The veneration of the cross is part of our Good Friday service. At my parish, a large cross is carried in and placed in the center aisle in front of the altar. Our pastor asks that we remove our shoes before we approach the cross—we are standing on holy ground.
One by one, parishioners approach, bow and then kiss the cross. It is moving to watch this procession of hundreds of people as we commemorate the death of our Lord.A mother and her little girl caught my attention as they approached the cross.
At the Holy Thursday Mass the previous evening, they sat next to me, and the little girl—maybe three or four years old—was very friendly. She smiled and waved as they took their seats before Mass began, and she reached out to everyone around us during the gesture of peace.
At the Good Friday service, the little girl stayed a few steps behind as her mother approached the cross. The mother kissed the cross and moved aside. Then the little girl walked up to the cross, threw her arms around the wood and hugged the cross.Embrace the cross, I thought.
I wonder if this little girl will remember the moment that she hugged the cross. Will she grow up to be someone who will embrace her sufferings? Right now, she seems so innocent and unscathed. But doesn’t everyone suffer something at some time? Something that leaves a scar? Some hurt that needs to be transformed?
Her spontaneous gesture reminded me of my own reactions to Good Friday when I was a child. I, too, embraced the cross.
I connected with Jesus’ suffering and recognized a kindred spirit in him. His innocence touched my own. His abandonment spoke to my own sense of betrayal. Jesus suffered along with me—or was it that I was suffering along with him? I’m not sure, but I know that his calling out to God showed me that I was not alone. Jesus was with me as I called to God for help.
But I got stuck on Good Friday, and for many years, I clung to the darkness of it; darkness seemed to be a perfect image for my life.
Then, at some point, I realized that Jesus had moved beyond that despair to resurrection, and that he invited me to move beyond my own misery into the light.As I watched that little girl hugging the cross on Good Friday, I remembered an aha moment many years ago when I knew that I needed to hug my own hurt, that I had to welcome my past and embrace it if I wanted to be healed.
Good Friday is not the end; it is one part of the journey toward resurrection. Good Friday anticipates Easter Sunday and the promise of transforming my pain into gift and even blessing. Only by embracing my cross can I be healed and move on to live in Easter hope and joy. Alleluia.