Mercy has a toddler Bible and we have read through it a few times now. Both kids are very intrigued by Jesus’ death, and they often ask me to tell the story of how he died. They also know that Jesus did not remain dead but became alive again.
The other day we were painting on our easel in the kitchen and Mercy had two heavy strokes that came together to form a cross. I pointed to her paper and said happily: “Mercy, you painted a cross!” She looked at me in horror, her mouth immediately turning down as her eyes widened.
It was a good reminder for me of the outrage and scandal of the cross: the gruesome act that sits unapologetic at the center of my Christian faith. The cross is not something pretty or appealing, as I seemed to suggest to my daughter when I admired her artwork. Mercy understands that it is something terrifying; appalling. May it be that today we remember that.