Feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross John 3:13–17
Fr. Jijo Kandamkulathy CMF Claretian Missionaries
Today we celebrate a feast that stands at the very heart of our faith—the Exaltation of the Holy Cross. At first glance, it may seem paradoxical. Why exalt a symbol of suffering, humiliation, and death? Why lift high the very instrument by which our Lord was crucified? And yet, in today’s Gospel, Jesus himself gives us the key to understanding this mystery. Speaking to Nicodemus under the cover of night, he says: “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.”
This is not merely a poetic metaphor. It is a profound theological statement that connects the Old and New Testaments in a single thread of salvation. In the Book of Numbers (21:4–9), the Israelites, plagued by venomous serpents due to their rebellion, were instructed by God to look upon a bronze serpent mounted on a pole. Those who gazed upon it in faith were healed. That serpent, a symbol of death transformed into a source of life, prefigures the crucified Christ—lifted high not only on the wood of the cross but in the eyes of all who dare to believe.
Jesus, the Son of Man, descended from heaven not to condemn the world, but to save it. And the means of that salvation was not a triumphant display of power, but the willing embrace of suffering. The cross, once a tool of Roman execution, becomes in Christ the axis of redemption. It is not the avoidance of pain that saves us, but the transformation of pain into love. This is the scandal and the glory of the cross.
Let us pause here and reflect: why does Jesus compare himself to the serpent? Isn’t the serpent the very image of evil in Genesis? And yet, in Numbers, the bronze serpent becomes a sign of healing. This paradox is intentional. Jesus takes upon himself the full weight of sin—not by becoming sinful, but by becoming the very image of sin, as Paul writes in 2 Corinthians 5:21: “He made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.” On the cross, Christ absorbs the venom of the world’s hatred, betrayal, and violence, and does not retaliate. He transforms it into mercy.
This is why the cross is exalted. Not because suffering is good in itself, but because Christ has shown us that suffering, when united with love, becomes redemptive. The cross is not a glorification of pain—it is a glorification of love that does not flee from pain. And this has profound implications for our own lives.
Each of us carries a cross. Some are visible—illness, loss, injustice. Others are hidden—loneliness, anxiety, spiritual dryness. The world tells us to escape suffering, to numb it, to deny it. But the Gospel invites us to look upon the crucified Christ and see that pain can be a pathway to grace. When we lift up our own crosses—not in bitterness, but in faith—we participate in the mystery of redemption. Our wounds, united with his, become sources of healing for others.
This is not easy. It requires a radical reorientation of how we see the world. It requires us to believe, as Jesus said, that “everyone who believes in him may have eternal life.” Belief here is not mere intellectual assent—it is trust, surrender, and imitation. To believe in the crucified Christ is to follow him, even when the path leads through Gethsemane and Golgotha.
And yet, this path does not end in death. The cross is exalted because it points beyond itself. It is the gateway to resurrection. The serpent lifted up in the desert saved the Israelites from physical death. The Son of Man lifted up on the cross saves us from eternal death. This is the promise that animates our faith: “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.”
Notice the language: God so loved the world. Not just the righteous, not just the faithful, but the world—the broken, the rebellious, the lost. The cross is the ultimate declaration of divine love. It is not a weapon of condemnation, but a banner of salvation. “For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but that the world might be saved through him.”
So today, as we gaze upon the cross, let us not see merely a symbol of suffering. Let us see the triumph of love over hate, of mercy over judgment, of life over death. Let us bring our own crosses to the foot of his, and ask for the grace to carry them with faith. Let us remember that every pain, every trial, every moment of darkness can become redemptive—if we unite it with Christ.
And let us never forget: the cross is not the end of the story. It is the beginning of resurrection. It is the tree of life planted in the soil of suffering. It is the throne from which Christ reigns—not with coercion, but with compassion.
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