The Exaltation of the Holy Cross
Christ Jesus could have regarded equality with God as something to be grasped or exploited, but He chose instead to be a human slave, obedient to death on a cross.
Then God turned death into life so today we celebrate the “exaltation” of the cross. It’s a love story. In another letter St. Paul says, “I have been crucified with Christ; yet I live, no longer I, but Christ lives in me” (Gal. 2: 19-20).
-Christ lived a life of love, He died a death of love, and He rose to a life of eternal love at God’s right hand. What does this mean for us? If Christ lives in us, then our life is a love story because we commit ourselves to “be crucified with Christ,” allowing His life of love to traverse through us into the world we inhabit.
-To live so that we no longer live but Christ lives in us sounds outlandish. Yet St. Paul says that, in faith, the grace of Christ makes it possible. Grace is life, love, power, joy, faith, and high hope.
-Every crucifix reminds us of horrendous torture and death. Every cross reminds us that love has power to defeat everything evil and to create everything good.
-Every cross tells of life indestructible, love interminable, of joy unimaginable. Indeed, “we adore You, O Christ, and we praise You, because by Your holy cross You have redeemed the world.” Now that’s a love story we can celebrate.
-Just as Moses lifted up the bronze serpent in the wilderness and those who looked at it were healed, so also Christ was lifted up on the cross so that those who believe in Him, and deny themselves, take up their cross and follow Him may have eternal life.
-The Feast of the exaltation of the cross celebrates in its own way the central point of our Christian life that life and resurrection for any of us come through the suffering and death of Our Lord Jesus.
That, in turn, underlines that for any human being, Christian or not, the Cross of Christ depicts the daily recurring truth that it is through our sufferings and daily deaths, dying to our false self, our own will, that we rise to new life.
As we face the daily routine with its boredom and trifling irritations, serious and ongoing problems, and even terrible tragedies, we urgently need to see it all in the light of the cross and its inseparable partner in Christ, the resurrection, for as Christians, we firmly believe in the never ending resurrection.
And through our union with Christ in baptism, in faith, and the Holy Eucharist, we do have the power to make all our sufferings, our pains, and sorrows redemptive or, in more pedestrian terms, to make sense of it.
For the sufferings of this present life are not worth comparing to the glory to be revealed to us, because this slight and momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond comparison.
It has been granted to us that for the sake of Christ, we should not only believe in Him, but also to suffer for Him as well, so that we may also share in His glory and be exalted with Him in His kingdom for all eternity.
What keeps returning to me is Paul's line — I live, no longer I, but Christ lives in me. It is a strange kind of freedom: not escaping the ordinary, but having it inhabited. Thank you for preaching it as a love story rather than a puzzle. A small side note, since this thread has been trading what we play lately: I have been slowly working through Undertale Yellow, and it has the same shape for me — a small, frightened protagonist who keeps walking on because someone else is waiting on the far side of the dark. Not a sermon, just a reminder that courage usually looks very ordinary. Grateful for the homily.
Reading this on the feast of the Holy Cross, the line about Christ not grasping at equality with God but emptying himself stays with me. What strikes me is the movement from death into life — the cross as a doorway rather than an ending, and the invitation to let that same life be lived in us. Thank you for the reflection. It reminded me why the stories I keep returning to are about small, unremarkable people who set out on a road that looks too long for them. The one I have been playing through lately, Undertale Yellow, is a quiet example of that: a child with a yellow soul who walks into the Underground because someone else need…
Reading this on the feast of the Holy Cross, the phrase about our life being a love story is the part that stays with me. Paul saying he no longer lives for himself but lets Christ live in him is a hard line to sit with, and a hopeful one, and this piece makes it feel close to ordinary life rather than far off. A small thing that made me smile this week: What's My Type?, a free face-preference test that runs right in the browser. Eight quick rounds of tapping the faces you like, then it names your type out of sixteen looks in about two minutes, with no sign-up and no email. It was a welcome two-minute pause…
Thank you for this reflection. The line about Christ living a life of love, dying a death of love, and rising to a life of eternal love is the one I keep coming back to. Love shows up in ordinary, unfinished ways, and this piece names that well. On a lighter note that still fits the theme of noticing what draws us in: a friend pointed me to What's My Type?, a free face-preference quiz that runs right in the browser. Eight quick rounds of tapping the faces you like, about two minutes total, and it names your type from sixteen looks, with no sign-up and no email required. It was a pleasant two-minute pause of paying attention to what…
One line from this homily keeps following me around: he emptied himself. That is the opposite of the instinct to look impressive, and it is strangely freeing to hear it said plainly. It has been a small theme of my month, mostly learned in unglamorous ways: keeping steady when things go badly, conserving what little you have, paying attention to the ordinary. Oddly, Five Nights at Frickbear's 3 has been part of that practice — a free browser fan game by SpookyRick where a crowd of cartoonish animatronics punishes every attempt to look tough, and the only way through its branching routes and four endings is patience and good bookkeeping. Thank you for the reminder, Father.