Liturgical Notes On Feast Of The Holy Cross

By Valentine Obienyem*

We are in Ordinary Time in the Church’s calendar. Yet, anyone with an eye for liturgy would notice, upon entering the church today, that something remarkable is happening: the priest is vested in red. It is the Feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross. Though not a solemnity like Easter or Christmas, which rank highest in the liturgical calendar, it remains one of the Church’s most revered celebrations. Classified as a Feast of the Lord, it shares the same rank as the Presentation of the Lord, the Transfiguration of the Lord, the Baptism of the Lord, the Dedication of the Lateran Basilica, and the Feasts of the Apostles and Evangelists.

The Feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross commemorates the discovery of the True Cross by St. Helena and the dedication of the Basilica of the Holy Sepulchre in 335. Its significance deepened in 629 when Emperor Heraclius restored the Cross to Jerusalem after its capture by the Persians. From then on, it has been universally celebrated as a proclamation of Christ’s triumph over sin and death.

The readings and sermon by Fr. Chigozie Jidere beautifully reflected the meaning of the feast. The first reading (Numbers 21:4–9) recounted how God instructed Moses to lift up a bronze serpent so that those bitten by serpents might look upon it and live. The second reading (Philippians 2:6–11) proclaimed the self-emptying of Christ, who humbled himself to death on a Cross and was exalted above every name. The Gospel (John 3:13–17) recalled Christ’s own words: “Just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, so that everyone who believes in him may have eternal life.”

Developing the sermon, Fr. Jidere explained that the image of the bronze serpent prefigured the Cross of Christ. He skillfully connected this to the Israelites’ journey toward the Promised Land, marked by hunger, thirst, battles, serpents, and despair. That journey, he said symbolises our own pilgrimage through life toward salvation. “We, too, are bound to encounter many obstacles, like the Israelites. But just as God did not abandon them, neither does He abandon us. He provides us with remedies—above all, in the sacraments, such as the sacrament of reconciliation. What matters is not whether we stumble, but whether we rise and continue. Even Christ fell three times on the way to Calvary, yet He rose each time and pressed on.”

Listening to him, I was reminded of John Bunyan’s classic The Pilgrim’s Progress. Though written in a different tradition, it strikes the same chord regarding the Christian journey (Church Militant) as Father described it: a path filled with trials, temptations, and falls, but also with grace, guidance, and the promise of the Celestial City. Both Bunyan’s allegory and today’s feast converge on the same truth—that progress in the life of faith is not measured by a flawless walk, but by the perseverance to rise, look to the Cross, and press on toward salvation.

Here, Father made an illuminating theological point by distinguishing between general and personal salvation. By dying on the Cross, once an instrument of shame reserved for grave criminals, Christ obtained salvation for all humanity. Yet, each of us must personally accept and appropriate that salvation. To explain this, he returned to the wilderness experience: the bronze serpent was God’s general remedy, but each Israelite still had to personally look up to it for healing. In the same way, while salvation has been objectively won for us, each believer must freely respond. To make this clearer, Father gave a homely example: “When NEPA supplies light to an estate, it is a general provision. But each household must still connect and channel the power to enjoy it.” The only way, he concluded, is to keep our gaze fixed on Christ, “the author and perfecter of our faith” (Hebrews 12:2).

Turning to the congregation, Father offered words of encouragement, speaking as though Christ Himself were stretching His arms from the Cross to embrace every soul. To those who had lost faith, he said: “Lift your eyes once again to the Cross. Do not dwell in darkness, for in its shadow lies healing, in its beams shines hope, and in its embrace is strength for the fainting heart.” To those whose faith was shaken, he declared: “Remember that the Cross is never the end, but the bridge to glory. What seemed defeat on Calvary became the triumph of Easter morning. So too your trials can become your testimony.” To those who had fallen and not yet risen, he urged: “Arise! Do not lie where you have stumbled. Even Christ fell three times on His way to Golgotha, but He rose each time, bearing His Cross with love. Your fall does not define you; your rising does.” To those preaching a return to the roots, he exhorted: “Let the Cross remain your anchor. Do not dilute it, do not abandon it—for it is not a relic but the power of God unto salvation, the unshakabcentreter of Christian life.” To those burdened by sin and guilt, he proclaimed: “See in the Cross not condemnation, but mercy raised high. No chain of sin is stronger than the love nailed to that wood. Let your shame give way to grace.” To the weary and discouraged, he comforted: “The Cross is not a symbol of despair but a wellspring of endurance. From it flows courage to continue, for the wood that crushed Christ became the throne of His victory.” And to the young searching for meaning, he invited: “Do not look to fleeting shadows for purpose. Look to the Cross—the compass that never misleads, pointing you to truth, love, and eternal joy.” To all, he concluded: “The Cross is not a burden to be avoided but a gift to be embraced. It is the key to life, the ladder to heaven, and the sign by which we conquer.”

Beyond this, today’s readings also touch on a long-standing point of contention in Christian history: the use of images. The Church had to convene councils, such as the Second Council of Nicaea (787), to address the heresy of iconoclasm. One enduring argument is that God’s commandment not to make “graven images” (Exodus 20:4) refers specifically to making images for the purpose of worshipping them. If God were against images in themselves, He would not have commanded Moses to make the bronze serpent. Thus, Christian images are not idols but sacred reminders that lift the heart and mind to God.

Today’s feast also bears a profound resemblance to Good Friday, the only day in the Church’s liturgy when the Cross itself is solemnly venerated. Both days point us to the same mystery: the Cross is not merely a symbol of suffering but the very instrument of redemption. On Good Friday, we kneel before the wood of the Cross in sorrow and awe, beholding the price of our salvation. On the Feast of the Exaltation, we lift our gaze to the same Cross—now radiant, triumphant, and exalted—as the throne of Christ’s victory over sin and death. Thus, sorrow and glory meet in the Cross: what once was an emblem of shame has become the sign of hope, the bridge to life, and the banner under which the Church marches on.

In this, we see the richness of the Catholic faith: a Church that does not shy away from sorrow but transforms it into joy; a faith that holds history and theology together; and a liturgy that draws heaven and earth into dialogue. The Feast of the Holy Cross is not only a remembrance of past events but a living proclamation that in the Cross we find our identity, our strength, and our destiny. It is, indeed, the sign of victory—“in hoc signo vinces.”