Throughout all the centuries of the Christian church, the cross has been a prominent symbol of the faith. It is probably the most prominent “mere symbol” in the church, once we have excluded the sacramental signs of Holy Baptism and Holy Communion. The cross has been used in three distinct but interrelated ways: as an architectural design, as a symbol, and as an action. Churches were built in a cruciform shape. A cross was put on the front wall and on the steeple. People crossed themselves to invoke the protection of the covenant God.
The Reformers did not object to the act of crossing oneself, provided it was not done superstitiously. They recognized that it might simply be an external bodily action that accompanies an inward prayer for protection. To be under the sign of the cross is to be under the blood of Christ, under the protection of His wings. A man in distress might pray, “Lord Jesus Christ, protect me from harm, for I am Your child, under Your protection,” and he might cross himself as an external physical act while he thus prays.
[Thus Martin Bucer, “This sign [of the cross] was not only used in the churches in very ancient times: it is still an admirably simple reminder of the cross of Christ.” Bucer writes with respect to making the sign of the cross as part of the rite of holy baptism. In Martin Bucer, Censura, trans. by E. C. Whitaker in Martin Bucer and the Book of Common Prayer. Alcuin Club Collections No. 55 (London: SPCK, 1974),, p. 90.]
This may make little sense to a modern man, however. Under the influence of Greek philosophy, primarily Stoic asceticism and Neo-platonic mysticism, men despise the body. The only thing that really counts is the inward, mental, psychological motion. An external physical motion, such as crossing oneself while praying for protection, is not only superfluous, but actually evil.
In the Biblical perspective, physical actions are neither evil nor superfluous. When a man repents, he falls to the ground, prostrate before God. When he is horrified at God’s judgments, he sits in the dirt and puts dust in his hair, or tears out his hair and rips his garments (cf. e.g., Ezra 9:3). When he is happy at God’s blessings, he dances in the streets. And when he wants to invoke God’s protection, he . . . well, why don’t you fill in the blank?
We may ask, then: When conservative Protestants scream and yell about the act of crossing oneself, are they being true to Scripture, or simply reacting against Rome? True, many Roman Catholics cross themselves superstitiously. The external act is seen magically rather than dynamically, as a way of capturing God’s favor rather than as a whole-personed expression of the heart. So what? The wars of religion were centuries ago. What does that have to do with how Protestants are to act today?
I want to make it clear here that I am not advocating that conservative Protestants go back to the custom of crossing themselves in prayer. We have not reinstituted this custom in our church. What I am saying is that the custom is not unscriptural, and that the conservative church at large should give it some thought. If we create a Christian culture, one that no longer despises the body and bodily actions, such dancelike gestures and customs may well return.
From “How Biblical Is Protestant Worship?” chapter 10 of The Sociology of the Church.
I wonder if the mature Jordan might quibble with this.
Not that it would mean a sudden decrying of crossing oneself.
It just strikes me in that list of actions that one migh take, all the biblical ones are externalizations of ones inward state, but aren’t “calling on God to act”. “invoking God’s protection” seems to me to be a clear kind of calling on God to act. A memorial, therefore. And the only biblical externalized memorials are the sacraments. (or, that is the point in contention. The biblical ones are the onyl ones authorized for formal worship.(
The sign of the cross as reminder to the person that one is “under the cross”, but as “invocation” seems more problematic. That’s what people generally regard as susperstitious.
I could swear I read Calvin say it was fine if not superstitious but I can’t find a reference so I may imagined this or it could have been one of those theological equivalents of the urban legend.
How would a mute call on God in prayer? Is pure thinking more prayer-like than sign language?
I remember an older Catholic lady giving me a mnemonic device to help remember the order.
“Spectacle, testicles, watch, wallet.”
So what about the “regulative principle”? Would you take issue with this gross characterization of the different between Reformed and Lutheran adiaphora? Reformed: Anything not authorized by the Scriptures is prohibited. Lutheran: Anything not forbidden by the Scriptures is permitted.
Without trying to be tendentious, I do not see that making the sign of the cross as being in any direct way authorized by the Scriptures. And if a Reformed Christian were to say it was authorized, I would have to respond that, for that person, there’s little left distinguishing the Reformed from the Lutheran regulative principle.
Jim writes: “So what about the ‘regulative principle’?”
Full disclosure: I cross myself all the time. I would do so at church (Presbyterian) if I didn’t fear scandalizing someone.
Try this (though I realize that this, for some people, creates more problems than it solves): The Bible smiles on dance, and crossing oneself is a sort of dance step from the waist up.
Or maybe this: Do the Scriptures limit human communication to the purely verbal — words spoken or written? We lift our hands (or ought to) in prayer. The publican expressed his repentance not with words alone but also by striking his breast.
I don’t want to be tendentious either. But please permit me a little tangent. I suspect a lot of people would regard me as a regulative-principle softy because, for example, I cross myself. But I can also be more rigorous than the hardliners I know. I think that the command to exchange holy kisses — a command given five times, by the two chief apostles, and buttressed by apostolic example (Acts 20:37) — still stands. I don’t think the kiss is “just cultural” or that a handshake is just as good. If anyone doubts, try switching from hugs and kisses to handshakes within your family “culture.” Hugging and kissing men didn’t come naturally to me. It wasn’t part of my “culture.” But once you’ve been in a church where it goes on, when you’ve been around pastors — and I’m talking about manly men here — who greet you with an embrace and a kiss, being without those expressions of affection can make church feel very cold.
“It betrays an unnecessary reserve, if not loss of the ardour of the church’s first love, when the holy kiss is conspicuous by its absence in the Western Church.”
That’s no Orthodox critic of the West speaking. It’s John Murray, commenting on Rom 16:16.
…provided it was not done superstitiously.
I guess this leaves out Albert Pujol’s actions in a baseball game?
Jim: usually, the Reg Principle applies only to acts of public formal worship.
Someone who crosses himself in private doesn’t get touched by the RP as much. Even when people cross themselves in church, its when they enter, as an act of private devotion.
Even in my strict psalm-singing regulative context (the church John Murray attended in philadelphia), it was ok to sing a hymn “for fun” during the week.
You could, I suppose, make a case that crossing is a unregulated “circumstance” of worship, rather than an element. How the pastor gestures to make a point is unregulated, just like if a person sways a bit while singing, or stands rock still.
I guess that the main thing in my thinking distinguishing the Lutheran and Reformed principles is the bar of proof. Lutherans don’t just do *anything they feel like juts because they can*, they uses common sense. The Reformed just make you triple check any “common sense” you think you have on something, and say “says who” if they feel their conscinece could be being violated.
As I understand things, the Lutheran principle isn’t just an “anything goes” approach with regard to “adiaphora”, but is regulated by the Gospel of forgiveness of sins, as well as sanctified prudence. Not only does Scripture forbid certain items explicitly or by inference, but some practices can also tend to obscure the Gospel of free grace in Christ. On this basis, Lutherans would avoid instituting practices that could tend toward superstition, binding the conscience, and so forth.
In that respect, while I think the Reformed “regulative principle” plays in a different key (perhaps in the way pduggie suggets), I don’t think it’s as distant from Lutheran principles as is sometimes imagined (though there are looser and stricter ways of applying the principle). It’s also not as if the Reformed have no notion of “adiaphora,” though it pertains to circumstances and forms/rites rather than elements of worship.
That doesn’t answer the question about crossing oneself (which many, if not most, Reformed historically opposed, understandably perhaps in their context and circumstances), but it does suggest that there are established patterns for discerning the propriety of such things.
I’ve always wondered about the convention of bowing our heads and closing our eyes for prayer. My kids tattle on each other at mealtimes for not doing this (humorous, I know). I used to be Roman Catholic and I think crossing oneself can be a healthy reminder and acknowledgement of the reality of our place in Christ.
Of course, originally the cross was formed on the forehead.
In answer to objections to crossing oneself, one might just as legitimately ask “why do we fold our hands when we pray?” That is an external action, isn’t it? Such a ritual is not prescribed in the Bible. I am reminded of a family incident:
My brother Matthew was four years old or so. During devotions, my father asked us why Elma (our chocolate labrodour retriever) couldn’t pray. Matthew replied, “Because she doesn’t have hands!”
(Maybe contemporary Protestants fold their hands to avoid crossing themselves?)
Reading over others’ comments, I’m being reminded of prayer practices that evangelicals (and Reformed) engage in that, come to think of it, are hard to square with a hardline regulative principle:
Closing eyes to pray?
Sitting to pray?
Sitting and leaning forward with hands together and legs apart and elbows resting just above the knees to pray? (This seems to have become very traditional.)
And there’s the liturgical grunt, emitted when the grunter especially identifies with a particular petition.
Well, I won’t say that we *have* to cross ourselves when we pray. But we do have to do *something* with our bodies. We don’t escape them and enter a “spiritual” zone. Given the inevitability of our God-made limbs, can we do something thoughtful and purposeful with them? I’m not at all suggesting that a spontaneous prayer from a reclining position on the couch gets less of a hearing than a prayer accompanied by all kinds of “holy gestures.” But the Scriptures do give us precedent for meaningful action and postures: standing, kneeling, prostrating to pray (does anyone in the Bible ever sit to pray?); lifting hands to pray; clapping while singing; sitting to teach.
A recent call to worship at my church, where everyone was seated, included a call to bow down and a call to kneel. Nobody budged. But when the pastor said, “Let’s stand to sing” an opening hymn, everybody stood. Why? Why did we ignore the words of the psalm (without blinking) but took seriously the pastor’s call to stand? We need to give thought to what fosters a church culture that makes this sort of disconnect possible.
Meanwhile, I suspect there can be as much superstition bound up in not crossing as in crossing.
I was raised to close my eyes when praying.
I read stuff on how Christains aren’t budhists, Christ lifted up his eyes when he prayed, etc. So I started praying eyes open.
And now I have kids, and toally see why suggesting they fold their hands (so they dont fiddle with stuff lying around, bulletins, sucking fingers, etc) and close their eyes (so they don’t distrat themselves with 100 different things, including their sibling) is a totally great idea. Assuming that they are at the time, listening to someone else pray extemporaneously.
Its a circumstance of worship necessitated by the puritan insistence on extemporaneous, (therefore ‘heartfelt’) prayer.