Holy Cross

 

September 14, 2025

 

John 10: 11-16

 

+ I always say this:

 

If you come into church and see red paraments—the red altar frontal, the red hangings, the red chasuble—be prepared.

 

We are commemorating something not so pleasant.

 

Well, except for Pentecost.

 

Then, we celebrate the Holy Spirit.

 

But usually when we have the red up, it means we’re dealing with martyrs.

 

This morning, we have the red on.

 

But, no, we’re not commemorating a martyr.

 

But, still, sadly, we are commemorating something not that pleasant either.

 

This morning we are commemorating probably the one most important symbols of who we are as Christians.

 

We are commemorating the Holy Cross.

 

The late, great Father John-Julian of the Episcopal religious order, the Order of Julian or Norwich, writes about this very important feast in his wonderful book, Stars in a Dark World, which we use regularly at our Wednesday evening Eucharist. 

 

He writes:

 

“It is noteworthy, I think, to see that the Church celebrate the Exaltation of the Holy Cross not with the penitential purple of Lent or the mortal black of Good Friday, but with the brilliant passion red of celebration and honor! And the propers of this feast do not dwell on the bloody death of Christ but rather upon the wonder of the utterly holy [instrument], because the executioner’s instrument has been exalted as the means of the salvation of the world. The salvic resurrection of Christ transformed the gross and ugly Cross of death into the most enduring symbol of life and hope.”

 

Now, we probably don’t really think about the Cross as an object too often.

 

We find of take it for granted.

 

We see it every Sunday.

 

We see them on the churches we pass every day.

 

We probably wear the around our necks or hang them on the walls of our homes.

 

For us, of course, the Cross is more than just two pieces of wood bound together.

 

For us the Cross is our symbol.

And more than that.

 

We have essentially been branded with the cross.

 

Each of us were marked by the Cross in our baptism.

 

And as a result, it is ingrained into our very souls.

 

We make the cross very nice and pretty.

 

But we sometimes forget that it was, in its day, a symbol of execution and death.

 

You will notice today that we have this black, hand-made cross in front of the altar.

 

This cross was made by my father fifteen years ago last April.

 

He made it for me to use at our Good Friday liturgy.

 

Well, if you follow me on social media, you will have seen my post about the fact that fifteen years ago today—on the feast of the Holy Cross—my father died very suddenly.

 

Some of you remember that time in the life of your priest.

 

And you’ll also remember how it came in the middle of a string of deaths in our parish—I think we had seven that month alone.

 

I always thought it was apt that my father made the cross we use for Good Friday during his last Holy Week and that same year he would die on the feast of Holy Cross.

 

It’s especially apt, since my father knew a few thing about bearing crosses in his own life.

 

He knew how to endure hardships and difficulties.

 

And I am grateful he taught me that lesson in my own life.

 

For me this feast day takes on so much meaning, but so too does the cross itself.

 

This symbol of death and degradation has been given to us and we are told to bear it with all the strength and dignity we can muster, just as Jesus did.

 

I’ve shared this quote with you before, but I love this saying by Blessed Charles Grafton, the Bishop of Fond Du Lac, Wisconsin.

 

He said that our job as Christians is to “preach the Cross from the Cross.”

 

By that, I think, he meant that we should preach the cross from our own imperfection, our own limitation, our own brokenness.

 

And doing so is not easy.

 

It is not easy to preach about this symbol of death when we are surrounded by such death and violence.

 

 

In our Gospel reading for today, we hear Jesus say to us,

 

“Walk while you have the light, so that the darkness may not overtake you. If you walk in the darkness, you do not know where you are going. While you have the light, believe in the light, so that you may become children of light.”  

 

Those words resonate for us.

 

We have often felt as though we have been overtaken by darkness.

 

Certainly recently.

 

I know most of us here this morning followed the events that happened this week in Utah.

 

It was ugly.

 

And that event just proved to all of us how divided we are, how broken we are.

 

In the day or so that followed, I like many of us had to endure some brutal reality about our country, and some terrible ugliness.

 

And it would be easy to counter such hatred with hatred.

 

But the fact is: countering hate with hate isn’t the answer.

 

It never is.

 

Countering hate with hate only leads to even more hate—more negative energy, more conflict—in our world.

 

Besides, we as Christians, are never once called to hate.

 

What are we called to do?

 

We are called again and again to. . . love.

 

Even to love those we find despicable.

 

Even those who are hatemongers.

 

And racists.

 

Even those who want to blame others for their pain, for the consequences of their own actions.

 

Even those who want to wage war against others.

 

Loving them, I want to be clear, is not the same as accepting their hatred.

 

Loving them simply means counteracting their hatred.

 

Our empathy is a defiant act again the lack of empathy from others.

 

And it is vitally important as well to recognize that most of the hatred and fear and paranoia going on right now stems from the fact that we are all suffering.

 

We are all enduring our own pains, our own struggles.

 

And when we are suffering, we often time act out in anger and fear and hatred.

 

But to take up the cross is to not let hatred and fear win out.

 

Taking up the cross means we take up our love—we carry our love—even despite our own pain and suffering.

 

We must be children of light in this oftentimes dark place.

 

And in doing so, in the end, we know, love will transform hatred and fear and suffering.

 

Father John-Julian wrote,

 “In a sense, the Cross underwent the first transformation of the Resurrection; and that same transformation has been part of the salvation offered by the Crucified and Resurrected One. Pain and death became resurrection and exaltation—and that has never changed. The sign of the Christian’s salvation is not some giddy, mindless, low-cost bliss, but rather an entry into the deeper parts of the reality of pain and death [and I would add, fear], soaked, as was the Holy Cross, with the blood of sacrifice and finally emerged, brought by God on the other side, resurrected, exalted whole, and in heaven.”

 Just as the cross was transformed from an instrument of pain and suffering and death into a symbol of love and eternal life and resurrection, taking up our cross and carrying it transforms our own pains, our own sufferings, our own fears into life and love and strength.

 If we take the crosses we’ve been given to bear and embrace them, rather than running away from them, we find that fear has no control over us.

 If we become children of light, the darkness will not overtake us.

 Hatred has no control over us.

 Death has no control over us.

 The Cross destroys fear and pain and hatred and death.

 The Cross shatters hatred and pain and death into a million pieces.

 And when we do fear, we know we have a place to go to for shelter.

 When fear encroaches into our lives—when fear comes riding roughshod through our lives—all we have to do is go to the Cross and embrace it.

 And there, we will find our fears destroyed.

 Because of the Cross, we are taken care of by our God, who truly does love us.  

 Because of the Cross, we know, all will, somehow, in some way, be well.

 Through the Cross, we must pass to find ourselves, once and for all time, face-to-face with God and with each other.

 Face to face even with those others who are so caught up in their ideologies of hate and fear.

 Face to face even with those others who are trapped in their suffering.   

 So, let us do as Jesus tells us to.

 Let us be children of light.

 Let us take up our cross and follow him.

 He knows the way forward through these dark and frightening times.

 He is the light that shines in the dark, leading us forward.

 He knows that the only way to maneuver through these times is with love and empathy and understanding.

 It is with non-violence and peace and a clear vision of the way forward.

 This is our only option, after all.

 Because just look at the alternative.

 Hatred?

 Fear?

 Division?

 Anger?

 Those simply isn’t an option for us who follow Jesus.

 Let us bear our crosses patiently and without fear.

 Let us continue to preach the cross from the cross.

 If we do, we too will be following the way of Jesus.

 After all, the Way of Jesus doesn’t end at the Cross.

 Rather the Way of Jesus ends on the other side of the cross.

 And that is our truly destination.

 Amen.