At cross purposes but still in plain sight WORDS | THE REVEREND CANON CAMERON PICKERING
S tanding behind the dead-ball line at Christchurch Boys’ High School (CBHS) during a lull in an otherwise excellent rugby game against Christ’s College, my eyes wandered to the post protectors. They were dressed in CBHS colours, with the school crest displayed proudly at the top. And there it was – a cross. Founded in 1881, four years after the Education Act made schooling in New Zealand free, compulsory, and secular, CBHS is not a Christian school. Yet, sitting at the top of the crest is an unmistakably Christian symbol. Long before CBHS existed, the province of Canterbury carried a cross on its crest. Christchurch also carried Christian symbolism
It is quite challenging to shout ‘Christ’s’ at a match without sounding verbally impaired. ‘College’ rings better, or at least that is how I reconcile the reality of multiple colleges in the city and our chant of ‘College, College’. As Cantabrians and New Zealanders, we swim in the waters of Christianity. More than the symbols we pass on buildings, memorials, and civic emblems every day without a second thought, our society – at its best – has been cross shaped. It is a democratic society, where generosity and selflessness are prized virtues and celebrated as worthy of respect. A society where we know when we’ve met a good person, and a society that gives good people second chances when they make bad mistakes. A cross-shaped society – I like that. That is remarkable when you consider what a cross originally represented. To the Romans, it was an instrument of torture and execution. Nobody wore one around their neck or put it on a banner. Yet, Christians took this symbol of shame and transformed it into a symbol of hope. Why? Because they believed that on the cross they saw the deepest truth about God – not power or domination, but self-giving love.
That remains the offence of the cross. The cross says life is not, ultimately, about me; it says somebody else matters. The Apostle, Paul, acknowledged how odd this was, writing that the message of the cross was a stumbling block to some and foolishness to others. Perhaps it still is. Less than 24 hours after my reflections beyond the dead-ball line, Canterbury Rugby unveiled a new logo. Canterbury Rugby is free to do as it pleases with its logo. Indeed, the new crest is well-designed – a sharp, appealing red and black logo that will look great on social media, and merchandise. However, unlike the crest it has carried throughout my life and before, the cross at the top is gone. The cross confronts our assumptions about power. It suggests that strength is found in sacrifice and greatness in service. Whether one is religious or not, that is a challenging idea. The Canterbury Rugby marketing department may have removed it to avoid offence, replacing it simply with a date: ‘1879’. Which is wonderfully ironic. The saying goes, ‘Man plans, God laughs’. We might well ask – 1879 years since what?
– bishop’s mitres and all. The University of Canterbury (UC)
adopted the cross too. You can see UC’s original symbols carved into the stonework of the Arts Centre, and a scripture verse adorns the Canterbury Museum entrance. These religious references are scattered across ‘old Christchurch’, connecting to the founders who imagined Canterbury as a community shaped by a particular story, with the cross, and a college named for the Christ of the cross at its centre.
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