Shade is treasured in the sunshine state. When Sister Elizabeth, a New Yorker, moved to Gainesville, she was worried about the branches of large trees hanging over our roof.
“Trees are hanging over almost everyone’s roof,” I pointed out, “and even over businesses. That’s how buildings in north Florida are kept cool in the summer.”
She finally accepted the blessing of the shade, and even grew accustomed to the occasional thud over our heads during a storm.
As we approach the Easter Triduum, I find myself singing about another kind of shade. The last stanza of the hymn, “Beneath the Cross of Jesus,” by Elizabeth C. Clephane, begins, “I take, O cross, thy shadow, for my abiding place.”
The shadow of the cross seems quite a different matter from the cool shade of our magnificent live oaks. Shade is something to be grateful for — but then there are the shadows that loom over our lives, making everything dreary. Why would I want to abide in the shadow of an instrument of death — in the shadow of the gallows, the electric chair, the gas chamber, nuclear weapons? This sounds too much like the evening news.
In the shadow of the cross, we are reminded that the poor and weak still suffer injustice and oppression, and the innocent are put to death.
But wait. In the shadow of the cross, we also learn that when evil has done its worst, when love seems to have perished, there is still hope. We are reminded that we are loved with a love that is passionate, life-giving, all-encompassing, and unconditional — a love unto death, yes, but also unto glorious life without end.
Because the Son of God loved us so much, we find that the shadow of the cross provides rest from the cold grip of fear, shelter from the scorching heat of ego, and healing from the sense of exile that may oppress us. We can rest in this shade.
We notice that the comfort of the shade found beneath the cross begins to remind us of an Old Testament metaphor: the shadow of God’s wings:
Be merciful to me, O God,
be merciful to me,
for in you my soul takes refuge;
in the shadow of your wings
I will take refuge,
until the destroying storms pass by. (Ps 57:1)
This is the image of God as mother bird, protecting her offspring. As strange as it may seem, in Christ, the shadow of the cross has become the shadow of God’s wings, the place where we are most at home.
You have been my help,
and in the shadow of your wings
I sing for joy. (Ps 63:7)