VEXILLA REGIS

A sermon to mark the 125th anniversary of the present Chapel at Marlborough College and the re-dedication of the processional Cross

'Far be it from me to glory, save in the Cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, through which the world has been crucified unto me, and I unto the world.' [Galatians 6.14]

These are some of the earliest written words in the New Testament and also some of the most personal, coming as they do at the very end of St Paul's letter to the Galatians, one of his earliest letters, and in the part which he wrote with his own hand. How can the Cross, a symbol of cruelty, shame and degradation, of God's curse, become a symbol of glory and a means of God's grace? St Paul had no illusions about the paradox at the heart of Christianity, because a 'crucified Messiah' was a contradiction in terms: the Messiah was God's Chosen One; so how could he become God's Cursed One? Yet as we heard in our second reading, 'We preach a crucified Messiah, to Jews a scandal, and to Greeks sheer lunacy.' Yet he was sure that at the Cross, 'God was in Christ reconciling the world unto Himself: ... for Him who knew no sin, He made to be sin on our behalf; that we might become the righteousness of God in him.' The Cross is the place where God intervenes decisively in human existence: it the place of judgement but also of life. That is why tonight we reinstate and re-dedicate the processional Cross of this Chapel, made long ago by a former pupil, who was embarking on his career as a silver-smith: it was the first main project of his training course. How fitting that he should have presented it to the College that nurtured him; and how generous that a current parent should have had it restored as a token of their gratitude.

The royal banners forward go: the Cross shines forth in mystic glow; Where he in flesh, our flesh who made, our sentence bore, our ransom paid.

These haunting words of the sixth century Latin poet, Venantius Fortunatus, from his hymn Vexilla Regis, lead us into the mystery of the Cross. This is a processional hymn, as the Cross comes into view among the banners of the Church, the earthly citadel of the Kingdom of God. From the heart of the Cross shines forth the hidden glory of God to which the resplendence of silver and gold bears witness. For on the Cross hung crucified, in all the vulnerability of human flesh, God the Creator, who stooped to become in our flesh the re-creator of the fragile human beings that He had made. In Christ, He emptied Himself of His power, to become suspended helpless on the bitterest yoke that racked him to death, 'obedient even unto death on a Cross.' In words of a modern poet and theologian:

Drained is love in making full,
Bound in setting others free,
Poor in making many rich,
Weak in giving power to be.
Therefore he who shows us God
 Helpless hangs upon the tree;
And the nails and crown of thorns
Tell of what God's love must be.

When we process into church or out of church, with the Cross leading the way, we follow and 'stand with God in his hour of grieving,' in words whose truth Dietrich Bonhoeffer discovered in the depths of a Gestapo prison in 1944. But we also celebrate the fact that this is an empty Cross, the symbol of the resurrection, of Christ's trampling down death by death, of the great hope of new and eternal life for human beings made in the image and likeness of God. 'For the light shines on in the darkness, which has neither understood it nor put it out.'

How can this be? In St John's gospel, Jesus pointed his learned visitor, Nicodemus the Pharisee, back to the strange story that we heard in our first reading: 'As Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, even so must the Son of Man be lifted up: that whoever believes in him, may in him have eternal life.' Later in the last week of his life, Jesus proclaimed to those around him: 'I, if I be lifted up from out of the earth, will draw everyone unto myself.' In the ancient tradition of the Exodus story, it was the people's rebellion that laid them open to that which would destroy them: it is another version of the story of the Fall of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden. Moses, the leader whom they spurned for a time, became their intercessor, making peace with God on their behalf. The bronze serpent became a sign of God's forgiveness and healing: if people would only look upon it they might live again, free from their pain. Did they all look, however? Yet by a strange and tragic irony, many years later, this very symbol of life became an idol to which the people burnt incense; and as such it was destroyed at a time of reformation in Israel.

So the symbol of the Cross is an ambiguous and challenging one. It forces us to confront that which leads to our own destruction: our willingness to crucify others, by thought, word and deed. It is a symbol of the ultimate betrayal that will force upon another human being a degrading and lingering death, not just physical, but also social and psychological. It stands as the absolute condemnation of capital punishment and torture, in any place and at any time. Yet in venerating the Cross we can easily turn it into an empty symbol, devoid of meaning, or worse still an idol, shielding ourselves from its painful truth; and this has happened in history: and at the Reformation, or during the French and Bolshevik revolutions, many crosses were viciously destroyed.

The Cross before us in church reminds us too of that which is laid upon us as Christians, called indeed to stand with God in His hour of grieving at so much that is corrupt and evil in our day. For as Jesus said to his disciples, 'If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow me.' ... 'For how narrow is the gate and afflicted the way that leads to life, and how few be they who find it!' What does it mean to bear the Cross of Christ, or as St Paul described it in our opening text, 'to be crucified to the world'? In the words of a recent spiritual writer, it means 'standing - holding things without being deflected by your own desires or the desires of other people round you. Then things work out through patience. How things alter we do not know, but the situation alters.' In short, it means bearing the inner hurt that people often project upon us, in the spirit of Jesus who taught and demonstrated love even of enemies: 'Father, forgive them for they do not know what they are doing.'

The mystery of the Cross is how the tree of death, encircled by evil and human spite, becomes the tree of Life. We hear again the poetry of Venantius Fortunatus, in his other hymn celebrating the Cross - Pange lingua gloriosi:

Faithful Cross, above all other, one and only noble Tree,
none in foliage, none in blossom, none in fruit thy peer may be.

In many ways the Cross is the only true and legitimate symbol of Christ, apart from the Eucharist itself, which of course also commemorates his saving power. As such it was raised by the Church as the triumphal symbol of its victory over the cruelty and persecution of the Roman Empire, and even taken up by Constantine the Great himself as his palladium, for good or ill: 'in this sign, conquer.' The Cross has, alas, been abused sometimes as a weapon of Christian cultural domination, a provocative sign of something far removed from the lonely death on Calvary. Yet in hospital wards and by bedsides of those sick and dying, it is the supreme symbol of hope and compassion: 'in this sign, conquer;' but in a very different way, and to a very different end.

So in the life of this College and Chapel, on solemn and high days, at Advent and at Christmas, but also at Confirmation and Commemoration, and of course at Choral Evensong, this lovely Cross will be borne once again at the head of the choir, to lead the worship of the Church in this place, and to proclaim the centrality of the Cross of Christ and his saving power at the heart of this community for many years ahead.

O Saviour of the world, who by thy Cross and precious blood has redeemed us:
Save us and help us, we humbly beseech Thee, O Lord.

© Douglas Dales at Marlbrough College