Are a baby's human rights abused at baptism when it is marked with the symbol of the most gruesome and cruel form of execution ever devised by, and for, human beings? Is it really the best start in life we can offer an unsuspecting infant? And why the cross? If we wish to persist in such reprehensible behaviour, why not put a tiny electric-chair necklace on the child and at least make the rite a contemporary one?
The fact is, the Christian faith is the faith of Christ crucified. For most Christians in this land, it is the faith in which we are baptised and signed with the sign of the cross, traced with water on our forehead. It is in this faith we are called to live, to serve and to die - and afterwards, family and friends may well erect a cross over our grave.
St Paul, passionate to the last, said: "God forbid that I should boast of anything but the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, through which the world is crucified to me and I to the world." (Galatians, 6:14.) The Greek word for "boast" doesn't translate easily but has the idea of obsession, engrossing the attention and dominating the mind, which was what the cross of Jesus did for the apostle. That cross was the centre of his faith, his life and his ministry.
Likewise, for Christians, where others are obsessed with money, success, fame, sex or power, those who follow Christ crucified are to be obsessed with him and with his cross.
In his obsession, however, Paul was not alone, for the cross was central in the mind of Jesus, too. He repeatedly predicted the necessity of his sufferings, foreseeing that "the Son of Man must suffer many things and be rejected. . . and be killed." (Mark, 8:31.) Moreover, he planned his own memorial service, telling his disciples to eat bread and drink wine to remember him. Both elements speak of death, of life "given" and "shed". It was by his death that Jesus wished above all to be remembered.
The church could have chosen a more user-friendly logo for Christianity. It could have opted for the crib, reminder of Christ's incarnation; or the boat on Galilee which he used as a pulpit, emblem of his teaching; or the towel with which he washed his disciples' feet, the sign of humble service; or the tomb from which he rose, reminder of his resurrection. Any of these would have been an evocative badge for the religion Jesus founded. But the church stayed with the cross.
Even a glance at the New Testament writings would confirm the rightness of the choice. Peter, Paul, John, the writer of the Letter to the Hebrews, all subscribe to the same central truth: it was by the shedding of his blood, by his sacrificial and violent death on the cross, that Jesus dealt with our sins and achieved our salvation.
So the church's message always centres on the cross, on the unpalatable truths of human sin, guilt before a holy God, judgment to come, and then God's great rescue enterprise, never better summarised than by St Paul: "God demonstrated his own love for us in this: while we were still sinners, Christ died for us." (Romans, 5:8.)
During Lent, Christians are recalled to basics. Via self-examination we will discover we are born boasters, pumpers-up of our own ego, boasting of ourselves, our reputation, generosity, even church attendance. We have scant choice here. Either we boast of our achievements and exclude access to God's grace, or we are obsessed by Christ's achievement on the cross and receive its benefits as an unmerited gift.
In its practical outworking thereafter, the normal Christian life is irrevocably polarised by the cross. As the basis of acceptance with God, as the motor to drive daily discipleship, as the content of our message to a sceptical world, like St Paul we can only and will always boast about, even glory in, the one who was executed hideously on a cross that first Good Friday.