I have worn a Jerusalem cross, which my grandmother bought in Israel, every day since I was a young adult. As an earnest teenager, I didn’t wear a cross, taking seriously the question “If you were arrested for being a Christian, would there be enough evidence to convict you?” I didn’t think a cross would be sufficient evidence; I didn’t know the concept of “performative statements” but that was a concern. Plus, I wasn’t sure I wanted to die for my faith. Finally, I decided that living a Christian life was a goal, and wearing a cross could represent that goal.
Once I took on the habit of putting the cross on every morning, I did encounter other periods of doubt. Someone asked me once, “Would you wear a little silver electric chair around your neck?” Obviously not, and I didn’t have the language to say that Jesus turned the world upside down in his lifetime, and his death and resurrection conquered death. A symbol of death, of state-sanctioned murder, became a symbol of love and sacrifice. We hear it in our Eucharistic prayer D: “To fulfill your purpose [Christ] gave himself up to death; and, rising from the grave, destroyed death, and made the whole creation new. So I continued to wear my cross.
Doubts surfaced again in seminary when I learned that the origins of the Jerusalem cross (which is a square cross with four smaller crosses in the corner). This was the Crusaders’ cross and became a symbol of their mission to conquer every corner of the earth for Christ, and particularly to take the Holy Land from Muslims by force. A symbol of Jesus’ crucifixion and his four wounds became a symbol of terror as Jews and Muslims were murdered and scattered. It remains the symbol of the Equestrian Order of the Holy Sepulchre of Jerusalem, a lay institution with roots in the First Crusade whose motto is “Deus lo vult” (“God wills it”). The symbol has taken on many meanings and been adopted throughout the Christian world, which you can read about in this entry from Britannica. When gifting it to me, my grandmother said the four small crosses represented God’s love spreading over the earth. I kept that interpretation and kept wearing the cross.
My small gold cross, its history and meaning in my Christian journey, are so important to me I wanted the design incorporated into my bishop’s pectoral (large) cross. I blended it with a Canterbury cross, which is also a square cross but with rounded edges, fitting into a circle. This nod to the Anglican church and a symbol of the feminine fit well with the Jerusalem design and made space for four circles of color representing the geography of our diocese and it was beautifully made by Walker Metalsmiths in Andover, NY. The only downside of designing it at home on a computer was that it turned out larger than I imagined (yes, I know about rulers, but forget to check them!). While just right to wear with vestments, it is too big for everyday wear at the office, so the small gold cross it is.
And then I saw the picture of Pete Hegseth’s chest tattoo. It is a large black Jerusalem cross with “Deus Vult” inscribed under it. While Pete calls it a Christian symbol (and indeed many Christian visitors to Jerusalem, including some of our clergy, have a cross tattooed on their inner arm) it has now become a symbol of the alt-right, white supremacists, and Christian Nationalists. Versions of the cross and motto were flown at the white supremacist Unite the Right rally in Charlottesville, Virginia. I have been struggling again with what to put around my neck every morning. I wore a simple round Celtic pattern for a few days, but that is not a cross. A friend offered me a stylized crucifix, but while a crucifix seems right in a church space, I’m not comfortable wearing one. I’ve been wearing the cross longer than Pete Hegseth and the recent rise of Christian Nationalism; why should they take my cross’s meaning away?
I haven’t decided whether to wear my cross or not. And I keep asking myself whether I should be spending my mental energy on this question when the world is burning. As an Episcopalian, a believer in the Incarnation, I know it does matter. It matters what words and symbols we use in worship, what music we choose, what clothing and jewelry we wear. It matters because what we do matters as much as what we say about our faith. Christianity is not an idea or philosophy: Christians are walking, talking hands and hearts of Christ. We are the body of Christ and even our bodies can show it. In all the choices we make about our lives, how we dress, how we spend our time, money, and talent, what we put our energy into, I go back to that childhood question, “If you were arrested for being a Christian, would there be enough evidence to convict you?”
I’ll let you know what I figure out.
+Kara
