On a hill far away stood an old rugged cross,
The emblem of suffering and shame;
And I love that old cross where the dearest and best
For a world of lost sinners was slain.

So I’ll cherish the old rugged cross,
Till my trophies at last I lay down;
I will cling to the old rugged cross,
And exchange it some day for a crown.

O that old rugged cross, so despised by the world,
Has a wondrous attraction for me;
For the dear Lamb of God left His glory above
To bear it to dark Calvary.

In that old rugged cross, stained with blood so divine,
A wondrous beauty I see,
For ’twas on that old cross Jesus suffered and died,
To pardon and sanctify me.

To the old rugged cross I will ever be true;
Its shame and reproach gladly bear;
Then He’ll call me some day to my home far away,
Where His glory forever I’ll share.
Words and Music by George Bernard

Islam has its crescent and sword, Marxism its hammer and sickle. Buddhists have statues of the Buddha himself, laughing or serious, according to one’s taste. Other religions and philosophies have their symbols of power and victory.

Christians have the cross. We may pretty it up and hang it on a gold chain, but at its heart Christianity is about an old rugged cross, an instrument of torture and death. A cross is not much of a victory. A cross is not about becoming powerful or defeating all one’s enemies. A cross in Roman times meant only thing: a slow and painful death.

And yet . . .