Homily for the Feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross

What is it that can take an instrument of torture—the Cross—and make of it a sign of hope?
What can transform a symbol of ultimate defeat into a sign of victory, so prominently displayed in our churches?

This is the question before us today, as we celebrate liturgically the Triumph of the Cross.

By every human measure, the cross was a sentence of death. It was the Roman Empire’s warning: a slow, humiliating execution designed to strip its victim of everything, to expose them in agony, to silence any challenge to power. By its very nature, the cross meant shame, defeat, and despair.

And yet, paradoxically, we Christians lift up the Cross of Jesus as a sign of his victory. We venerate it as the Tree of Life, the throne from which Jesus reigns, and the sign of our hope.

What accounts for this transformation?

We begin to glimpse the answer in the words Jesus spoke to his apostles on the night before he died: “Do this in memory of me.” What specifically is “this” to which Jesus calls us?

At first, we might think Jesus was pointing us to the Holy Mass — where we receive his Body and Blood and share in his life. In the Mass, we receive the greatest gift anyone could ever receive. We receive the body, blood, soul and divinity of Jesus into our very bodies. This is because Jesus said, “Take this, all of you…” Here he meant for us to receive him. But what does he mean when he said, “do this”?

The Eucharist is more than a gift to receive. In the Eucharist, Jesus shows us what he himself was about to do: he was taking up his cross, offering himself to the Father, not only for us, but for every person. The “this” is the total gift of himself to the Father and for us.

So when he says “Do this in memory of me,” he is inviting us to do more than receive him. He is inviting us to offer ourselves with him: to take up our own crosses and unite them with his, sating to the Father: “into your hands I commit my spirit”. To let the cross of Jesus become the cross on which we offer our joys and sorrows to the Father, with Jesus, for the good of others.

This mystery touches the concrete realities of our lives:

• In priestly celibacy. A man renounces the natural love of wife and children. Humanly speaking, this can feel like loss, even like death. But when he lives it as part of doing this in memory of me — offering himself through his celibacy with Jesus — it becomes fruitful. Rightly do we call him “Father,” for his life bears life in another way.
• In marriage. The love of husband and wife brings joys, but also trials. If marriage is lived only for what we receive, it can become transactional, the joys and sorrows balanced like a trial balance. But when spouses live their bond as an offering — as a way of doing this in memory of me — both joys and sorrows are offered to the Father for each other. Rightly do we call this way of life fruitful, even if unable to have children. And even a broken marriage, where no more joy is to be expected, a faithful spouse can still offer him or herself to God the Father, with Jesus, for the salvation of the other.
• In suffering. Illness, loss, injustice — these crosses can feel unbearable. Endurance might seem the only option. We hope and pray for healing – and rightly so. But when this outcome becomes the sign of God’s love then we have prioritised receiving over giving. The greatest gift we can make of ourselves is to unite our sufferings with those of Jesus for the salvation of others: “There is no greater love than to lay down our lives for our friends”. Our sufferings can become the cross on which we offer ourselves to the Father with Jesus. When we do this, both we and they are transformed. What once seemed meaningless, while still unpleasant and painful, becomes the occasion of our exultation with Jesus.

No wonder Pope Benedict XVI once said, “The Eucharist draws us into Jesus’ act of self-oblation… We enter into the very dynamic of his self-giving.”

To speak of this is almost clumsy, because we are standing before a mystery. Mysteries are not solved or fully understood; they are entered into and lived. But this much we can say: the Cross triumphs because Jesus offered himself in love — and we are invited to do the same in memory of him. The Holy Mass is precisely where we do this. We receive him who said “take this…” and we offer ourselves with him who said “do this…”

What are the crosses you bring with you today? In your marriage, your family, your health, your work? Jesus says to each of us: “Do this in memory of me.” Offer yourself on these crosses to the Father, just as he offered himself.

As his cross was transformed from defeat to triumph, so can yours, by God’s grace. Amen.