Why should the cross have a wondrous attraction for me? It is worshipped as an icon, and has become a universal symbol of Christianity. Yet, with all this reverence, there is nothing sacred about the cross. In fact, it is just the opposite, for it is a symbol of violence and death, an instrument of torture and condemnation, an instrument of mob violence as was the noose in the Old West. It was the means by which Satan vented centuries of frustration and wrath on his arch rival, the Son of God. We might just as well reverence the crown of thorns or the spear or the nails that shed our Savior's blood.

No, I cannot "love that old cross," nor can I "cherish" it, nor can I "cling" to it, nor am I "attracted" to it, for there is nothing in the cross that affords salvation. Only the shedding of Christ's blood and His death were necessary to atone for man's sin. Except for a vague symbolism stemming from the serpent that Moses lifted up and Christ's foreknowledge of His death and resurrection, Jesus could have died anywhere, in the temple by the hands of an angry mob, or on a hill near Nazareth. The important factor in His death is not where or when but in the shedding of His blood.

It is the blood of Christ not the cross that cleanses us from the stain of sin and unrighteousness and that justifies us in the sight of the Father. Yes, the power is in the blood, not in the cross.

Blood has ever been the symbol of life. God took blood, not necessarily a rib, from the side of Adam to create Eve, who became Adam's bride. Similarly, the blood which flowed from Christ's side, the second Adam, resulted in the creation of His bride, the church.

So, I cringe whenever I see a beautiful shiny golden cross, not a blood-stained one, worn as a pendant on someone's neck, or a cross silhouetted against the sky from some lofty church spire, or a flower-bedecked cross on a church altar. No, I march under the blood-stained banner of Christ. There will be no crosses in Heaven, only the wounds in His hands and side from which His blood flowed and from which beams of light will stream. Ergo, the cross is an offence to me, I am not enamored by it, nor do I fall at the foot of the "Old Rugged Cross."