XVII Sunday after Pentecost: Feast of the Universal Exaltation of the Precious and Life-Giving Cross.

Dear brothers and sisters in the Lord,

Today the Holy Church places before us the mystery of the Cross of our Lord Jesus Christ and invites us not simply to contemplate it with our eyes, but to receive it into our hearts as the place where God has definitively revealed His love for mankind. The Feast of the Universal Exaltation of the Precious and Life-Giving Cross might, at first sight, seem like a contradiction. How can we exalt an instrument of torture? How can we venerate that which, in the eyes of the ancient world, represented shame, condemnation, and death? And yet, here precisely we find the heart of Christianity. What the world considers weakness, God reveals as power; what man considers defeat, God transforms into victory; what appeared to be the end of life becomes, in the hands of Christ, the very door through which death itself is broken.

For this reason, Saint Paul, in his First Letter to the Corinthians, does not attempt to make the Cross more acceptable to the mentality of the world. He does not soften its scandal, nor does he reduce it to a merely moral symbol. He speaks with a force that leaves no room for misunderstanding: “For the word of the Cross is folly to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved, it is the power of God” (1 Cor 1:18). The Cross is therefore a word, a proclamation, a revelation. God speaks from the Cross. And the question we must ask ourselves today is not merely whether we believe in the Cross, but whether we are willing to listen to what God is saying to us through it.

Saint Paul understands well the paradox he is proclaiming. He knows that man tends to seek God according to his own criteria: some seek extraordinary signs, others seek a wisdom capable of satisfying the human intellect, while still others want a God who conforms to their expectations. But God reveals Himself in Christ crucified. For this reason the Apostle continues: “For it is written: I will destroy the wisdom of the wise, and the understanding of the intelligent I will bring to nothing” (1 Cor 1:19; cf. Is 29:14 LXX). Paul directly recalls the prophet Isaiah, showing that already in the Old Testament God had revealed that divine wisdom cannot be measured according to the standards of human pride. Man may accumulate knowledge, construct systems, develop philosophies, and presume to explain everything; yet before the mystery of God, he is called to recognize that truth is not a conquest of pride, but a gift received in humility.

And it is precisely for this reason that Paul can ask: “Where is the wise man? Where is the scholar? Where is the debater of this age? Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world?” (1 Cor 1:20). This does not mean that human reason is evil or that Christians must reject intelligence. Rather, it means that when the intellect claims to become the ultimate measure of everything, it closes itself to mystery. The Cross shatters this presumption because it places before us something we cannot master: a God who loves unto the end, a God who does not save man by remaining distant from his suffering, but enters Himself into the depths of human suffering in order to transform it from within.

Saint John Chrysostom, commenting on these words of the Apostle, contemplates precisely this extraordinary power of the Cross and declares that “the cross exercised its power of attraction over the whole earth” (St John Chrysostom, Homilies on the First Epistle to the Corinthians, Homily IV, 3–4, PG 61, 34–36). This is a remarkable expression, because it allows us to understand that the Cross did not draw the world through the force of weapons, through political power, or through wealth. It drew the world through the love of Christ. Men began to look upon that Crucified One and to understand that there, precisely where there seemed to be nothing but death, God was speaking the definitive word about life.

And this truth leads us directly to the Holy Gospel according to John. The Gospel presents Jesus before Pilate, apparently stripped of every power. He has been arrested, humiliated, scourged, and crowned with thorns. And yet, while Pilate believes himself to be the one who judges, it is actually before Christ that the true judgment takes place. Pilate says to Him: “Do you not know that I have power to release you and power to crucify you?” (Jn 19:10). And Jesus answers: “You would have no power over me at all if it had not been given you from above” (Jn 19:11).

These words are fundamental for understanding the Passion. Christ is not merely a victim carried along by events. He is not a man who has lost control of His life. He freely enters into the Passion out of love for the Father and for the salvation of mankind. Pilate’s power, therefore, is real only insofar as God permits him to exercise it; but the true protagonist of the Passion is not human power. It is divine love giving itself.

A little earlier, in John’s account, Pilate had presented Jesus to the crowd saying: “Behold the man!” (Jn 19:5). And those words, although spoken by a Roman governor who did not fully understand what he was saying, acquire immense depth when read in the light of the Christian faith. Behold the man: the true man, wounded by sin, bearing the burden of death, the man who can no longer recognize his own dignity. Yet before us there is not simply man. There is the Word made flesh. He through whom all things were created is now delivered into the hands of His creatures.

And for this very reason, the scene of Golgotha cannot be separated from what Paul has told us in the First Letter to the Corinthians. The Cross is folly in the eyes of the world, but it is the power of God. Christ is led to death, and through death itself He destroys death. Apparent defeat becomes victory; the throne of humiliation becomes the throne of glory; the wood of condemnation becomes the wood of life.

When the Gospel then leads us beneath the Cross, our gaze encounters the Mother of the Lord. “Standing by the cross of Jesus were his mother, his mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene. When Jesus saw his mother and the disciple whom he loved standing nearby, he said to his mother, ‘Woman, behold, your son!’ Then he said to the disciple, ‘Behold, your mother!’” (Jn 19:25–27).

The Mother does not flee. She remains.

And this silent presence of Mary at the foot of the Cross becomes a school of faith for every Christian. Mary cannot take her Son down from the Cross. She cannot prevent the executioners from carrying out what they are doing. She cannot alter the course of events by her own will. But she can remain beside Him. And sometimes, brothers and sisters, this too is a supreme form of love: when we cannot change a situation, we can still choose not to abandon the person we love.

This truth touches our own lives deeply. There are moments when we would like others to understand our choices and to recognize what is important to us. But following Christ does not necessarily mean being understood by everyone. I have experienced this in my own life: some members of my family, who describe themselves as atheists, have at times criticized me or failed to understand fully what Christ means to me because of my decision to live my faith and my vocation.

I do not wish to compare this experience with the suffering of those who, in different parts of the world, are persecuted, imprisoned, or killed because of their faith. Such a comparison would be unjust and disproportionate. Yet the Cross has taught me that, even in the face of rejection and violence, the Christian cannot respond with hatred. Christ, while being crucified, did not seek revenge, but remained steadfast in love. If the Cross is truly the power of God, then it must also transform the way we look upon those who hurt us or who do not share our path.

This witness still belongs to the life of the Church today, reminding us that faith is not merely a word spoken when everything is going well, but a fidelity capable of remaining steadfast in the hour of trial. Those who face persecution for the name of Christ are not far from us: they belong to the same Body of which we too are members. For this reason, their suffering concerns the whole Church.

And yet here too we must understand clearly what the word “victory” means. For the world, victory means eliminating one’s adversary; for the Gospel, it means remaining faithful to love even when struck by hatred. The martyr does not triumph because he destroys the one who persecutes him, but because persecution cannot separate him from Christ or transform his heart. This is the logic of the Cross: Christ did not destroy Pilate, Caiaphas, or His accusers, but conquered sin by offering Himself. Therefore, the martyr who remains faithful to the end becomes a living icon of the crucified Lord.

And it is precisely in the light of this truth that the Church gives us the troparion of the feast, almost as a prayerful response to all that we have contemplated:

“Save, O Lord, Thy people, and bless Thine inheritance. Grant victory unto Orthodox Christians over their adversaries, and by virtue of Thy Cross preserve Thy habitation.”

These words must be heard according to the logic of the Gospel and not according to the logic of the world. When the Church asks for victory, she is not asking for the destruction of the adversary, but for the grace to remain steadfast in the truth. She asks that, in the face of persecution, fear may not prevail, that faith may not be denied, and that the evil we receive may find no place within the hearts of believers. This is the power of the Cross: Christ passes through hatred without allowing Himself to be conquered by it; He enters into death without abandoning love; and through the gift of Himself, He opens the way to life.

For this reason, the concluding phrase is decisive: “and by virtue of Thy Cross preserve Thy habitation.” The habitation of God is His Church, the people He has acquired, the Body of Christ living in history. And this habitation is not preserved because it will never know suffering. It is preserved because no suffering can separate it from its Lord. The Church may be persecuted, she may be poor, she may be humiliated in the eyes of the world; but as long as she remains beside the Cross and confesses Christ crucified and risen, she remains in the power of God.

And this is precisely the truth we find in the Gospel when Jesus, now close to death, speaks those simple and terrible words: “I thirst” (Jn 19:28). Here too John invites us to understand that nothing in the Passion is accidental. “I thirst” recalls the cry of the Psalm: “For my thirst they gave me vinegar” (Ps 68:22 LXX; cf. Ps 69:21 in the Hebrew numbering). Christ truly assumes our human condition. He who is the fountain of living water says, “I thirst.” He who comes into the world to quench humanity’s thirst accepts the thirst of man Himself. Here the mystery of the Incarnation reaches its most radical depth: the Son of God does not save man from the outside, but truly enters into his flesh, his suffering, and his death.

And then Jesus says: “It is finished!” (Jn 19:30). He does not simply say, “It is over.” He says, “It is finished.” The Passion is not a meaningless tragedy, but the fulfillment of the work entrusted to Him by the Father. Thus the words of the Cross are connected with what Christ had already said in His priestly prayer: “I glorified you on earth, having accomplished the work which you gave me to do” (Jn 17:4). The Cross is the fulfillment of love. And having said this, Jesus “bowed his head and gave up his spirit” (Jn 19:30).

It is significant that John does not simply describe Jesus as one who “dies,” but says that He “gave up His spirit.” Even in death, Christ remains the One who gives. His life is not merely taken from Him: He gives it. He who throughout His earthly life had given Himself now carries that gift to its perfection.

And then the Gospel leads us to the piercing of His side: “One of the soldiers pierced his side with a spear, and at once there came out blood and water” (Jn 19:34). John emphasizes forcefully the reality of what he has seen: “He who saw this has borne witness, and his testimony is true” (Jn 19:35). We are not dealing with an abstract symbol. Christ truly died. His body was truly pierced. And from His pierced side, Christian tradition has seen flowing forth an ecclesial and sacramental mystery: from the side of the new Adam, new life is born.

Saint John Chrysostom contemplates this mystery by connecting it with the account of Genesis and the birth of woman from Adam’s side, seeing in the opened side of Christ an image of the birth of the Church. The Church, therefore, does not arise from a human construction, but from Christ’s own gift. The blood and water flowing from His side remind us that the life of the Church is inseparable from the Passion of her Lord.

And John continues by emphasizing that all this takes place so that the Scriptures might be fulfilled: “Not one of his bones will be broken” (Jn 19:36). The reference recalls the Passover lamb, concerning which it had been commanded: “You shall not break any of its bones” (Ex 12:46; cf. Num 9:12), and it also recalls the Psalm: “He keeps all his bones; not one of them is broken” (Ps 33:21 LXX; Ps 34:20 in the Hebrew numbering). Christ is the true Paschal Lamb, and His Pascha consists not simply in passing through death, but in passing from death to life.

For this reason John concludes with another prophetic word: “They will look on him whom they have pierced” (Jn 19:37; cf. Zech 12:10). And today, on the Feast of the Exaltation, that prophecy becomes a question addressed also to us: Where do we look? What do we turn our eyes toward when our lives enter into suffering? Do we look only at the wound, or do we know how to recognize the One who was pierced? Do we look only at the Cross as a tragedy, or do we recognize in it the place where God has shown us how great His love is?

Brothers and sisters, perhaps this is precisely where we understand why the Church never ceases to exalt the Cross. She does not exalt it because she loves suffering for its own sake. Christianity is not a cult of pain. The Church raises the Cross because upon that Cross suffering was taken up by Christ and transformed by love. It is not suffering that saves us: it is Christ who, by entering into our suffering, transfigures it by His presence.

And so our lives too are changed before the Cross. When we are criticized because of our faith, when someone does not understand our choices, when we are tempted to answer rejection with rejection, let us remember the Cross. When we encounter a persecuted brother or sister, let us not forget them. When it seems that evil has had the final word, let us look toward Golgotha. When we are unable to change the heart of someone we love, let us learn from Mary to remain present without ceasing to love.

For the Cross does not first of all ask us to do extraordinary things. It asks us to allow Christ to transform our hearts. It is possible to wear a cross upon our chest and still not have allowed the Cross to enter our lives. We can venerate the wood of the Cross and at the same time refuse to forgive. We can sing the troparion of the Exaltation and at the same time desire the defeat of another according to the standards of the world. We can proclaim that Christ died for all and, at the same time, build walls within our hearts against those who have wounded us.

But today the Lord asks something deeper of us. He asks us to move from contemplating the Cross to living the Cross. He asks us to understand that its power must become visible in the way we love, forgive, endure, remain faithful, and pray.

Therefore, when we shortly contemplate once again the Holy and Life-Giving Cross, let us not merely say, “Lord, save Thy people.” Let us say it with all our heart. Save Thy Church from division, hatred, fear, and unfaithfulness. Save those Christians who are persecuted and all who suffer for Thy Name. Save those who today are far from Thee. Save also those who do not understand our faith and who sometimes wound us with their words. Save us as well, so that we may carry our cross without turning it into a source of pride and without using it against others.

And when we say, “Bless Thine inheritance,” let us remember that this inheritance is us, the people purchased by the precious Blood of Christ. When we say, “Grant victory unto Orthodox Christians over their adversaries,” let us ask for the victory of fidelity over fear, truth over error, love over hatred, and holiness over sin. And when at last we say, “By virtue of Thy Cross, preserve Thy habitation,” let us entrust His Holy Church and all who belong to her to the mercy of God, so that no storm may tear us away from communion with Christ.

Thus the word of the Apostle returns to us with all its power: “For the word of the Cross is folly to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved, it is the power of God” (1 Cor 1:18). And today we must not be ashamed of this Cross. Rather, we must allow ourselves to be judged by it, converted by it, and healed by it. For the Cross reveals to us that God did not love us only when we were strong, faithful, and worthy; He loved us in our weakness, in our fall, and in our death. And for this very reason, the Crucified One is also the Risen One.

Let us therefore turn our gaze toward Him who was pierced. Let us look upon Him not only with our eyes, but with our hearts. And let us learn from Him that true victory is not having the last word, but remaining in love; it is not destroying the enemy, but praying for him; it is not fleeing from suffering, but passing through it with Christ; it is not seeking our own glory, but placing our lives into the hands of the Father.

And when our faith is put to the test, when the world tells us that the Cross is foolishness, when someone asks us what we have found by following Christ, may we answer not only with words, but with our very lives: we have found the One who, through the Cross, has conquered death and opened for us the way to eternal life.

To Him, therefore, be glory, together with the Father and the Holy Spirit, now and ever, and unto the ages of ages.

Amen.

Archpriest Michele Alberto Del Duca