Carrying the cross
A Sermon preached by the Precentor, Canon Anna Macham
Sunday 1 March 2026, The Second Sunday of Lent
Numbers 21:4-9 and Luke 14:27-33
Whoever does not carry the cross and follow me cannot be my disciple.
Jesus’ words, from our second reading from Luke’s Gospel, don’t make for easy reading. If we’d been in any doubt, up to this point, that we’d fully entered into the season of Lent, we certainly aren’t now. “Carry the cross and follow me”: Jesus’ words are uncompromising. He invites us, as he invited his first followers, to take up once again a journey of self-discipline and self-examination that will culminate, in 5 weeks or so, in our recollection liturgically of his Passion and death in Holy Week, his personal and agonising journey to the cross.
In Jesus’s time, crosses were a daily sight. They reminded people who was in charge in Roman Palestine, and of what the cost was of offering any kind of challenge to the occupying power. To pick up your cross and follow Jesus was an act of rebellion, an act that, one way or another, would cost you your life.
Now, two thousand years later, the phrase has lost something of its original force. Crosses are no longer mainly seen on roadsides with actual people hanging on them, but in churches, or as an adornment, as jewellery. “Carry your cross” now means “put up with your minor discomforts” or- at most- “Be sure that you do something to show God you take him seriously by making yourself uncomfortable in some way.” The phrase “We all have our crosses to bear” means that we must all demonstrate perseverance in circumstances we don’t fully control (see Rowan Williams, The Cross in the 21st Century, in Seven Words for the 21st Century, DLT, 2022).
But in the first century, when Luke’s Gospel was written, the cross represented things that were about as far as we can imagine from religion. It was shocking to associate crucifixion with God, a punishment of the most degrading kind, associated with the worst of criminals, as Paul attests when he talks in his letters about the cross of Christ being a “stumbling block” to people. But as in the rest of his Gospel, in today’s passage Luke makes clear that God’s kingdom is not what we expect it to be, and nor is Jesus. This is a message that it’s hard for Peter and the other disciples, let alone the Galilean crowd who follows him, to accept or understand.
For Jesus, it seems, is to be found not among the rich and successful, but among the poor and outcast in society, not in the centre but on the margins; not at the heart of religion and among the victorious, but among those whom religion shuns. Even the dominion and glory and kingship which he will receive is turned on its head, since he receives it on the cross. It’s a dominion which is found in the giving up of his rights; a glory which is embraced fully in suffering, and a kingship that is enthroned on the cross. A way of life that is both exacting and dangerous.
The two short parables that follow emphasise this message. Jesus describes the careful plans made by someone wanting to build a tower, who wisely lays a foundation first. Or a king, going out to wage war, who first considers whether he has enough military personnel to do so. These twin parables aren’t meant to put us off becoming disciples, but to highlight that this is the most important enterprise we could every undertake, and one that deserves at least as much consideration as we would give to business or politics. Becoming a Christian and following Jesus isn’t something to be swept into on a flood-tide of emotion, but something we walk into with clear-eyed deliberation and after serious thought.
This evening we have admitted new choristers to the choir. We know that being a chorister is a big commitment, and not one to be taken lightly. It’s a huge privilege to serve in a place like this, but also a big responsibility.
To be able to sing is a great gift. To use something so personal as our own voice- whether it’s in performance or to help others to enter more fully and more profoundly into prayer- is a huge privilege. And it’s a journey we trust, we know, will be rewarding, with lots of fun and enjoyment along the way, developed through collaboration with others, and for the benefit of all of us who listen.
But it’s also an awesome responsibility. It takes practice, organisation and commitment, resilience and working with others- and it takes courage, to sing and perform in front of others day by day, and to give of the very best we can, and to take the lead in this.
To carry the cross, as we reflect on this phrase this Lent, is to deliberately place ourselves at the service of others, and to stand alongside those who are powerless, alongside those who have no rights, or are not treated as equal citizens- using whatever gifts we have in his service to do this.
This is a way of life that calls us to daily loyalty to God, to a way of life that is both risky and challenging, but ultimately rewarding. To walk the way of the cross is to feel passion in our lives as disciples- to be vibrant and lively about our faith- not to be lukewarm in response to the generous gift of life we have received from God.
The cross is the altar throne of God on which the sacrifice is made, the powerful sign that stands between heaven and earth. The cross converts something that looks like defeat into victory. In a beautiful building surrounded and filled with crosses, this powerful symbol of our faith casts its shadow over us, as we live out our calling to grow as disciples and take up the cross in Lent, Easter and beyond.