The Cross: From Shame to Life

 Exultation of the Holy Cross

The Feast of the Exaltation of the Cross reminds us that what was once an instrument of shame and death has been transformed by Christ into the tree of life and source of salvation. Marked with the Cross at baptism, we carry it as the core of our Christian identity, a sign of hope, service, and strength in suffering. Each time we make the Sign of the Cross, we proclaim that through Jesus’ love, death is conquered and life is given.

Alemamenos Graffiti

Listen to homily here:

What was the first thing you did when you entered the church this evening? Maybe the first thing you did after you took a bulletin? We often come into the church and mark ourselves with the Sign of the Cross using the holy water. The Sign of the Cross is something we do so frequently, in many different contexts. I’m always amazed when I watch soccer and see the players after they score a goal—oftentimes, they make a quick Sign of the Cross. We do this time and time again.

This evening, we celebrate the Feast of the Exaltation of the Cross. This feast is an incredible opportunity for us to remind ourselves of why we exult in the Cross, why it is that we celebrate the Cross of Jesus. The feast we celebrate today has a long history in the Church. Immediately after Jesus’ passion, death, and resurrection, Golgotha and the Holy Sepulchre, where Jesus was buried, became places of Christian devotion. Christians would come to pray there, to remember how he gave his life to save us.

As time went on, unrest broke out in Jerusalem. The Jewish population rose up against the Romans, and there were major interventions—one in 70 AD, and another finally in 130 AD. At that time, the emperor Hadrian rebuilt Jerusalem as a Roman colony called Aelia Capitolina. In doing so, he wanted to prevent both Jews and Christians from accessing their holy sites. He covered the ruins of the Temple with a great platform, and at Golgotha and the Holy Sepulchre he built a pagan temple. For almost 200 years Christians were prevented from worshiping at the very place of Jesus’ death and resurrection.

Then in the fourth century, around 325, Christianity was spreading widely. Constantine’s mother, Helena, became a Christian and traveled to Jerusalem to find the holy places. With the help of the local Christians she discovered Golgotha and the tomb of Jesus. Excavations revealed the site and, according to tradition, the remains of the true Cross. Helena convinced her son Constantine to build what is today the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. That church, although modified over the centuries, still stands. It was dedicated on September 14, around 330 AD. This is why we celebrate the Feast of the Exaltation of the Cross today: it recalls the dedication of that church and the veneration of the Cross.

For us, it may seem obvious that the Cross is something to celebrate. But in the early days of Christianity it seemed strange, even foolish, to exalt in the Cross. The earliest representation we have of the crucified Christ is not Christian art but pagan mockery. It is the Alexamenos graffiti, found on the Palatine Hill in Rome and dating to around 200 AD. It shows a man raising his hand in worship before a crucified figure with the head of a donkey. Underneath is the mocking inscription: “Alexamenos worships his god.” For pagans, worshiping someone who died on a cross was absurd. The cross was an instrument of shame and defeat. Why would anyone exalt in it?

We Christians exult in the Cross because Jesus took this instrument of death and, through his love, transformed it into the source of eternal life. About 200 years after the Alexamenos graffiti, around 425, we find the first Christian depiction of Christ on the cross. On the wooden doors of Santa Sabina in Rome there is a carved panel showing the crucifixion. By that time crucifixion was being outlawed in the Roman Empire, and Christianity had been legalized. For Christians, the Cross had become not a symbol of defeat but of veneration.

As the Gospel of John tells us, God gave his only Son to die so that we might have life. Just as the Israelites in the desert found healing by looking at the bronze serpent lifted up by Moses, so Christ lifted up on the Cross becomes the source of healing and salvation. Early Christians had a saying: “Behold, how the Cross stands revealed as the tree of life.” In Eden, Adam and Eve were barred from the tree of life through disobedience. But in the obedience of Christ, the Cross becomes the new tree of life, granting salvation and eternal life.

This is why we exult in the Cross. At baptism, each of us was marked with the Sign of the Cross. The priest or deacon traced the Cross on our forehead and said, “I claim you for Christ our Savior.” It is almost like a branding ritual: we belong to Christ. The Cross defines our identity.

Whenever we make the Sign of the Cross, we remind ourselves of this truth. We remind ourselves of our baptismal call. We remind ourselves that our sufferings can have purpose when united with Christ, that they can bring life. We remind ourselves of our call to humility and service. And finally, we remind ourselves of our hope, that because of Jesus’ death on the Cross, death itself has been conquered and eternal life given.

The Cross is the central mystery of our faith. We have been marked with it, and it defines who we are. So the next time we make the Sign of the Cross, let us do so with renewed awareness of what it means: a reminder of our baptism, a source of strength in suffering, a call to humility and service, and above all, a sign of our hope in the victory of Christ.

Yes, even saints can play video games

 23 Sunday in Ordinary Time

Saints are not distant figures from the past but people who lived ordinary lives, even enjoying things like video games and mountain climbing, while keeping Christ at the center. Jesus calls us to root our identity not in family, career, or possessions, but in being his disciples through baptism and the cross. Pier Giorgio Frassati and Carlo Acutis show us how a life grounded in Christ gives meaning and direction to everything else.

Listen to homily here:

Can a saint play video games? What do you think?

Believe it or not, the answer is yes, a saint can play video games. Let me explain.

Very soon in the Vatican, a canonization will take place. A canonization is a joyful Mass where the Pope declares someone a saint. When I studied in Rome years ago, I was able to attend a couple of canonizations in St. Peter’s Square. They are truly international celebrations: pilgrims from all over the world gather, and enormous banners with the faces of the new saints hang from the façade of the basilica.

Often those faces look like they belong to a distant time. Their clothing is unfamiliar, their lives far removed from ours. But the two people soon to be canonized feel much closer to us.

The first is Pier Giorgio Frassati, who died in 1925 at just 24 years old. Photos show him in a suit, smiling broadly, climbing mountains with friends. The second is Carlo Acutis, who died in 2006 and is becoming known as the first millennial saint. And yes, Carlo loved playing video games. So very soon, the Church will officially declare that saints can indeed play video games.

Today’s Gospel, however, is not lighthearted. Jesus speaks with striking words: “Unless you hate father and mother… unless you give up all your possessions… you cannot be my disciple.” At first hearing, this is hard. Surely Jesus is not commanding hatred or absolute renunciation for everyone.

What he is doing is forcing us to ask: Where do we root our identity? What is the true foundation of our lives?

In Jesus’ time, family determined everything: your status, your future, even your destiny. Wealth and possessions carried enormous weight too. And still today, we can base our whole identity on family, career, education, or possessions. These are important, but they are fragile. Families face conflict. Jobs can be lost. Health can fail. If our entire identity rests on these, what happens when they crumble?

Jesus insists: our true identity must be rooted in being his disciple. The foundation of our lives is the cross. Our baptism, being reborn as children of God, defines us more deeply than even the day of our natural birth.

This is where our soon-to-be saints can teach us.

Pier Giorgio Frassati was born into privilege in Turin. Yet he quietly poured out his time, money, and energy for the poor. Many only discovered the extent of his service at his funeral, when the poor of the city filled the church. He loved his friends and outdoor adventures, but always used those relationships to draw people toward Christ. His life shows us how to place Christ at the center, letting that relationship guide everything else.

Carlo Acutis grew up in our world of internet, technology, and video games. But at the heart of his life was a profound love for Jesus in the Eucharist and for Our Lady. He used the internet creatively, building a website to spread devotion to the Eucharist. He had many friends, but his choices and creativity all flowed from his identity as a disciple of Christ.

So yes, a saint can play video games. A saint can climb mountains, study, work, have friends, even enjoy modern technology. But what makes them saints is that they rooted their identity in Christ.

Today, we are challenged to ask: What is most important about my identity? What is my foundation? Family, education, career, possessions, all are good gifts. But only when our lives are rooted in Christ do these find their true place.

By baptism, we are disciples. Our foundation is the cross. Let us pray through the intercession of Blessed Pier Giorgio and Blessed Carlo that we too may live joyfully as followers of Jesus, disciples whose identity is secure no matter what comes.

Humility Meets Hospitality (22 Sunday of Ordinary Time, C)

22 Sunday of Ordinary Time, year C, Luke 14:1, 7–14

In today’s Gospel (Luke 14:1, 7–14), Jesus links humility with true hospitality. Real humility isn’t pretending we are worthless, but learning to think of ourselves less—turning outward in love. True hospitality welcomes those who cannot repay us, affirming their dignity as children of God. At the Eucharist, Christ gives us this perfect example: he makes room for us at his table, giving a gift we could never repay, and sends us out to extend the same welcome to others.

Listen to homily here:

A wedding banquet is one of the most joyful celebrations you can attend. But there’s always that slightly stressful moment when you walk into the reception and face the seating chart. Sometimes couples get very creative with these charts, but for the couple it can be stressful: Who isn’t talking to one another and needs to be separated? What do we do with the weird uncle—and who do we insulate him with? (I can say that because I’m the weird uncle now!) For guests too, it can be a little awkward: Who will I sit with? Will I know them? Will the conversation be easy, or a bit strained?

Seating arrangements are still a challenge today, and it seems they were also a challenge in Jesus’ time. In today’s Gospel, Jesus is at a meal in the home of a Pharisee, watching how people choose their places at the table. Out of this, he teaches two related lessons.

First, he shows us that true honor is not something we grasp for ourselves but something we receive. And ultimately, it is God who bestows honor on us. Then, in a second parable, Jesus teaches about hospitality. He tells us not to invite only those who can repay us, but rather to invite those who cannot. This is true hospitality.

Put together, these two teachings suggest something important: humility and hospitality go hand in hand.

Humility is often misunderstood. We sometimes think humility means pretending we are worthless or denying the good in us. But real humility is living in the truth: recognizing that we are created good by God, while not making ourselves the center of the universe. C.S. Lewis once put it perfectly: “Humility is not thinking less of ourselves, but thinking of ourselves less.”

And how do we do this? By turning outward in hospitality. True hospitality means noticing the people around us—family, friends, colleagues, neighbors, even strangers—and asking: Who is in need of care? Who needs their dignity affirmed or restored?

A beautiful image of this combination is Jesus at the Last Supper. When he washed the disciples’ feet, he took the place of a servant. That was humility. But it was also hospitality. He was making his guests feel at home and cared for.

How can we live this combination of humility and hospitality?

• In our families: Don’t play favorites. Notice which family member or close friend is struggling and needs care and attention at this moment. It takes humility to set aside our own preoccupations, and it becomes hospitality when we offer love in action.

• In our parish: When someone new joins us at Mass, do we notice them? Do we greet them, extend a smile, help them feel at home? Even coffee after Mass can be a chance to step out of our little circle and welcome someone new. That’s humility, thinking of ourselves less, and hospitality, drawing others in.

• In our wider community: We can serve those in need, support charities, or even simply carry people in prayer. Every Mass, we pray the intercessions for the world. But each of us can also bring to the Eucharist our personal prayers for people in need. This is a humble and powerful act of hospitality: holding others in our hearts before God.

Today Jesus speaks of banquets where honor is given and hospitality is shown without expecting repayment. The Eucharist is the greatest banquet of all. At this table, Christ makes room for us, gives us dignity as sons and daughters of God, and offers us a gift we could never repay: Himself.

So as we come to the Lord’s table, may we be transformed. Let us recognize in true humility the dignity God gives us. And let us be changed by this banquet of love, so that we, in turn, can offer humble hospitality to those around us, especially those who cannot repay us.