The Gaze of Mercy

For a long time, I thought I had a grasp on the Cross.  I knew Jesus died there. I knew He rose again. I knew the empty tomb was the victory. And like many Protestants, I was accustomed to an empty cross; a reminder that Jesus is no longer there.

Then I became Catholic, and suddenly there were crucifixes everywhere. Above the altar. On the walls. Around people’s necks. In their homes. In hospital rooms. In my own home. Jesus was still on the Cross. To me that’s a bit graphic. A bit personal.

There is a question Catholics sometimes hear, and one that I formerly asked: Why keep Jesus on the Cross when He has risen?

But these last two days of Scripture have made me think the better question is: When you look at the Cross, what do you see?

Yesterday, Jesus told the story of a servant carrying a debt so enormous that he could never possibly repay it. The master forgave him anyway. And then that forgiven man walked away and demanded payment from someone who owed him far less. (Matthew 18:21–35) Scott Hahn’s reflection on those readings centered on what he called “The Debt We Owe.” Mercy and forgiveness are not peripheral to Christianity. They are supposed to be at its very heart.

Before I am the person being asked to forgive, I am the servant whose impossible debt has already been forgiven. (Matthew 18:23–27)

And then today the Church celebrates the Exaltation of the Holy Cross. The first reading takes us into the desert with Israel. The people have sinned, serpents have bitten them, and they are dying. God tells Moses to fashion a bronze serpent and lift it high on a pole. (Numbers 21:4–9) And then He tells the people to look at it. (Numbers 21:8–9)

Look at the thing that reminds you of what has wounded you. Look at the image of death. Look, and live. Centuries later, Jesus tells Nicodemus exactly what that moment was pointing toward:

“Just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the desert, so must the Son of Man be lifted up.” (John 3:14)

And then come some of the most familiar words in all of Christianity: God so loved the world that He gave His only Son. (John 3:16)

But we always stop before the next sentence!

God did not send His Son into the world to condemn it. He sent Him to save it. (John 3:17)

That means when we raise our eyes to the crucifix, we are not looking at condemnation. We are looking at mercy.

Catholics refuse to look away from the body of Jesus. Of course we know He is risen. Every crucifix exists on this side of the Resurrection. But resurrection does not make Calvary irrelevant. Easter reveals what Calvary accomplished.

So we keep the crucifix in our churches. We hang it in our homes. We wear it against our bodies. We place it where our children can see it. We don’t believe Jesus is still dead, but we never want to forget what Love did.

The empty cross tells the truth: Christ is risen. But the crucifix tells another truth that I desperately need to remember: This is how much He loved me. This is what my forgiveness cost. This is what mercy looks like when mercy takes on flesh.

The Church doesn’t merely put a cross somewhere in the sanctuary. The General Instruction of the Roman Missal specifically calls for a cross bearing the figure of the crucified Christ to be visible to the people, and it even recommends that it remain there outside of Mass to remind the faithful of the saving Passion of the Lord.

I very often walk into my church and other Catholic Churches at all times of the day to kneel in prayer. And every time I’m met with the gaze of love and mercy.  The Church wants us to look. Just as Israel looked upon the bronze serpent and lived, we continually lift our eyes toward Christ crucified. (Numbers 21:8–9; John 3:14–15)

Suffering is not the end of the story; His suffering changed the story.

And yesterday’s Gospel tells me what happens after I have looked. (Matthew 18:21–35)

I turn toward the person who owes me.

The person who hurt me.

The person I would rather make pay.

And I remember the debt that was canceled for me. (Matthew 18:27–33)

The crucifix will not let me pretend mercy is easy. There is nothing cheap or sentimental about the mercy hanging there. It has wounds. It bleeds. It costs something. But neither will the crucifix allow me to believe that my sin is greater than God’s desire to save me. (John 3:16–17)

Look at Him. There is no condemnation in His outstretched arms. There is mercy. There is forgiveness. There is the God who loved the world enough to enter its suffering rather than abandon it. There is the God who was lifted up so that wounded people could look upon Him and live. (John 3:14–17)

I keep a crucifix in every room of my home. I kneel before one at Mass. I pray with one on the end of my rosary, grasping for its closeness. When life becomes painful, when sin becomes heavy, when forgiveness feels impossible, when I am tempted either to despair or keep accounts of what someone else has done to me, the Church gives me something to focus on: the Cross. Look at the Cross and see mercy.