Why Celebrate the Cross?

On 14 of September, the Church celebrates the feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross. But why celebrate the Cross? We certainly don’t usually see the crosses of life as occasions for joy or merrymaking. So what meaning does this feast’s joy really hold? How can the Church rejoice in the Cross and even greet it as her only hope — Ave Crux, spes unica?

Although previously a separate festivity—The Invention of the Holy Cross on 3 May—in this feast the Church also commemorates the finding of the Cross. When we discover a new cross in our lives, whether through illness or some other trial, Christ, through the “foolishness of the Cross,” calls us to something deeper. In recognising our inability to make sense of life’s crosses, He offers us the grace of heavenly wisdom. This wisdom does not illuminate the entire path at once, but lights up the next step—just enough to keep us moving forward, step by step, until one day, when we look back, we recognise the marvellous work of God’s providence in our lives.

On this day, the Church also remembers the consecration of the first Basilica of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem, which includes both the tomb and Golgotha. This took place on 13 September 335. A consecration is always a cause for joy. But it also implies separation and setting apart: when we consecrate an altar, a place, or persons, we dedicate them wholly and exclusively to God’s service. In baptism, we were all consecrated as temples of the Holy Spirit. This consecration sets us apart from others and at times may even isolate us. Yet, it also brings us into the greater family of God’s children, united with Jesus, our elder brother. And this is truly a source of joy, because it means we are not—and do not have to be—alone in carrying our crosses.

In the Church, like Simon of Cyrene, we help one another carry life’s crosses. We stand under each other’s crosses like Mary stood beneath the Cross of her Son, and, like the Veronica, we wipe the faces of our suffering brothers and sisters with the tenderness and comfort we can offer—even if we ourselves are crushed under our own burdens. In fact, it may be precisely because we are also weighed down but haven’t lost hope that we can truly offer consolation and strength to others.

Finally, the Church commemorates the victory of the Cross, for on 14 September 629, a large relic of the True Cross was raised once again in the Cathedral of Hagia Sophia in Constantinople, following its recovery by the Byzantine Emperor Heraclius, who reclaimed it from the Persians fifteen years after they had seized it and taken control of Jerusalem. We do not rejoice before the Cross just as we don’t get the same feeling that we had been on holiday when someone brings us a souvenir from a place he or she visited. The Cross is no pretty keepsake, and far less so its relics. Yet we rejoice in a way similar to the gratefulness and joy we feel when someone thought of us and brought us a souvenir, especially if they were on a pilgrimage to a holy place and prayed for us. We rejoice just as we rejoice in something precious returned to us after it had been lost or stolen.

Of course, we wouldn’t cry if we were relieved of some burden or cross in life. But the saints actually prayed to have a share in Christ’s Cross, because they understood that only in this way could they also share in His glory. They grasped what St Paul wrote to the Colossians: “I rejoice in my sufferings for your sake, and in my flesh I complete what is lacking in Christ’s afflictions for the sake of his body, that is, the Church” (Col 1:24). In the redemption wrought on the Cross, Christ has left a small portion for each of us to freely choose whether we wish to be part of this hope for the world or remain trapped in our own selfishness.

Undoubtedly, all this is a paradoxical kind of joy—if not outright contradictory by the world’s logic. But as St Paul wrote to the Corinthians: “the foolishness of God is wiser than men, and the weakness of God is stronger than men” (1 Cor 1:25). And Paul goes on to challenge them—and us—to consider our own position in light of this truth (see 1 Cor 1:26a). This feast, too, challenges us to reflect on where we stand before the Cross.

And now that you know why this feast is truly a reason for joy, what will you choose? Will you continue to let the crosses of life rob you of joy and hope because you resist trusting, even if you do not understand? Or will you allow joy and hope to open your arms wide, so that the Cross may embrace you and allow the One who is the most beautiful among the children of men to visit you and kiss you with His gentleness (see Ps 45:3; Song 1:2)? Never forget: even He did not choose the easy road: He descended to the deepest depths to lift you up to His heights.