In 63BC a Roman Senator called Rabirius went on trial for his life. He was accused of treason and the prosecution wanted him crucified.

 

A man called Cicero rose to speak in his defence.‘How’ he asked, ‘could the assembly even think of crucifixion?

 

To suggest such a cruel and disgusting penalty for a Roman citizen was unthinkable.’

 

‘The very word cross’ he said “should be far removed not only from the person of a Roman citizen but his thoughts, his eyes and his ears. For it is not only the actual occurrence of these things but the very mention of them, that is unworthy of a Roman citizen and a free man.”

 

Crucifixion. The execution of a man by first viciously whipping him, then stripping him naked and fixing him to a pole and beam hammering nails through his wrists and feet.

 

A punishment too shameful, too disgusting, too painful, too vile even to be mentioned back in civilized Rome. A punishment reserved for the worst of rebellious foreigners and slaves.

 

The crucified victim could take days to die left hanging in public the object of ridicule a warning for conquered peoples. To Jewish people the cross was disgusting a shameful reminder that they were a conquered people.

 

And for Romans? Well even the word cross was ‘unmentionable.’ Yet in the early 30s AD a movement began rapidly to spread in the Mediterranean world a movement based on the life and teachings of a Jewish rabbi.

 

Not unusual – except – these people made no effort to hide the fact showed no shame in proclaiming that their leader was a man the Romans had strung up on a cross to die like a common slave.

 

In fact most shockingly their earliest writings testified to their belief that this man who had suffered the most shameful of deaths was in very nature God.

 

God? The divine? Mixed up in blood and pain and agony? God? Left hanging for public scorn and ridicule? God on a cross? Were they mad?

 

 ‘Jesus sent me’ writes one of these first Christians in a letter, ‘to preach the good news not with wisdom and eloquence, lest the cross of Christ be emptied of its power.

 

For the message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God… We preach Christ crucified: a stumbling block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles, but to those whom God has called… the power of God and the wisdom of God.’

 

The cross - says Paul - is good news. The cross - says Paul - is very power of God The cross - says Paul - which looks disgusting, shocking and foolish to so many – is God’s wisdom.

 

Therefore’ says Saint Paul in his first letter to the Corinthians, ‘I sought to know nothing while I was with you except Jesus Christ and Him crucified.’

 

The Cross. A first century gallows. A vile place of execution. Yet a symbol we boldly place

in the middle of our churches and wear around our necks.

 

So why the cross? Why this most horrible of deaths for God’s Son? What possible wisdom or power is there that? Two Sundays ago I missed an extremely special event here in St Peter’s.

 

A friend of mine an agnostic and determined non-Church goer said to be it was one of the most profoundly moving and challenging occasions he’s ever been to.

 

If only I’d known what I was missing I’d have made every effort to be here. A Vietnamese woman called Kim Phúc  came to speak as part of the Literature Festival and to tell her life story. And hearing about her I looked up her story.

 

On June 8th 1972 a little 9 year old girl was playing in her village in Vietnam.

 

“Until that day,” she says, “I had never known fear. I had a happy childhood. The most pain I’d been in was probably from grazing my knee falling off a bike.”

 

But that day the South Vietnamese airforce allies of the United States in their war against Communist forces dropped bombs on Kim Phúc’s village.

 

She and her brothers and sisters ran down the dirt road out of the village to escape the bombs.

As they did so more bombs dropped bombs containing napalm.

 

Kim Phúc's clothing was soaked in napalm an oily gasoline gel.‘Water boils at 100’ says Kim,

‘Napalm burns at between 800 and 1200. It is the most terrible pain you can imagine.’

 

A photographer – Nick Ut captured her as she ran down the road screaming, having ripped off her clothes. His photograph became one of the most famous pictures of the 20th Century and won a Pullitzer prize.

 

Published all around the world it became a symbol of civilian suffering in the Vietnam war. Kim fainted with pain and Nick Ut managed to get her to a hospital. Her burns were so severe that hospital staff thought she had died and left her in the mortuary. But Kim lived and spent the next 14 months in hospital in agony from extensive 3rd degree burns bone exposed on her left arm her chin welded to her chest by scar tissue.

 

She underwent 17 painful operations before she could eventually return home and try to rebuild some kind of life. A little girl – playing in her village suddenly screaming in pain scarred and maimed a child caught up in a war between adults and nations. A story that repeats itself again and again around the world everyday. Where is justice? Surely someone should pay for what they did – dropping napalm on a child?

 

As a teenager Kim suffered deeply as she tried to come to terms with her injuries. Every where she went there was the famous picture of her running down the street. ‘Every day, every moment’ she says ‘I was miserable. I questioned myself, who caused this? I didn’t know who.

 

Yes there was a pilot who dropped the bomb, but I didn’t know him. And that killed me everyday. I couldn’t bear to see the picture. My life’ she says, ‘was like a cup of coffee. Very dark, full of bitterness, hatred and anger. I hated my life. I didn’t want to live.’ Where was justice?

 

There was another person the other side of the world who also couldn’t bear to see the picture of Kim. John Plummer had been in the US military in Vietnam. An operations officer he remembered very clearly relaying the order for the attack on Trang Bang Kim’s village remembered being pleased at the operation’s success. Until next day he picked up a newspaper and saw the picture. And realised the consequences of the order he had passed on.

 

It triggered in John a descent into guilt and depression. On returning to America he turned to alcohol. Had a string of failed relationships. And wherever he turned he seemed to be faced with that photograph in magazines – on television – in the news.

 

‘That photograph was burned into my heart. It  haunted me for over 20 years. A constant reminder as if I needed one that I had had a part in the bombing. I was responsible for her injuries. And those of how many others. And there was no way I’d ever be able to put right what I had done.’

 

On one side of the world Kim wounded and scarred bitter and looking for justice. On the other John depressed and filled with undying guilt.

 

But when Kim was 19 something changed. ‘I was trying so hard to be a good Buddhist,’ she said, ‘I prayed and prayed that God would take away my sadness but no answer came.’

 

Then one day she walked into a church. And she heard the message of Jesus who died on the cross.

 

‘Surely He took up our pain  and carried our sorrows’ wrote Isaiah, ‘He was pierced for our transgressions and the punishment that brought us peace was upon Him; by His wounds we are healed; for the Lord has laid on Him the iniquity of us all.’ ‘He carried our sorrows; on Him was the punishment that brought us peace; by His wounds we are healed.’

           

‘And as I heard about Jesus dying for me on the cross,’ says Kim, ‘I felt Him let me pour away all my darkness and bitterness at His feet and He poured in His peace and joy and compassion.

 

Jesus died on the cross to pay for all my anger and bitterness, to forgive me; and that made my heart heal. I confessed my sins to God, and He forgave.

 

That changed my life. He set me free from hatred. He forgave me – and so now I can forgive.’

 

‘ We preach Christ crucified,’ says Paul; ‘the power of God and the wisdom of God.’

 

Because on the cross He carries our pain; He bears our sorrows; He dies for our wrongdoing;

He forgives us and gives us the power to forgive.

 

Kim became a Christian in 1982 aged 19. She later emigrated to Canada and married setting up her Kim foundation working with people throughout the world whose lives had been scarred by conflict.

 

In 1996 she was invited to speak at a special service in Washington DC for US Vietnam veterans. As she spoke she explained that Jesus had died on the cross bearing all her sorrow and bitterness and anger. He had died to pay for her wrongdoing so she could be forgiven.

 

And that therefore she had no anger for those who dropped the bombs; She said, ‘if the pilot who dropped the bomb or if the man who gave the order was standing in front of me now I would want him to know that God has healed my heart. And I have already forgiven him.’

 

And a man in the congregation scribbled a note and asked for it to be taken to the speaker. "Kim, I am that man," wrote John Plummer. After the service John pushed his way through to stand in front of Kim Phúc.

 

"She saw my grief, my pain, my sorrow," says John "She held her arms to me and embraced me. All I could say was 'I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry' over and over again. And she said again and again, ‘It's all right. I forgive. I forgive.'"

 

John Plummer is today a Christian minister who from time to time works with Kim Phúc in her foundation.

 

So why the cross? What was achieved by Jesus’ death on a cross?

 

On one side of the world the victim the girl with terrible wounds and scars.

Where is justice? Who will pay?

 

On the other side of the world the offender who carries a burden of guilt for wrongs he can never put right. Who can ever take his burden away?

 

And then that day in 1996 when it’s as if together victim and offender stand at the foot of the cross.

 

And for Kim Phúc where is justice?  Who will pay the price for her terrible wounds? He – the one on the cross He took up our pain and carried our sorrows; by His wounds we are healed.

 

And for John Plummer: the guilt; the wrongs that can never be put right who will take away the burden?

 

He – the one on the cross He was pierced for our transgressions; the punishment that brought us peace was upon Him;  for the Lord has laid on Him the iniquity of us all.’

 

Why the cross?

 

Forgive, forgive, forgive we might say to the victim. ‘Yes – but what about my pain, what about my suffering, I can’t just ignore it. What about justice? Where does it all go?’

 

You’re forgiven, you’re forgiven, you’re forgiven we might say to the offender. ‘Yes – but what about my guilt? This is serious. I can’t just ignore it. The burden is heavy. Where does it all go?’

 

And victim and offender they look up and see the man upon the cross. Shouldering all the burden of our bitterness and pain, and selfishness, and guilt – bearing all its weight.

 

And both can say that’s where it went. That’s who paid the price so that we can be free.

 

"Kim held out her arms. 'I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry' John said over and over again.  ‘It's all right. I forgive. I forgive.'"

 

‘Christ is our peace,’ writes Paul in Ephesians. ‘He has reconciled us to Himself in one body by the cross, through which He put to death our hostility.’

 

So what about you and me today? What burden of sadness, bitterness and sorrow; What burden of guilt, Do we want to lay today at the foot of the cross?

 

Jesus’ last words – recorded by John as He dies on the cross are, ‘It is finished!’

 

It is finished. It is enough. Whatever your burden – the cross of Jesus it is enough.

 

He chose to carry it there for you. He only longs that today you put it down.