Standing by the cross of Jesus were his mother and his mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene. When Jesus saw his mother and the disciple there whom he loved he said to his mother, “Woman, behold, your son.” Then he said to the disciple, “Behold, your mother.” And from that hour the disciple took her into his home.
The Gospel of the Lord.
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When someone we love dies, we often return to their grave. On anniversaries, birthdays, holidays, or an otherwise ordinary day when the wave of grief suddenly sweeps over us, sending us back to that place where our beloved sleeps.
Graves allow us to mourn; to pray; even to hope.
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Today we celebrate the Feast of Our Lady of Sorrows.
We remember those three wrenching hours when Mary stood at the foot of her Son’s cross as he bled and died for us.
I wonder if Mary ever returned.
In the early hours of the morning, while the residents of Jerusalem were sleeping, did Mary retrace her Son’s final steps? Did she ascend the slope of Golgotha, quietly closing her eyes to meditate as the memory of her Son’s crucifixion bled tears from her eyes?
Did she speak to him there? Did she whisper words of consolation? Did she pray for his return?
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As the sun rose and kissed the hills of Jerusalem, I wonder if Mary meditated on that first question God asked Adam and Eve shortly after the Fall, “Where are you?”
The same question Christ must’ve wondered as he gazed down that slope bedewed by his blood. With the exception of Mary, John, and a band of women, his disciples abandoned him, begging the question, “Where are you?”
The people he was dying to save – even his closest friends – were nowhere to be found. They remind us of the power of fear, and the fragility of human nature.
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But they did return – not during the hour of our Lord’s Passion, but in time. Perhaps Peter and the others joined Mary on Golgotha months later in the wee hours of the morning, rewriting their stories, atoning for their sins.
Because this is what counts in the end – not whether or not we have failed. As Saint Paul says, “All have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God.”
What counts is whether or not we return.
May our Blessed Mother intercede for us, that we too would surrender our lives to the one who died on Golgotha, who has loved us and given himself for us.
Jesus said to Nicodemus: “No one has gone up to heaven except the one who has come down from heaven, the Son of Man. And just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the desert, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, so that everyone who believes in him may have eternal life.”
For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him might not perish but might have eternal life. For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but that the world might be saved through him.
The Gospel of the Lord.
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Anyone who enters our church is immediately confronted with the life-size crucifix suspended over the altar.
What makes it unique is the fact that it’s been carved to scale; literally life-size, within a matter of pounds and inches of what Christ’s body would’ve been on the day he died on that horrible, sacred cross.
While seated in the pews, you can gaze upon him from the angle that John and Mary would’ve seen him. But if you come closer and stand near the altar where I celebrate Eucharist, then you can see Jesus in even greater detail.
His toenails; his teeth; the curl of his fingers; his dirt-stained knees; his lungs expanding as he breathes, praying, “Father, forgive them…. Why have you abandoned me?… Into your hands, I commend my spirit.”
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Artists in every age have had to decide what to depict – and what not to depict – when sketching, painting, or carving a crucifix.
Should the Lord’s head be held high in defiance? Should it slope down to one side, burdened by the weight of the world? Are his eyes in agony? Do they portray confidence in his Father? Is he a victim? The victor? Is he both?
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Often the answer reflects the culture and experience of the local Church within a particular time and place.
The first known images of the crucifixion date back to the 5th century, when the Church was still young. Christians had endured several centuries of sporadic persecutions as earthly kings tried forcing them to bend the knee to civil power.
Many died refusing to do so.
They proclaimed with their lives that Christ is their King. This is why Jesus was depicted on the cross wearing vestments – much like a priest at Mass – showing him to be their victorious high priest and king.
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Centuries later, artists increasingly reflected upon on the humanity of Christ. Jesus was portrayed as the Suffering Servant. His body mangled in agony, crowned in thorns, serving as a reminder to Christians to serve the Lord in their neighbor, especially the poor.
In the Middle Ages, artists contemplated both the humanity and divinity of our Lord. Angels floated beneath his cross, collecting drops of his blood into precious chalices, as he hung higher than the thieves beside him.
In modern times, he has been depicted in nearly every color and ethnicity as people seek to connect him with their own lived experience.
In Asia, Jesus has been depicted as a sage with a drooping mustache; in Central America, a dark-skinned peasant farmer, hanging from a cross in his work clothes, abandoned in a field.
In Cameroon, artists have portrayed an ebony Christ crucified with just one leg – an ode to all of the children there who have either died or lost a limb after stepping on a landmine.
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Today we could imagine Jesus suspended over the 9/11 memorial in Manhattan.
Over a makeshift campus stage in Utah.
Over the altar of the Church of the Annunciation in Minneapolis.
Buried beneath the rubble of the only church in Gaza.
Or in an underground subway station turned temporary bomb shelter and school in Ukraine.
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Throughout the centuries, artists have reflected on that question we sing every Good Friday: “Were you there when they crucified my Lord?”
Were you there in the slums? Were you there in the trenches? Were you there in Manhattan, Utah, or at Mass in Minneapolis?
But all of us must wrestle with the mystery of human suffering – and God’s response to it; the Son of God came to live and die like one of us, only to rise from the depths, open the gates of paradise, and provide a way for all to live eternally.
As John proclaims in today’s Gospel, “God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son so that all who believe in him might not perish, but might have eternal life.”
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If you were to create your own crucifix, what would Jesus look like? Where would he be? Would he be in your home, watching over your family as you teach your children to adore him? Would he be in a cancer ward? A homeless shelter? A war-torn land?
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Ultimately, every answer is just.
As we celebrate this Feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross, we are reminded that we are the ongoing interpreters of what the Cross means.
We are the ones who must ponder, process, and share this mysterious truth of our faith – that God suffered for us; that in dying, we, too, will rise; that by suffering we are redeemed; that we only truly live when we give ourselves away.
Jesus told his disciples a parable: “Can a blind person guide a blind person? Will not both fall into a pit? No disciple is superior to the teacher; but when fully trained, every disciple will be like his teacher. Why do you notice the splinter in your brother’s eye, but do not perceive the wooden beam in your own? How can you say to your brother, ‘Brother, let me remove that splinter in your eye,’ when you do not even notice the wooden beam in your own eye? You hypocrite! Remove the wooden beam from your eye first; then you will see clearly to remove the splinter in your brother’s eye.”
The Gospel of the Lord.
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Sight is a curious thing.
Our eyes allow us to appreciate the beauty of God’s creation – the glow of sunrise, the twinkle of the stars at night, the blue of water, the face of our beloved.
But it can also be misused to judge and criticize the imperfections of other people without noticing our own.
This is the irony of the eye.
It cannot see itself. Nor can it look inward. Eyes can only look outward, allowing us to see one of two possibilities: beauty or imperfection.
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Which of the two do I tend to focus on?
In particular, what do I see when I look upon other people, either beauty or imperfection?
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No one is perfect.
“All have sinned and have fallen short of the glory of God,” Saint Paul says.
Sometimes it is right and necessary to correct a friend, a neighbor, or a colleague who has done wrong.
But before criticizing someone else, the Lord commands us to take an honest look within, making sure that we are not guilty of the same offense – or a greater one – lest we be hypocrites.
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Perhaps today we can set the tendency to notice imperfection aside, focusing on what always surrounds us: the glow of sunrise, the twinkle of the stars at night, the blue of water, the face of our beloved.
