The Cross Still Stands

A few days ago, I started writing about the beautiful cross that once stood at Camp Mystic in Kerrville, Texas. That cross stood tall over generations of campers, many of whom made life-changing professions of faith there.

It was simple. Wooden. Sacred. A symbol of the love of God and the price His Son paid on Calvary — for us.

But now, that cross is gone.

In its place, something new is rising. Not just one cross, but many — handcrafted by artist Roberto Marquez to honor those who lost their lives in the recent Hill Country floods. Along the edge of Nimitz Lake, he is creating a memorial — one cross for every life. It’s sobering. Sacred. Painful. And yet, somehow… peaceful.

Isn’t that the tension of the cross?

What was once an instrument of horror — a Roman torture device — has become, for us, a sign of hope. A place where mercy and justice collided. Where grace took the nails. Where death met its match.

Just a few miles away in Kerrville stands "The Empty Cross", a 77-foot steel sculpture inside "The Coming King Sculpture Prayer Garden".

Towering over the Texas hill country, it isn’t just tall — it’s wide with meaning: The Door. The Way. The Light. The Strong Tower. The Resurrection.

The cross still stands — not just in steel and wood — but in hearts that believe.

And yes, it amazes me that God still commissions artists to tell His story. That even in the aftermath of heartbreak, He uses creativity to bring comfort and beauty. He redeems what the storm tries to destroy.

As we remember those who were swept away in the floods, may we hold fast to the truth of the cross: that Christ was swept away once -- so that we could be held forever.

“For the message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved, it is the power of God.” — 1 Corinthians 1:18

Wood, steel, or stone — the cross still stands. In Kerrville, in memorials, and in our hearts.