Often my sense of humor is ill-timed, like on Ash Wednesday when I was standing in line in the chapel to receive ashes. As my turn drew near, I saw Katie Murray’s ever-present smile and thought, “maybe I should ask her for a Nike swoosh instead of a cross.” Yes, I know: sacrilege of the highest order, but I had a lot of disjointed thoughts rolling around inside my head.
Just moments before that, we sang “The Old Rugged Cross,” a great old hymn I grew up singing with this refrain:
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.
Continue reading “Trophy or Cross”