Exultation of the Cross

 

Homily

Exultation of the Cross

September 14, 2025

 

Today is the Feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross. Today, we lift our hearts in praise for that sacred instrument which, through the blood of our Savior, transformed death into life, despair into hope. As we gather here, perhaps some of us carry heavy burdens. These are sadly common occurrences; loss of a loved one, strife within our family, chronic illness, struggles with employment, uncertainty about finances. Yet, the Cross that stands before us is not as a symbol of defeat, but a beacon of hope in the resurrection. It invites us to pick up our own crosses and follow Jesus, hard as it may be, trusting that our suffering, when united with His, leads to glory, a glory we can only imagine, but trusting in Him, is promised to us.

 

But how do we embrace pain and suffering to glory and bliss? Fortunately, we have the Scriptures that illuminate this mystery. In the Book of Numbers, we hear of the Israelites grumbling in the desert, bitten by serpents as a consequence of their sin, brought about by their own hand. God, in His infinite wisdom and mercy, instructs Moses to fashion a bronze serpent and lift it high on a pole: "Everyone who is bitten, when he looks at it, shall live" (Num 21:9). This prefigures the Cross of Christ, as Jesus Himself explains in today's Gospel, "Just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life" (Jn 3:14-15). The Cross is exalted because it is the ultimate sign of God's love: "For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son" (Jn 3:16). Here, we see hope incarnate. The Cross is not the end; it is the gateway to the Resurrection.

 

Imagine the disciples on Good Friday, their dreams shattered as Jesus hung dying on that cruel wood. The sky darkened, the earth quaked; all seemed lost. But three days later, the tomb was empty! We know this now, but they didn’t then. Then the Risen Lord appeared, His wounds glorified, proving that the Cross's agony brings new life, a new life born from struggle. St. Paul captures this in his letter to the Philippians: Christ "humbled himself, becoming obedient to death, even death on a cross. Therefore God has highly exalted him" (Phil 2:8-9). Brothers and sisters, this is our hope: the resurrection is not a distant fairy tale but the promise woven into every trial we face. When we gaze upon the exalted Cross, we remember that God's power turns weakness into strength, sorrow into joy, struggle into victory.

 

Yet, this hope demands something of us. Jesus calls us explicitly, "If anyone wishes to come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me" (Lk 9:23). What does this mean in our lives? Picking up our cross isn't about seeking suffering for its own sake; it's about embracing the inevitable pains of discipleship with faith. For the parent caring for a sick child, it's the cross of exhaustion and worry, offered up in love. For the worker facing injustice, it's the cross of perseverance amid unfairness. For the elderly enduring loneliness, it's the cross of quiet fidelity in prayer. These are not random afflictions; each one is an invitation to unite our lives with Christ's redemptive suffering, if we let it, if we let go and accept our suffering as a path to glory in Him.

 

What afflictions do you carry? I struggle with so many things, too hard to say out loud, too embarrassing to mention. I do and say things I shouldn’t; I don’t do and don’t say things I should. I know what they are and yet I still fail. Sure, sometimes I think I’m good. I’d like to think I’m good most of the time. Yet, when I’m honest with myself, when I humble myself in front of Jesus in the Tabernacle, under the Cross, I throw myself at His feet and recognize my need for His guidance and mercy. And He pulls me up and shows me the way.

 

Consider the saints who embodied this. St. Teresa of Calcutta picked up her cross in the slums of India, seeing Jesus in the dying poor. She once said, "Suffering is a gift from God; it is between Him and me." Her hope in the resurrection fueled her mission, turning Calcutta's despair into a testament of love. Or think of St. Maximilian Kolbe, who in Auschwitz volunteered to die in place of another prisoner. Facing starvation and death, he led prayers and hymns, his eyes fixed on the exalted Cross. His martyrdom echoes Jesus' words, "No one has greater love than this, to lay down one's life for one's friends" (Jn 15:13). These holy men and women show us that carrying the cross isn't passive resignation; it's active participation in God's plan of salvation. Trust in His plan!

 

In our modern world, where suffering is often hidden or medicated away, the Church reminds us that the Cross is essential to Christian life. We live in a culture that promises instant gratification, but Jesus offers something deeper: hope rooted in eternity. When we pick up our cross, whether it's forgiving a betrayal, standing for truth in a relativistic society, or simply enduring daily frustrations, we share in Christ's victory.

 

St. Paul urges us, "I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us" (Rom 8:18). This is resurrection hope! It sustains us through our valleys, assuring us that Easter Sunday follows Good Friday.

 

My friends, as we venerate the Cross today, let us renew our commitment. Perhaps we've been avoiding our cross, numbing pain with distractions or clinging to bitterness. Today, embrace it with hope. Offer our struggles at the altar as a gift to be offered up, uniting them to the Eucharistic sacrifice. Trust that God, who raised His own Son from the dead, will raise us too, perhaps not immediately from earthly trials, but ultimately to heavenly joy.

 

Join me in this prayer: O Holy Cross, exalted above all, be our hope in our own resurrection. Teach us to carry our burdens with Christ, that we may rise with Him. Amen. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.