The Cross stands at the center of Christian faith as both a contradiction and a consolation: an instrument of execution that becomes the tree of life; a sign of defeat that unveils love’s victory. On the Feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross, the Church invites a long, honest look—upward—so that, like Israel in the desert, we might find healing precisely where we have been wounded (Num 21:4-9).
The Serpent Lifted Up: Healing in the Very Place of the Wound (Num 21:4-9; Jn 3:14-15)
Israel’s story in the wilderness is painfully familiar. Exhausted by the journey, hungry for control, the people complain—and venom spreads. God commands Moses to raise a bronze serpent; those who look upon it live (Num 21:8-9). The cure is not escape from the problem, but the courage to face it in faith. Jesus draws the line directly from that pole to the Cross: “Just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the desert, so must the Son of Man be lifted up…that everyone who believes in him may have eternal life” (Jn 3:14-15).
This is not magic. It is consent to be saved. The “look” is an act of trust that turns us from self-reliance toward God’s mercy. Many today live with different kinds of venom—cynicism, chronic anxiety, bitterness from betrayal, the numbness that follows burnout. To gaze upon the Cross is to let God turn our faces away from endless self-accusation and toward the One who carries our poison and does not return it.
“For God So Loved the World”: Love Stronger Than Condemnation (Jn 3:16-17)
The most well-known verse in Scripture is proclaimed today not as a slogan but as a life raft: “God so loved the world that he gave his only Son” (Jn 3:16). Notice the direction—God loved, God gave. The Cross is not God’s rage appeased but Love revealed and offered. “God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but that the world might be saved through him” (Jn 3:17). In seasons when shame writes the headlines of our lives, the Cross writes a different story: you are not defined by your failures but invited to become new within Love’s embrace.
The Descent That Exalts: Humility as the Path of Glory (Phil 2:6-11)
Paul sings the hymn of Christ’s descent—“He emptied himself…becoming obedient to death, even death on a cross” (Phil 2:7-8)—and then the echo of heaven resounds: “God greatly exalted him” (Phil 2:9). Augustine observed that humanity’s sickness is pride, and the medicine is Christ’s humility. In a culture that rewards self-promotion, the Cross proposes a different way: influence by self-gift, authority by service, victory by surrender to the Father.
Aquinas teaches that the Passion is “most fitting” for our salvation because it reveals the immensity of God’s love, gives us an unsurpassable example of virtue, and makes satisfaction for sin in a way we could never achieve on our own. On the Cross, Christ does not merely model endurance; he opens a path and draws us along it with grace. To “have this mind among yourselves” (Phil 2:5) is to let his humility rewire our reflexes, from grasping to giving, from defensiveness to trust.
Remembering Mercy in a Forgetful Age (Ps 78)
Psalm 78 recounts Israel’s forgetfulness and God’s enduring compassion: “He, being merciful, forgave their sin” (Ps 78:38). Ours is an age of forgetting. Suffering shrinks our field of vision; screens scatter our attention; grievances multiply. The Psalm is a gentle command: “Do not forget the works of the Lord” (Ps 78:7). To exalt the Cross is to remember, daily, that mercy has the last word. Practical remembrance matters:
- Trace the sign of the Cross slowly in moments of fear or temptation.
- Place a crucifix where you pray and where you work; let your eyes rest there and tell Christ what burdens you carry.
- When you feel the sting of resentment, look at the Crucified and ask for the grace to forgive as you have been forgiven.
A Feast Rooted in History: St. Helena and the Wood of the Cross
This feast is not only theological; it is historical and personal. In the fourth century, Saint Helena, mother of Emperor Constantine, journeyed to the Holy Land and, according to ancient tradition, discovered the wood of the True Cross. On September 14, 335, the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem was dedicated—a basilica embracing both Calvary and the empty tomb. The Church “exalts” the Cross because she never separates it from the Resurrection. Helena’s faith turned archaeology into adoration, reminding us that Christianity is not a myth but an event located in time and space, where God’s love took flesh, bled, and conquered death.
The Tree That Undoes the Fall: Christ the New Adam (Num 21; Phil 2; Jn 3)
St. Irenaeus loved to show how God writes straight with the crooked lines of history. Humanity fell by grasping at a tree; God raises us by giving us a tree. The bronze serpent prefigures the Cross; what wounded becomes, in God’s hands, what heals. In Christ the “recapitulation” is complete: our story is retold from the inside, our losses gathered into his obedience, our sins answered not with retaliation but with mercy. Lifted up, he draws all to himself (cf. Jn 12:32), not by coercion but by the gravity of love.
Practicing the Exaltation Today
To exalt the Cross is not to romanticize suffering or to seek it. It is to recognize Love’s presence within it and to cooperate with that Love. A few simple ways:
- Look up: When anger or anxiety strikes, lift your eyes to a crucifix and pray, “Jesus, I trust in you.” Name the fear; surrender it.
- Lift up: Carry someone else’s cross today—call the lonely, forgive a debt, serve without being noticed.
- Lay down: Put down a weapon you habitually carry—sarcasm, defensiveness, the last word—and let Christ fight for you.
- Return often: Confession and the Eucharist place us under the same Love that hung on Calvary and now lives to intercede for us.
“We adore you, O Christ, and we bless you, because by your Cross you have redeemed the world.” The bronze serpent healed those who looked; the Crucified heals those who believe. May we remember and not forget (Ps 78), bend the knee and confess with our tongues (Phil 2:10-11), and receive the gift God never tires of giving: not condemnation, but life—eternal and flourishing—even now (Jn 3:16-17).