Homily for the Sunday of the Cross

 

by Brother Christopher

We are already halfway through Lent, and this might be a good opportunity to pause and ask ourselves, “So...?” Now, to be clear, I’m not suggesting that we grade ourselves on our Lenten resolutions, as that would place the emphasis on externals rather than on the real transformation this season calls for.

There is a reason we have placed the cross in the narthex for each of us to reverence as we enter. It is meant to bring to mind a fundamental question: What does it mean to be a faithful disciple of Jesus? This morning’s Gospel presents a challenge that makes clear the cost of discipleship for anyone who would follow after him:

“If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.”

Each of us shares in the cross—each in our own way, with our own burdens, and with our own name metaphorically inscribed at the top of our own cross. There are no exceptions.

To grasp the seriousness of this—Jesus is not speaking poetically—it is helpful to recall the passage immediately preceding this moment. Jesus explains that his destiny is to be rejected by the Jewish authorities, to suffer grievously, and ultimately to be put to death, but to rise again on the third day. Peter, unable to accept this, rebukes him: “No, that can’t possibly happen.” For Peter, and likely for the other apostles as well, this runs completely counter to their expectations of the long-awaited Messiah—the one who would inherit David’s throne. Surely, the Messiah would rule with power and might, overthrow the Romans, and establish God’s kingdom on earth, no?

How does Jesus respond?

“Get behind me, Satan! You are thinking not as God thinks, but as human beings do.”

This is the most severe rebuke Jesus utters in the Gospels. He recognizes that Peter, unknowingly, is speaking for Satan—the great deceiver—who, from the earliest temptations in the wilderness, had sought to persuade Jesus to be another kind of Messiah: one of earthly power rather than one who freely embraces the cross.

There’s no way to sugarcoat this: being a disciple of Jesus means following his way, renouncing self, and embracing a more radical ideal—being transformed in his image, becoming part of his mystical body. This will inevitably involve suffering we do not seek, but suffering we can bear because of Jesus’ example.

If Christianity is limping in our age, perhaps it is because we have too often traded Jesus’ message for a cheap variant—one more aligned with the values of the world, with worldly “success,” and with what is too often called “Christendom.” The early monks understood the dangers of power and empire, fleeing to the desert to preserve authentic discipleship. History has shown the cost of trying to Christianize a pagan world by force and legislation. As one contemporary Orthodox theologian wryly observed:

“Constantine founded an empire whose greatness and prosperity were more dangerous than the cruelties of Nero.”

For the entanglement of faith with empire has always compromised the personal call to discipleship that lies at the heart of the Gospel.

Unlike the first desert monks, Jesus does not call us out of the world. Rather, he challenges us to be authentic lights within it, living out our faith by imitating his example. And that can only mean picking up the cross of our life and moving forward in faith.