The Son of Man must be lifted up, so that whoever believes in him may have eternal life.
Today, on the Feast of the Holy Cross, with the whole Church, we turn our gaze towards Christ crucified, and towards the Cross on which he died. Today, with greater fervour even than usual, we proclaim Christ’s Cross; we lift it up, we contemplate it, we honour it, we glory in it, we marvel at it, we adore it.
The Cross of Christ stands at the heart and centre of our holy religion, and marks it out from every other religion. We see this horrible instrument of torture and death, and we see hanging on it a man who was entirely innocent, and totally good; a man who was a healer, a peacemaker, a giver of life: one who was falsely accused, unjustly condemned, cruelly punished, overwhelmed by evil. And yet here also we Christians see our salvation, our hope, our healing, our cleansing, our reconciliation with God, the forgiveness of our sins. Here we see God’s love for us demonstrated, irrevocably proved, poured out. For the Cross is a sign of love: love both human and divine; love to the end; love stronger than sin, and stronger also than death.
The Cross of Christ is a mystery of our faith so rich, so profound, so limitlessly fruitful that we will never come to an end of seeking to understand it. Of course also we find ourselves baffled by it, humbled before it, grieved to the heart, reduced to silence. Turning to the New Testament, we find all the writers there in some form teaching us the meaning of the Cross, and also the identity of the One hanging on it. St. Paul especially unfolds for us this mystery, while always insisting with the utmost emphasis on its power.
So please let us at least all be certain that Christ’s death was not just a tragic accident of history, an unfortunate event which happily was overturned through the resurrection. No: precisely our faith proclaims that Christ’s death of itself is saving; Christ’s death is what changes everything; it is into Christ’s death that we were all baptised, and that we proclaim when we eat his Body and drink his Blood. St. Paul uses many images or metaphors to explain what Christ’s death means: he speaks of reconciling sacrifice, atonement, redemption, ransom; of the power of sin, and the greater power of grace; of a second Adam reversing the sin of the first; of the devil defeated. He speaks of our separation from God and from one another overcome; of condemnation turned into justification, of sin turned into holiness, and death turned into life.
St. John is of course in perfect harmony with St. Paul, though his approach to the mystery is quite different. In today’s Gospel, from John Chapter 3, Jesus identifies himself to Nicodemus as the Son of Man who came down from heaven. So at once we recall John’s Prologue, where the paradox of the Incarnation is starkly set out. The eternal Word of God, was with God, and who was God, became flesh. So through the flesh of Jesus we receive the Spirit; through this man we have immediate access to God; through his humiliation he manifests his glory; through his defeat he wins the victory; through his death, he gives life.
Still speaking to Nicodemus, our Lord goes on to compare his lifting up on the Cross with the lifting up of the serpent in the desert. So the Cross is to be seen – seen by everyone in the world – by everyone in history - because the Cross is a supreme moment of divine Revelation. If in Jesus we see God, so in the Cross of Jesus we have a final revelation of God’s love, and God’s self-gift. Through the Cross we have also a revelation of who we are, both in our wretchedness and in our glory; in our present condition, and in what is stored up for us in heaven.
St. John does nothing whatever to lessen the horror and the agony of the Passion. Yet in his description of it, he wants those who believe in Jesus to see through what is external, to the reality beneath. Jesus then was judged by Pilate, but far more truly, he is the Judge of the world, and the throne of his judgement is the Cross. He is also the King, as mockingly proclaimed in Pilate’s inscription, and his Universal Kingdom is firmly established here, from the Cross. He is a representative human being – behold the man! - who is also the eternal and only-begotten Son of God. So here on the Cross Jesus is consummating his saving mission, and opening up for us a share in his own divine Sonship: so that we who believe in him might truly become children of God, and inheritors with him of eternal glory.
God so loved the world, St. John goes on to say, that he gave his only begotten Son. Dame Julian of Norwich famously pondered the mystery of the Cross over many years, and reached her inspired conclusion. I saw, she says, what was his meaning in this: and his meaning was love.
This is our faith, and it’s true. But of course it has a consequence. That is: in order to share in Christ’s victory, and to enjoy all the blessings he came to give, we have also, each in his own way, to share in his Cross. And so our lives must have their share of suffering, of grief, of loss, of pain - for some more, and for others less - but all of us must come at last to our own death.
For us who believe, our share in Christ’s Cross, even unto death, can never be merely negative. No: – for in this way we also have power, to share in his saving work. So may whatever we have to endure of pain, or grief, or fear, contribute to counterbalance the sins and evil of the world. And may our own death when it comes be our final act of union with Jesus, and with his Sacred Heart; and may it be turned at last into the promised gift of eternal life.