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I remember pulling into a gas station once when I was sixteen years old and just learning to drive in Chattanooga. The tires were squealing badly on 90-degree turns and I didn't know a lot about cars but knew enough to know it was time to find an air pump. Somehow I'd missed the lesson in proper tire inflation but had seen people do it and was reasonably confident that I could handle the job with no problem.

So I pulled in, unscrewed the little caps on the valve stems, and grabbed a hose, ready to inflate to the required pressure. Kneeling down, I squeezed the trigger on that hose expecting air, but out shot a rather fast stream of water, soaking my pants in the process and reddening my face. I was very shy at sixteen with little self-confidence and quickly surveyed the parking lot to make sure no one had witnessed this bone-headed act. Sort of like when you fall down in public and quickly look around to see who's watching.

Well, there they were. Four older guys across the parking lot had seen it all and were having a grand old time at my expense. I remember one of them almost falling out of the car with laughter. I was mortified, completely humiliated. I had also purchased gas at the station but almost drove away without paying for it. It would have been easier to face the police. I had to walk right past them. One of them made that unmistakable dopey laugh like Walt Disney's "Goofy." It seemed like an eternity before I finally got out of there. There they were in my rearview mirror, still slapping their knees and having a ball. I do not recall the exact wording of my prayer of vengeance that day. But my beseechings to our Lord were quite inventive, colorful, and creative. "Smite them, O God, as you did your enemies of old." I took a 90-degree right out of the parking lot and can still hear the squeal of those under-inflated tires that never did get air that day or maybe that month.

Jesus hangs on a cross today at a place called "The Skull" and three sets of people take turns mocking him: the religious leaders, the soldiers, and even one of the criminals who hangs there beside him. They mock him and laugh at him and tack a funny sign over his head. It said, "King of the Jews," but if somebody had replaced it with a sign that said, "Goofy," I'm sure there would have been no objections.

The mockery heard by Jesus comes from different angles. But did you notice that the gist of the humiliation is very similar from all three perspectives? The leaders say, "He saved others; let him save himself!" The soldiers chide, "If you are the King of the Jews, save yourself!" A crucified criminal mocks, "Aren't you the Messiah? Save yourself and us!"

Save yourself. Well, why not? He fed 5,000 people with a few fish and some scraps of bread. He walked on water, even turned it into wine. He healed a blind man with a bit of mud and a promise. He even raised a family friend from the dead! Why did Jesus just hang there and allow it to happen? Why didn't he do something? Why didn't he show those wiseacres a thing or two? "Smite them, O God, as you did your enemies of old." That's the prayer we'd expect from Jesus. Instead we get this goofy prayer: "Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing." What sort of prayer is that? "Save yourself," say all three. "Show us your power." Why didn't he show them?

Flannery O'Connor, the late American fiction writer who was also a devout Roman Catholic, once said this about the demise of the modern novel: "People without hope not only don't write novels, but what is more to the point, they don't read them. They don't take long looks at anything because they lack the courage." What O'Connor said about the novel is also true about the cross.

It is hard for us to look at the cross for very long. Indeed, it is hard for many Americans to take a "long look at anything" except maybe the half-hour sit-com where the problem is both introduced and solved in the span of thirty minutes, including commercials. Our modern response to the cross is remarkably familiar. "What are you doing up there? Save yourself, for heaven's sake." We turn away. We refuse to take a long look. Church attendance figures in congregations across the country don't lie. Exponentially more people attend services on Easter Sunday compared to Good Friday. We want Jesus off the cross and raised. "Save yourself and us!"

I don't trust statistics much, but here are some interesting ones. In the year 1900, Christians in Europe and North America comprised 77 percent of the world Christian population. Over three-quarters. The figure in 1998 was 38 percent. By 2025, estimations project the number will shrink to 27 percent.1 Here's an interesting little twist. American churches used to send missionaries to the far, dark reaches of the world to share the gospel. We still send some. But now the trend is that those far, dark reaches of the world are sending Christian missionaries to America. Now isn't that rich? The upshot of this is that the cross, sacrificial dying on behalf of others, does not hold much appeal for many, many Americans and Europeans. But in developing nations that struggle with widespread poverty and suffering, Christianity is booming.

"Save yourself!" they shouted. Isn't that our national anthem of sorts? "Save yourself! Show us some power, some fireworks, some glitter." All three voices in the story are essentially saying the same thing. They cannot imagine that the cross means anything other than "Goofy" is dead. They cannot look long enough at the cross to take it seriously for their lives. So they glance and shake their heads in common derision.

But one man does look. He senses the mysterious paradox in the death of this innocent man who "has done nothing wrong." He looks at Jesus hanging there -- powerless, humiliated, silent before his tormentors. And maybe that man with a shady past looked a long time that long afternoon. And he saw something in Jesus that the others didn't. "Remember me," he said. "Remember me." He didn't say, "Save me." He didn't say, "Get me out of this, will ya?" He just said he wanted to be remembered. To have Jesus recall his life. It's interesting. That's what Jesus asks of us, too. To remember him. "Do this in remembrance of me. Look at my body and not turn away."

On some days it would be greatly satisfying to have a God who would rescue us from all calamity and danger; a God who smites bullies at the gas station and saves us from all humiliation, pain, and suffering. A "Mighty Mouse" God who flies from the heavens singing, "Here I come to save the daaay!"

But that is not the Christian God, unfortunately. Or maybe fortunately. The Christian God invites us to look long and hard at the cross. Occasional glancing won't cut it. In fact, if you think you've got the cross figured out, that's a sure bet you probably haven't. Refusing to avert our eyes, we hang there in our own crucifying moments and slowly drink in the life that is Jesus. "Remember me," we say. "Remember me when you come into your kingdom."

Many, many years ago, at a place called "The Skull," other dominant voices rang out. "Come down from the cross. Are you not the Christ? Show us then! Save yourself and us!"

By staying there, he has.

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1. These figures are from an article by Darrell L. Guder, "Missional Theology for a Missionary Church" Journal for Preachers (Advent 1998), p. 3. He is citing work from the International Bulletin of Missionary Research.