Sunday Before the Exaltation of the Cross
Scripture: Galatians 6:11-18
(1)
Once upon a time, I was a young man with friends. And, like most of us, I enjoyed hanging out with my friends and having a good time.
We went to Twins games, enjoyed going out to eat, attended house parties, or just hung around watching movies. By the way, this was before streaming platforms, so, confession here, most of our movies were downloaded from early file-sharing programs…
But, for the most part, we all got along without any problems or arguments.
But, as anyone with friends knows, there are times when our friends may challenge us—and sometimes the challenge is so significant that our own values may be called into question.
When this happens, we may be torn between conflicting emotions.
(2)
I won’t go into the details, but I will say that the incident took me by surprise.
We were hanging out, and no doubt, alternative music from the early 2000s was playing in the background—that’s the soundtrack of my youth.
As our conversation progressed, suddenly one of my friends made a derogatory comment about a minority group. It sort of took me by surprise.
I’m sure you’ve had this experience as well. You’re standing around the water cooler at work talking with a coworker, or you’re hanging out at the backyard fence talking with your neighbor when, all of a sudden, someone says something that’s off-color.
I wonder: what did you do? Did you ignore it? Blush and look away? Maybe you challenged the comment? Or maybe you even joined in—we all have dark sides.
Well, for me, in that moment, I faced a dilemma: remaining silent would have left me feeling like a coward for not standing up for my beliefs, but speaking up might have seemed like a betrayal of my loyalty to my friends.
It appeared as though I had no ideal course of action. I was caught in the middle.
(3)
The desire to belong and be liked by our friends is universal. But in situations like this, we’re caught between a rock and a hard place.
In such situations, we end up feeling disappointed in ourselves. Disappointed that we stayed silent, or disappointed that we upset our friends by speaking up.
(4)
This sort of situation isn’t new—even St. Paul faced it.
Paul, as we all know, was a Judean. He went to the best schools with the best instructors. So, I’m sure he counted many Judeans among his closest friends. Scripture tells us that he preached in many synagogues, so, I’m sure, even after he converted to Christianity, he remained in contact with his Judean friends.
However, Paul had a problem. Many of his Judean friends didn’t like Christ. So, what did they do? They mocked the Christians. Christ, they said, was an embarrassment. Having been crucified, naked on a cross, he was a shame to his people.
As the apostles preached a gospel of trust in Christ, Paul’s Judean friends said that everyone should follow the Judean law and be circumcised. It’s in circumcision, they said, that one should boast—following the law is a thing of pride.
So, what should Paul do? Should he, as a fellow Judean, remain silent? Should he hide his true Christian loyalties and join in?
What Paul discovered was that by aligning himself with Christ, becoming part of the minority group, being himself mocked was how he turned the tables on his Judean friends.
Instead of being embarrassed by the cross, he took pride in the cross. Instead of feeling sorry for his weaknesses, he boasted in them.
In this way, he realigned his friendships and became a part of a new creation.
(5)
This newfound understanding was liberating for Paul because he no longer had to concern himself with the opinions of the Judeans.
It wasn’t Paul who had everything backward; it was the Judeans. A sense of pride was not to be found in circumcision, but rather in the shame of the cross. Jesus had turned everything upside-down.
And Paul didn’t have to worry about his sense of belonging; he knew he belonged. His trust in Christ made him an adopted son, an heir to the kingdom.
So, even if he was rejected by the Judeans, he had a home as a part of God’s family.
(6)
Similarly, as we identify with the humiliated, shamed, and crucified Christ, we, too, find liberation from the fear of not fitting in.
This is what happened to St. Elizabeth the New Martyr.
Elizabeth was born in England, a granddaughter of Queen Victoria. As such, she was among one of the most privileged families in the world, with access to unimaginable luxury.
Though she was English and Anglican, she ended up marrying a Grand Duke of Russia.
At some point, after her marriage, she decided, of her own will, to convert to the Orthodox Church. But, like many converts today, her English family was not happy with her. In their eyes, she had chosen an inferior form of Christianity, and they may have even thought she had chosen a heretical form.
At any rate, Elizabeth stuck to her guns. And what she discovered was that God had a plan for her, even more so after her husband passed away.
After he died, Elizabeth sold all she had, became a nun, and dedicated her life to serving the poor. She founded a Mary and Martha house, helped the poor and orphans, and even founded a hospital.
Among the marginalized and outcasts, she found new friends and a new family.
In short, by identifying with the cross and by boasting of her weakness, as St. Paul did, Elizabeth became a Mother Teresa of Russia.
When we pick up our crosses and boast of our weaknesses, we become part of the family of Christ, experiencing a profound transformation.
(7)
With this newfound fearlessness, we gain the courage to stand firmly by our values and advocate for justice, particularly for those who may lack a voice—just as St. Elizabeth did.
When our loyalty is directed towards Christ, it empowers us to extend love and support to our neighbors. And in turn, they become our family in Christ.
Amen.