray clouds settle in over rooftops, hang just above my brow,
I like a dreary day.
Typically, I enjoy a soup and blanket day, a day where the sun pops in and out,
only when it pleases.
Typically, I like these kinds of days.

But today, they covered up the cross.

As large, white banners of fabric fell from the ceiling, hung from anchors and ropes, and swayed across the large pieces of wood, perfectly placed in perpendicular form, I noticed they weren't just any white banners and it wasn't just any two pieces of wood.

Those two white banners symbolized everything that is ashamed of Him.
Those white banners spoke loud, shouted across the earth, as if to say, "We don't believe it! Cover it up!"
Those white banners did all they could to put a lamp—the brightest lamp—under a table.
Those two pieces of wood that symbolize my rescue, my redemption, my freedom, my joy,
were covered up, hidden away, washed and drown to nothing.
Those two pieces of wood that remind me of Him, His love, His face, His courage,
were banished from the four walls of a "church".

It was a typical day, like any other work day.
I did the typical, mundane tasks, faced the typical, hard spiritual battles.

But today, today was different.
Today was the day I wore a sad face and inside tears, and didn't know why.

But today, they covered up the cross.


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