W  e do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who has similarly been tested in every way yet without sin. So let us confidently approach the throne of grace to receive mercy and to find grace for timely help.." [Letter to the Hebrews 4:15-16]      
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I saw an advertisement on the Internet for a cross necklace, or rather, a “Diamond Cross Black Velvet Choker,” with an asking price of $750. It has diamonds, 14 karat gold, and a ribbon tie closure. The ad describes it as offering “all the romance and femininity of the Victorian Era,” as well as “just the right amount of sparkle, making it the perfect accessory to elevate one’s look.”

I’m all for wearing a cross as part of one’s devotional life, as a personal reminder of one’s deeply held Christian faith, but I don’t think the purpose of the Cross is to elevate one’s look.

I was ordained nearly thirty years, and I still carry in my wallet words from the ordination ceremony. Our ordination ritual has various parts to it, each intended to express a different side of being a priest. At one point, my parents present to the Bishop DuMaine the chalice and paten (bowl) they purchased as a gift for me. The chalice has wine in it, and the paten has bread in it. I then kneel before him, and he hands both chalice and paten to me, saying:

Accept from the holy people of God the gifts to be offered to him. Know what you are doing, and imitate the mystery you celebrate: model your life on the mystery of the Lord’s cross.

I then stand up and place the paten of bread and chalice of wine on the altar. I consider those words among the most important words ever spoken to me. I keep them not only in my wallet, but framed on my office wall and on a wall in the rectory.

As important as those words are to me, I’m convince that, given that we are baptized and given what we do in this sacred space on Sundays, those words also apply to everyone here: Know what you are doing. Imitate the mystery you celebrate. Model your life on the mystery of the Lord’s cross.
                                         
On that day 2,000 years ago, Jesus certainly isn’t wearing the cross as a fashion statement — as a choker to elevate his look. The cross was intended to stop Jesus in his tracks and to terrorize the population to submit to Roman rule.

And yet, the Scriptural testimony is that early Christians realize that Jesus transforms the Cross into the means of our salvation.

Teenagers, I ask you to know the following about salvation. The word salvation originally means to heal. In fact, a similar word, salve, refers to a lotion or ointment we put on a wound so it can heal. Salvation refers to the healing of a wounded relationship with God. Of course, every person is wounded in some way – every person’s relationship with God is wounded. It comes with being human.

We all can regret our actions or the words we use, which often express the deeper wound of heartache and loss, stress and pressure, the pains of adolescence, financial insecurity, disease, dashed hopes, or dreams never realized. Sometimes we carry a wound through life for years and years and avoid addressing it, but it doesn’t really go away. We don’t want to be defined by it, but it can happen.

Then, at some point, we are combing our hair in the morning, or are stopped at a red light, or pull onto the driveway. We realize how distant God seems to be. And yet, our Christian faith reminds us that we’re not made to have a long-distance relationship with God. Indeed, God’s grace always surrounds us, even when we’re not aware of it.

I keep another plaque on my wall, and the words are in Latin: Vocatus atque non vocatus, Deus aderit. Called are not called, God is present. And yet, we might still feel distant from God. We might feel our relationship with God isn’t simply wounded, but dead.

Early Christians understood that Jesus’ death and resurrection transforms the Cross from being an instrument of terror and death, to being the means of our salvation. Jesus on the Cross wants to heal every wounded, distant, and even dead relationship with God.

When we place on the altar a bowl of bread and a chalice of wine, it does us good to know what we are doing. You might see me standing there, but it’s Jesus the High Priest who transforms that bread and wine into the Sacrament — the Mystery — of his Cross. And when we put out our hands and say Amen, you and I are saying Amen to the mystery of the Lord’s cross.

In the 400s, Saint Augustine said that your Amen is your signature at the end of a prayer. When you and I say Amen, we’re singing off on what’s happening. Jesus wants to heal whatever wound you carry in life, whatever distance you think God is from you, whatever sin you allow to stand between God and you. Our response is to say, “Jesus, I’m putting name on the dotted line. Your death on the Cross allows me to be in Communion with God. I agree. Amen!”

Know what you are doing.

Imitate the mystery you celebrate.

Model your life on the mystery of the Lord’s cross.