The cross is power

The cross is powerful. It saves. When you contemplate the crucifix hanging on your wall at home or in the church, you come to realize the power of powerlessness. The humiliation and pain that Jesus suffered, all the way to his last breath. The cost of unconditional love — love for us and all of mankind.

“He humbled himself, becoming obedient to death, even death on a cross” (From today’s 2nd Reading, Phil. 2: 6-11). “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that he who believes in him might not perish but might have eternal life” (From today’s Gospel reading, Jn. 3: 3-17). The ever-loving Jesus, even toward the very persons who tortured him and put him to death. “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do” (Lk. 23: 34).

As it was in the life of Jesus, so it must be in our lives, too. Each one of us, in our own suffering and cross, can be a sharer in the redemptive, salvific suffering of Christ. Whoever follows Jesus in suffering and takes his own cross upon himself finds God in his life.

Where is the real cross at this point in your life? How are you carrying it? Begrudgingly? Unwillingly? Or with a song in your heart? Do you really want to be bread for others — as Jesus missioned his apostles at the Last Supper? What would this mean in your current life?

Crosses come in different forms and ways. A cross may just come to you without your wanting it. Or there may be a cross that you deliberately choose to carry. Thus, some crosses are willingly accepted; others are willingly chosen. And the motive for carrying either kind is none other than unconditional love.

In his now-famous autobiography, The Last Lecture, the late, young Professor Randy Pausch shared with us how he lived his last year of life, after being diagnosed with terminal cancer. He embraced the cross of his illness and transformed it into an opportunity to teach, inspire, to enlighten. He gave his all and his best, to his students and readers, and to his dearly beloved family. Randy and his dedicated wife Jai have three children: Dylan, 6; Logan, 3; and Chloe, just 18 months old. Wrote Randy: “I love all three of my kids completely and differently. And I want them to know that I will love them for as long as they live. I will.” As for Jai, “I want my kids to know how selfless she was in caring for all of us.” When everything is said and done, the most important thing for Randy was his family. He passed away last July 25. A most tragic cross willingly accepted. Let us pray for his dear wife and their three little kids. Even as I write these lines, my heart is filled with sadness, but with deep inspiration as well.

A cross can also be deliberately and willingly chosen. Take John Ong, one of our Jesuit alumni from Xavier School and Ateneo de Manila University, and a holder of a master’s degree in hydro-geology from the University of the Philippines. During a research project that he did among the indigenous Mangyans in Mindoro, John was deeply affected by the poverty of the people. Moreover, one of the village elders requested him to stay and teach them the skills that they needed so badly. The invitation haunted him that night. And against the advice of his parents and friends, John committed himself to the challenge. The tribe needed to identify the boundaries of their land in order to file their claim to their ancestral land. But they were educationally ignorant. John had to start teaching them the basic skills in writing, reading, and arithmetic, for which he himself had to learn the Mangyan language. He helped them find water sources and lived among them — without toilets, electricity, vehicles, and roads. According to John, what he has learned from the Mangyans is “to love and to serve.” (From Edi Sian, Profiles Encourage).

Let me end with still another story, this time from the late Anthony de Mello:

“My friend isn’t back from the battlefield, sir. Request permission to go out and get him.”

“Permission refused,” said the officer. “I don’t want you to risk your life for a man who is probably dead.”

The soldier went, all the same, and, an hour later, came back mortally wounded, carrying the corpse of his friend.

The officer was furious. “I told you he was dead. Now I’ve lost both of you. Tell me, was it worth going out there to bring in a corpse?”

The dying man replied, “Oh, it was, sir. When I got to him he was still alive. And he said to me, ‘Jack, I was sure you’d come.’”