The Sign of the Cross.
There is an old story about a civil war general who returned to camp with his soldiers too late to have received the password for the night. Knowing that they would be shot at if they approached the sentries, he asked his men if there was one among them who was willing to give his life to save the others. One man stood up. The plan was to have him carry a note signed by the general, explaining the situation and requesting the password. This note would be found on the soldier’s dead body after his attempt to approach the camp.
The soldier set out and soon arrived at the post. “Who goes there?” came the challenge, to which he responded, “A friend.” “Give the password.” Since he was unable to do so, he continued to approach without speaking, and the sentries took aim. Being a Catholic and knowing that death was upon him, the soldier reverently made the sign of the cross. In an instant, the rifles were lowered.
The sign of the cross was the password that had been given by the camp commander that night.
It’s easy to become desensitized to what the cross symbolizes. After all, at its heart it represents a horrendous death. Death on a cross would be a gruesome thing for anyone. For Christians, the death recalled by the crucifix is the death of the Son of God. Yet it was the horror of the crucifix, the agony, the mutilation, the abandonment of the cross that led to the death of sin, and even of death itself. We bask in the light of the Resurrection of Jesus, and look forward to what we hope will be our own. We are right to do this.
The cross itself becomes for us a distant memory, or a piece of jewelry – a strangely pretty thing whose meaning we keep just on the other side of the moment.
But as Catholics, we are also right to keep the scene of Calvary right before our eyes. It’s good to think about what Christ endured for us. Part of it all was to remind us of how we are crucified by our own sinfulness, so that we might act to cooperate with the great grace that will bring us to real life.
Yet it’s against our nature to think of this hard road, to let the suffering teach us, to reflect on the cross.
We usually need sad events to force us to accomplish what our nature forbids. Events like mortal illness, or the death of a loved one. Events like those we are forced to remember on September 11th.
We should never doubt the love of God, especially during these darkest of moments, or their memory. He is always with us, and never fails to remind us in subtle, or not-so-subtle ways. Do I recall the T-beam cross that was found in the rubble by Brooklyn construction worker Frank Silecchia on September 13th? Do I remember how it was blessed by Father Brian Jordan, OFM and then carefully preserved? Do I realize that praying the Way of the Cross in church places me on the Via Dolorosa in Jerusalem following Jesus to Golgotha?
Am I there where they crucified the Lord?
