Beneath the Cross

Munsi y’umusaraba. Beneath the cross of Christ.

It is one of my favorite songs sung in the Lutheran Church of Rwanda-the bittersweet melody is folded into poignant lyrics about the human condition. My first Sunday in Rwanda the choir sang it while dancing unreservedly, arms slightly bent, looking like birds about to take off in flight. It’s a song full of promise and pain. It’s the only song that was on my heart this morning, because this morning I was devastated.

This morning I checked the news, and I learned about Paris. This morning I didn’t know what to do-so I ran. While I was running, I processed the grief threatening to crush me. The result was this:

Beneath the Cross

The bloody river flowing from beneath the cross of Christ:

Paris pierces hands and feet, Missouri cuts His side,

Syria brings jeering crowds, Burundi breaks His legs,

And the scores of silent faithful press the crown down on His head. 

Christ is bleeding, right now, today. Every time one of our neighbors bleeds, the body of Christ itself bleeds. Yes, that means every time terrorists attack Paris. But it also means every time a student of color gets a death threat in the United States, every time a Syrian refugee is met with a slammed door, every time a political protester is murdered in Burundi, every time justice and peace and equality are threatened anywhere in the world, another drop rolls down the face of the Savior. When our neighbors are dying, our God is dying. It’s not enough for the faithful to stay silent.

Munsi y’umusaraba. Beneath the cross of Christ, we cannot help but see the blood. But do we see it all? Do we see the blood in Burundi, in Beirut, in Syria, in Baghdad, in Paris, in Central and South America, in colored communities across the U.S.? As Christians, we must see. And as Christians, we cannot see and be silent. We are called to call for peace. We are called to call for love. Not just in our country and not just in western countries, but in the whole world. And though that world is often mired in evil, though it can seem bleak and dark, we are called to work for justice until at last we all walk in light together.