We cannot turn back time,
and walk where he walked,
carefully fitting our faltering steps
into his dusty footprints.
We cannot turn back time,
and watch,
our throats tight
with wonder and fear,
as Lazarus tears off his shroud
and stumbles out of the tomb--
or see the leper’s skin
become whole and new.
We cannot turn back time,
and stand anxiously beside Pilate,
wringing our hands
while the procurator washes his.
Even in our deepest suffering,
we cannot turn back time,
and leap across the void
to stand beside him in Capernaum
or sail with him across the Sea of Galilee.
And yet, strangely,
the cross—
a Roman instrument of torture and shame,
has allowed us to do much more
than simply turn back time.
It allows us to transcend time—
to shatter it completely.
St. John Paul II once said,
“We are invited to look upon the cross.
It is the “privileged place”
where the love of God is revealed …
On the cross,
human misery and divine mercy meet.
The cross is planted in the earth
and would seem to extend its roots
in human malice--
but it reaches up,
pointing as it were to the heavens,
pointing to the goodness of God.
By means of the cross of Christ,
the Evil One has been defeated,
death is overcome,
life is given to us,
hope is restored,
light is imparted.” *
Today above all days,
we remember the cross.
Standing before the cross
we stand in a privileged place of
horror and hope;
pain and promise
ending and beginning,
death and life.
Today, we look upon the cross,
and stand close enough to its rough beams
to feel its shadow across our face.
Standing close to the cross
changes our perspective.
It sharpens our gaze and broadens our view.
The closer we stand to the cross,
the more we can see
a vision of the people we are called to be.
The closer we stand to the cross,
the more clearly
we can hear God calling our names.
Standing close to the cross
there are things
we can no longer say about ourselves
or our sisters and brothers. **
When we stand close to the cross
there are actions we can no longer take,
words we can no longer use,
possessions and attitudes
that can no longer satisfy.
Standing at the foot of the cross,
forgiveness becomes possible,
mercy and healing become real,
hope is restored
and death itself is transformed.
Standing at the foot of the cross,
we are invited to see the world,
broken and blessed,
through God’s own eyes.
Ever since Salvador Dali’s painting,
“Christ of Saint John of the Cross”
was first exhibited in 1952,
it has evoked admiration,
criticism,
controversy.
The viewer looks down
from a perspective high above
the bowed head and outstretched arms
of the crucified Lord.
From that perspective—
some say,
the perspective of God—
the eye is drawn to the foot of the cross
plunged deep into the earth,
plunged deep into the Sea of Galilee
where an empty boat awaits.
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. ***
This passage has been called
“The Gospel in miniature.”
Our whole story--
our whole future--
is contained in these few words.
God loves us.
God offers us life.
Today's liturgy is a visceral reminder
of these words.
We process to the cross to venerate,
to remember,
to promise.
Today's liturgy is an invitation
to stay close to the cross.
It is the place where
human misery and divine mercy meet.
It is the place
God offers us the greatest gift.
Stay close to the cross,
plunged deep into Calvary,
plunged deep into our lives,
for on this rough hewn wood,
sin,
sorrow,
and time itself
are transformed.
Stay close to the cross,
for in its shadow,
death is overthrown.
Due to copyright constraints, we cannot post an image of Dali’s painting. It can be viewed here. https://www.dalipaintings.com/christ-of-saint-john-of-the-cross.jsp
*Pope John Paul II Excerpts from homily September 14, 2003
**Larry Gillick, S.J. Deglman Center for Ignatian Spirituality
*** John 3:16
© Susan Fleming McGurgan
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