Proclaiming the Cross, Our Only Hope

Laura Steiner reflects on celebrating the Feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross through the eyes of a mother and military spouse.

On September 14, the Catholic Church celebrated the mighty feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross, which commemorates Saint Helena’s discovery of the True Cross in Jerusalem in the fourth century. Yet, this feast is not merely a remembrance of a seminal archaeological event. It is a bold proclamation of the mystery of salvation: that the Cross, once an instrument of torture in the ancient world, has become for us the lignum vitae, the tree of life.

This year I encountered the Exaltation of the Cross from a new vantage point. Rather than join my family in the pew as I have done for the past several years, I served as a cantor at our base chapel. For the post-Communion meditation, I chanted Vexilla regis prodeunt ("The Royal Banners Forward Go”). There is so much rich theological symbolism in ancient chants such as the Vexilla regis, and we can find new meaning in them today.

Proclaiming the Victory of the Cross through Song

Vexilla regis was first sung in 569 for the solemn procession of a relic of the True Cross that was sent from Emperor Justin II of Constantinople to Queen Radegunda in Poitiers. Thus entering the Roman liturgy, it continues to be sung during Holy Week and during Vespers for various feasts of the Holy Cross throughout the liturgical year. Its verses exult in the divine paradox: out of death, the resurrected Christ emerges victorious and imbues us with ever-increasing virtue.

The Early Church Fathers drew strength from the Cross as a powerful means of our salvation, and reflected on its royal, mystical, and militant attributes.

He came as Savior. He died, but he vanquished death. In himself he put an end to what we feared; he took it upon himself and he vanquished it—as a mighty hunter he captured and slew the lion. (St. Augustine of Hippo, Homily 233.3)

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As a military spouse, I have witnessed countless ceremonial processions with flags and guidons held high, the prized symbols of a unit’s storied history and identity. The Church’s processional cross, elevated at the head of the procession marking the beginning of the eucharistic liturgy, is a symbol of an even higher, divine allegiance. To sing Vexilla regis in this context of a military base chapel community was a bearing of the Cross through song, proclaiming its saving mystery to all the faithful present.

Exalting the Cross through the Eyes of a Mother

As I reflect on this liturgical feast through my own lens as a mother, I find an incredible measure of hope and gratitude. There are endless joys, but just as many invisible crosses we experience on a daily basis. All of these are transformed through the light of the one true Cross upon which our Savior died. It is not an abstract notion, but one deeply embodied and made present every single day. These offerings, both small and great, when united to Christ’s sacrifice, become privileged moments of grace.

We publicly proclaim Christ’s victory over death by exalting in the instrument of his Passion. That is why every single room in our home contains a crucifix, lovingly displayed. Each one preaches silently: “Behold the wood of the Cross, on which hung the salvation of the world. Come, let us adore.” It is a constant catechesis to teach my family to lift our minds to God, who so loved the world He gave us His only Son for the redemption of our sins.

Our small daily sacrifices, as well as the heavier sufferings we bear at various times in our lives, are transformed in the light of the Holy Cross. Through it, we gather the hope and the strength to overcome our trials — from the mundanity of a sink overflowing with dishes and general overstimulation from an exhausting day parenting, to debilitating illnesses, major surgeries, and mourning the loss of loved ones. We proclaim together with the universal Church: Ave Crux, spes unica: Hail the Cross, our only hope!

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