I remember this cross from my childhood, it was brought home from Jerusalem by a soldier Uncle around the time of the second world war. Over the years it has got battered, lost bits, writing has faded. But what this means is that the cross was part of my childhood even when I didn’t really realise what it meant and it has become a familiar and treasured possession. I love the contrast of Jesus, in agony but the beauty of the mother or the pearl of the cross, carefully and hopefully lovingly crafted by an unknown person many years before I was even born. Looking at it now it reminds me that there is a beauty in the cross too, a beauty in what it means for me and for the world, that Jesus died. Many people this morning were tweeting lines from When I survey the wondrous cross and each time I sing it tears come to my eyes, particularly in the last verse as I remember what it was that Jesus did and reconfirm my response:
Were the whole realm of nature mine, that were an offering far too small
Love so amazing, so divine, demands my soul, my life, my all.