God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son
Mel Gibson’s The Passion of the Christ has been hailed as one of the most visceral and realistic portrayals of Jesus’ suffering. In his pursuit of authenticity, Gibson had actors speak the languages of Jesus’ time—Hebrew, Aramaic, and Latin. Yet the film’s graphic violence is so intense that it’s unsuitable for minors, and even many adults find it difficult to watch.
The crucifixion was among the cruelest forms of execution devised by the Roman Empire, reserved for crimes like treason. It was not only torture—it was humiliation. Victims were nailed to crosses in public places, their crimes displayed above them. Death could take days. In Jesus’ case, the two men crucified beside him had their legs broken to hasten death before Passover. Jesus, however, was already dead—his body weakened by a brutal scourging, which was not typically administered to those condemned to crucifixion. Pilate had hoped the scourging would evoke pity and spare Jesus. But it only added to his agony.
The crown of thorns was not part of Roman punishment—it was a cruel invention of the soldiers, hammered into his head for mockery. Even the wedge beneath the feet, often mistaken for mercy, was designed to prolong suffering by delaying asphyxiation.
So why does the Church celebrate this horror as the Triumph of the Cross? To many non-believers, it seems like a morbid fixation on suffering. Some even campaign to remove crucifixes from schools, fearing they might traumatize children. Why do we meditate on the Sorrowful Mysteries? Why do we read the Passion? Why do we walk the Way of the Cross?
St. Bridget of Sweden once longed to possess a relic of the True Cross. The Lord told her that no relic was greater than meditating on his Way of the Cross. Why? Because the Cross reveals the immensity of God’s love.
Jesus told Nicodemus: “God so loved the world that He gave His only Son, so that whoever believes in Him may not perish but may have eternal life.” God, in His omnipotence, could not offer a greater gift. He who spared Abraham’s son did not spare His own. Imagine Abraham on Mount Moriah: “What shall I tell the mother? How I wish I could die in his place.” This is what the Father contemplated from all eternity. He foresaw the suffering of His Son—and of the Mother, whom we honor tomorrow in the memorial of Our Lady of Sorrows.
Unlike Isaac, Jesus knew what lay ahead. He retained his divinity and foresaw the cross. When he spoke of the bronze serpent lifted in the desert, he was veiling the ignominy of his own crucifixion.
Secondly, we celebrate the Triumph of the Cross because Jesus transformed it into a source of victory—not only for himself, but for us. Suffering is part of the human condition. Even those who seem fine often carry silent crosses. And those who don’t yet will, in time. The suffering we evade often returns with interest. But when we endure our crosses with faith in Christ, they become sources of salvation—for ourselves and for others. The quiet heroism of duty, the forgiveness of enemies, the endurance of illness, the student’s dedication—all these are victories born of the cross.
Thirdly, we celebrate the Triumph of the Cross because Jesus does not abandon us in our suffering. He has walked this road before us. He is close to all who suffer. His cross becomes a source of healing—especially when we fail to carry our own. Like the Hebrews who looked upon the bronze serpent and were healed, we too are healed through the sacrament of reconciliation. We gain strength to rise again and continue our journey.
The Cross is not a symbol of defeat. It is the throne of mercy, the banner of love, and the path to glory. O Cross, our only hope—triumph still.
