The Fourth Sunday of Lent (B)
Laetare Sunday
Dear brothers and sisters,
It has become such a commonplace in our minds and hearts that Jesus was “lifted up” on the Cross that his having been lifted up no longer gives us pause for thought (John 3:14). Why was it that the only Savior of mankind had to be lifted up? And not simply lifted up, but lifted up and suspended upon a Cross?
Many preachers have rightly pointed out that crucifixion was considered the most ignoble of deaths in the ancient world, and that the Romans had perfected this gruesome and excruciating method of execution. Condemned as a traitor to Caesar, this form of death was appropriate under Roman law and also fittingly demonstrated the extent of Jesus’ love for us.
This is all true, but I cannot help but wonder if the answer to why the Son of God had to be lifted up is that simple. Consider this: “When you want something to be seen well, to be seen by all, even those who are far away, you put it on high. So it is with Jesus.”[1] He allowed himself to be nailed to the Cross, to be lifted up on the Mount of Golgotha, suspended between heaven and earth, to show to all the fullness of his love; his love was not to be hidden.
This is why we hang crucifixes, whether in our churches or in our homes, high upon the wall or even suspended from the ceiling; we do so to let everyone see what love looks like. We even mount a crucifix to a pole and carry it in procession so all can see. And yet, how often do we look upon the crucifix? I do not mean to ask how often we glance upon the crucifix, but how often do we actually spend time contemplating the crucifix and what it says?
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| Christ on the Cross, c. 1380/1390, by Andrea di Bartolo |
We lift Jesus up to glorify him, to exalt him, to praise him, yet
Jesus does not put himself on high as one who has power, as one who wants to demonstrate his superiority. Jesus sets himself on high so that everyone can see Him and His love for every man. The cross is what Jesus wants to grab our attention with: we cannot know him except by looking at him, raised on it.[2]
Perhaps the crucifix no longer grabs our attention because we have seen it so often. Perhaps the crucifix no longer grabs our attention because we have lost a real awareness of the reality of sin and its devastating effects. Perhaps the crucifix no longer grabs our attention because we have made it safe, an image that no longer shows the tortured agony of the martyred body of the Son of God.
We need to look anew upon the crucifix and see it for what it is: the image of “the culmination of that turning of God against himself in which he gives himself in order to raise man up and save him. This is love in its most radical form.”[3]
Reflecting on this passage of Saint John’s Gospel, Saint Augustine asked what it is we see when we look on the image of the Lord’s death. This was his answer:
A death is gazed on,
that death may have no power. But whose death? The death of life: if it may be
said, the death of life; yes, for it may be said, but said wonderfully. But
should it not be spoken, seeing it was a thing to be done? Shall I hesitate to
utter that which the Lord has deigned to do for me? Is not Christ the life? And
yet Christ hung on the cross. Is not Christ life? And yet Christ was dead. But
in Christ's death, death died. Life dead slew death; the fullness of life
swallowed up death; death was absorbed in the body of Christ. So also shall we
say in the resurrection, when now triumphant we shall sing, “Where, O death,
is your contest? Where, O death, is your sting” (I Corinthians 15:54)?[4]
This is the great wonder of the paradox of the Cross: sorrow and joy are mingled together. There is sadness in the Cross because we see the death of the Lord, yet joy streams forth from this sadness because we see death give way to unconquerable life. How can joy not come from looking upon crucified Love?
This mingled sorrow and joy, which marks the heart of the faithful Christian, can be yours, too, if you follow the spiritual guidance of Saint Bonaventure, who advises us to
Turn, O soul, Christ on the cross with head bowed waits to kiss you, his arms are extended to embrace you, his hands open with gifts for you, his body extended to cover you, his feet affixed to stay with you, his side open to let you enter.[5]
This is why Christ Jesus allowed himself to be lifted up upon the wood of the Cross.
In these remaining days of Lent, dear brothers and sisters, look upon the crucifix each day and say to Jesus:
Tell me, I pray, my beloved Lord, tell me, since once one drop of your most sacred blood would have sufficed to redeem the whole world, why did you suffer so much blood to flow from your body? I know, Lord, I really know: you did this for no other reason than to show me how much you love me.[6]
Amen.
[1] Pierbattista Cardinal Pizzaballa, Meditation for the Fourth Sunday of Lent, 10 March 2024.
[2] Ibid.
[3] Pope Benedict XVI, Deus caritas est, 12.
[4] Saint Augustine of Hippo, Tractates on the Gospel of John, 12.11.
[5] Saint Bonaventure, Soliloquium, I.39.
[6] Ibid., On the Perfection of Life, VI.6.
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