er at the wrong time, is to repent, to have a metanoia-that is, a "re-cognition" or change of mind. We must think entirely differently about how God works in a fallen cosmos where death is the way of life. We must "re-cognize" our life in the midst of death.
The theology of glory assumes a fix-it God in a fixer-upper cosmos. All we need is some rehab and renovation-straighten up our morals with ten handy commandments, get our doctrinal ducks in a row, tighten those spiritual quads and abs with some liturgical aerobics, and we poor sinners are on our way to glory. But that way of thinking is dead wrong from the outset. We are not broken down but dead in sin (see Eph. 2:5). We can't be rehabbed any more than the dead can be raised with an aspirin and a bandage. We don't need rehab but resurrection.
Death and resurrection are God's modes of operation. Repentance in the face of suffering means that we drop dead to our preconceived notions of how God should deal with us and make the cross of Jesus our reference point. There we see how God has dealt decisively with sin, suffering, and death once and for all in the sufferings and death of his Son. The cross demolishes the categories of "good" and "evil." The evil of the cross is the good of our salvation. The miscarriage of Roman justice is God's justice for the sins of the world. The rejection of Christ by the world is God's reconciliation of the world. The innocent Sufferer is the sacrificial Lamb who takes away the world's sin. As Joseph said to his brothers, "You meant evil against me; but God meant it for good" (Gen. 50:20).
The theology of the cross is the paradoxical theology of the law and the gospel. The cross is both law and gospel, both the cursed tree and the tree of life. It is the death of God and the life of man, the punishment for our sin and sin's atonement.
In the same way, our own suffering and death in the flesh are both law and gospel. Death is law in the sense that it is the just wages for our sin. "The wages of sin is death" (Rom. 6:23). Suffering is the law's reminder that in Adam all die. This is not a simple cause-and-effect relationship: "He did X so God did Y." AIDS babies and genocide victims show us that we do not live in a simplistic cause-and-effect world. Death is the intrinsic consequence of our trying to be like God, our common lot as children of Adam. The word of law, spoken to Adam, continues to have its killing way with all of Adam's sons and daughters: "You will surely die."
But death is not God's last word. In his incarnation, Jesus Christ embraces humanity as the second Adam, as humanity's new head. In his baptism, Jesus stands as a sinner in John's baptism of repentance, though he is without sin. He becomes the aggregate sinner, made to be sin for us though he himself knew no sin (see 2 Cor. 5:21). In his own flesh, he accomplishes perfect obedience under the law for us, even to his death on the cross. And, just as every sin is atoned for in his death, so every sufferer is embraced in Christ's suffering. "But I, when I am lifted up, I will draw all men to myself" (John 12:32).
"Were you there when they crucified my Lord?" the Good Friday spiritual asks. Yes, you were there, in the body of Jesus. "Christ died for all and therefore all died" (2 Cor. 5:14). We, together with all humanity, suffered the just punishments for our sin in the body of Jesus nailed to the tree. He is every sufferer, every death, every victim of genocide, and every victim of oppression, violence, and disease. His thirst is our thirst. His pain is our pain-the pain we inflict on others, the pain others inflict on us, and the pain we inflict upon ourselves. His cry of dereliction, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" speaks for every sufferer in his or her time of abandonment. The Son asks his Father "Why?" on behalf of all of us-and hears only silence from heaven. Yet he trusts his Father even in the silence and entrusts his life to him in the silence. "Father, into your hands, I commit my spirit." The good news comes with his dying breath, for his death is g