God is beyond time, yet his timing is impeccable, precise, spot on. This is a blessing that has been evident in my life many times over many years.
A few weeks ago as I was preparing to board the ferry to Ireland, I got word that a friend had died during the night in Cork and I arrived home just in time for her funeral, something that mattered for me and her family. Travelling to her funeral meant that I stayed with our Community in Thurles which gave me the opportunity to visit my good friend John who has been seriously ill for most of the past year. He was well enough, sitting out in his chair, but neither of us realized that these would be our last conversations. A week later he became unconscious and, again, I was free to go to him, spending his last three days with him, his family and the community. The grace of being with him when he died, participating in his funeral.
All of these are reminders to me of God’s Providence, confirmations that He is not only with me but that He is actually in charge of my life. The timings of my life. The timings of all our lives.
I trust this even when His timing is one of long delay that puts me to the test.
I trust this. I trust God. Yet, I am burdened by the suffering of the world in our time. The sheer extent of it, its intensity. The power that rests in the hands of wicked men who have no regard for the innocent. And they get away with it. No one seems to be able or willing to stop them.
Where is God in it all, I wonder?
And then we come to this Feast of the Exaltation of the Cross, what was once called the Triumph of the Cross.
And there I see that the Cross of Jesus Christ is at the centre of all human suffering, it is the agonising still-point around which the turmoil of humanity swirls and rages. And just as the death of Jesus on the Cross of Calvary was accompanied by darkness, earthquake and terror, so it is now.
Here we encounter the timelessness of God because, while the Crucifixion was a moment in history, it is also a present reality for God and in God. It is a living reality, not just a silent piece of wood for us to observe.
When I am lifted up from the earth I shall draw all people to myself, said Jesus. He is doing that right now, inviting us to gaze upwards to Him, to allow our personal suffering to be drawn up into Him, to represent the fierce suffering of the world that it may be drawn up into Him. Drawn upwards further still into Resurrection and Ascension.
There are now words, there is no way of truly expressing our personal suffering at its deepest level – the physical, emotional, mental, spiritual, the burden of our guilt and shame, our depression. Ours and that of those whom we love and are helpless to save.
There is silence – ours and that of the Father who seems not to respond to the cry of His Son.
Pope Leo XIV spoke about this a few days ago:
“On the cross, Jesus does not die in silence. He does not fade away gradually, like a light that burns out, but rather he leaves life with a cry: “Jesus uttered a loud cry and breathed his last” (Mk 15:37). That cry contains everything: pain, abandonment, faith, offering. It is not only the voice of a body giving way, but the final sign of a life being surrendered.
The cry of Jesus is preceded by a question, one of the most heart-rending that could be uttered: “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?”. The Son, who always lived in intimate communion with the Father, now experiences silence, absence, the abyss. It is not a crisis of faith, but the final stage of a love that is given up to the very end. Jesus’ cry is not desperation, but sincerity, truth taken to the limit, trust that endures even when all is silent.”
The cry He utters is ours; it is that of the world. In the timelessness of God the cry is met with silence, and it is met with the response of the resurrection. And in the time of accountability God will deliver justice on behalf of all the innocent.
All the innocent – not only those who make the headlines but also the hidden innocents whose lives our society does not value, about whom we ourselves are at least complacent, about whom some leaders express no outrage because they themselves are complicit.
The loud cry of the Cross – its WHY – is also accompanied by the surrender Pope Leo speaks of the prayer of Jesus that we need to rise up into, a prayer of Hope.
“Father, into Your hands I commend my spirit.” The spirit of each suffering person, known and unknown to me.
Finally, in the wake of all this pondering, I have started praying, “Jesus Christ is Lord to the glory of God the Father” from today’s second reading. I pray this on my rosary beads in the morning, beginning with and Our Father, Hail Mary and Glory be. Then on the Hail Mary beads I say that phrase, Jesus Christ is Lord to the glory of God the Father, each decade followed by a Glory be.
This has the effect of focusing and rooting me in Christ and in some measure I believe it reaches far beyond me in the Holy Spirit, the Breath of God that blows where it will.
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Here at St. Mary Star of the Sea we have a certified relic of the True Cross, a tiny chip of wood, that has been beautifully housed by Deacon Duncan in a reliquary that was placed on the altar for Mass. When I showed it to the children one girl gasped in astonishment which strikes me as being the appropriate response to the great mystery before which we stand and gaze.
