“And when I am lifted up from the earth, I will draw everyone to myself.” That line from John still stops me mid-scroll. On the Feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross, the Church does not ask us to gawk at spectacle. She invites us to look up—and to be drawn.
Carl Olson’s reflection at Catholic World Report on the feast readings (Philippians 2 and John 3) puts the Cross where it belongs: at the hinge of Incarnation and exaltation. The Son who was equal with the Father emptied Himself. God gave His only Son so the world might be saved through Him. Olson, drawing on Joseph Ratzinger, stresses that the Cross is not primarily our offering upward to a wrathful God, but God’s movement downward—foolish, self-giving love that approaches us first. In Olson’s summary: the Cross is an invitation to faith, to life, to love.
That is not abstract for me. I spend my days chasing outages, grief that arrives without a ticket number, and plans that stall in committee or in the dark. The Cross is not a logo for “try harder.” It is the place where God already went lower than my worst day. Good News Ministries’ daily reflection for September 14 names what many of us feel: patience worn thin on the journey, complaints when answers are slow, eyes fixed on the disaster instead of the remedy. Their counsel is blunt and pastoral—lift the Cross above fear, grief, and anger; walk the grieving stages without pretending faith erases the tears.
Philippians 2 sings kenosis: Christ humbled Himself, obedient even to death on a cross, and therefore God highly exalted Him. John 3 tells Nicodemus that the Son of Man must be lifted up so that whoever believes may have eternal life. The bronze serpent in the wilderness (Numbers 21) foreshadows the pattern—look, and live. Not look and perform. Look and trust.
Olson notes people who are appalled by a crucifix—and a young woman who, after years of atheism, crumbled before one and wept, broken and healed. I know both reactions in my own heart. Some days the Cross looks like failure. Other days it is the only honest architecture left standing when systems, schedules, and self-reliance go dark.
So I keep the Cross lifted—not as theater, but as invitation. Above the outage board. Above the unanswered prayer. Above the plan that will not compile. Faith is not pretending the pain is pretty. Faith is believing the One lifted up is still drawing, still offering life, still teaching love that does not quit when the journey wears thin.
Sources: Catholic World Report – The Holy Cross is an invitation to faith, to life, to love; Good News Ministries – Feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross (Sept 14, 2026).