Homily One for the Sunday of the Veneration of the Cross (St. Sergius Mechev)

Homily One for the Sunday of the Veneration of the Cross 

By Holy Hieromartyr Sergius Mechev

"We venerate Your Cross, O Master, and we glorify Your holy Resurrection."

The Holy Church did not establish the feast of the Honorable and Life-giving Cross in order simply to remind us once again of Christ’s sufferings on the Cross, but, my dear ones, so that on this feast we might have the opportunity to enter more deeply into that greatest sacrifice which the Savior offered for our sins. And if, constantly remembering the Lord’s death on the Cross, today we glorify His Honorable and Life-giving Cross, then perhaps — at least in these holy moments, after we have with such love sung, according to the order of the Church, the Vespers and Matins of this great feast — perhaps, I say, these holy moments will help us, who do not wish to walk His holy path, to penetrate at least somewhat into the mystery of the suffering of Him Who offered the greatest sacrifice, Who was crucified for the sins of people, for their salvation.

The Lord Jesus Christ Himself, the Son of God, teaching us, says that He desires from us not sacrifice, but mercy: “I desire mercy, and not sacrifice” (Matt. 12:7). He Who offered the greatest sacrifice teaches us that we are not to offer this or that external sacrifice, but to act from the deepest thing within our nature, created by God in His image and likeness — from compassion, from mercy. He Who offered the greatest sacrifice showed mercy to His neighbors and even to those who crucified Him; to those who stood by the Cross and to those who were crucified with Him. He prayed for those who crucified Him: “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing” (Luke 23:34). He cared for His Mother, who stood before Him with John. He entrusted them to one another, saying: “Behold your son,” “Behold your mother” (John 19:26–27), thus uniting them in this temporal life until their passage into eternity. And then, to the one crucified with Him — the wise thief — He promised that he would be with Him in paradise.

My dear ones, when we do something for another person and we do it as a heavy sacrifice for ourselves, as a kind of self-denial, the Lord does not reject this either, but accepts it if we do it in His name. But the greatest mystery is that we Christians are called to what the merciful Samaritan was called — namely, to mercy. “Who… was neighbor to the man who fell among robbers?” asks the Lord, after telling the Parable of the Good Samaritan, thus prompting the one who questioned Him to answer: “The one who showed him mercy” (Luke 10:36–37). The Samaritan’s “duty,” one might say, would have been to pass by that wounded Jew. The duty of the priest and the Levite was to help their fellow believer, wounded and barely alive. And yet, the priest and the Levite disregarded their duty and showed no mercy. The Samaritan also disregarded what might have been expected — since the law required that he have nothing to do with Jews — but he showed mercy: he bound the wounds of the man attacked by robbers and provided for his recovery. In the same way, the Lord on the Cross offered not simply a sacrifice, but a sacrifice of mercy. Above all, He was merciful, and by this very sacrifice He taught us merciful love.

Let us look at how some of the saints followed this path. At times they placed acts of mercy even above their monastic duty and showed mercy while, in a sense, setting aside the rules of the life they had offered to God. One saint of God never drank wine. He had made this promise to the Lord. Once, robbers seized him and brought him to a place where they were drinking wine. Their leader offered him a cup and ordered him to drink. This God-loving man, who had never drunk wine, reasoned that he should remain faithful to his vow and fulfill his duty, so he refused. Then the robber grabbed a knife and raised it to kill him. The ascetic was not afraid of death — what is death to one who accepts it for Christ? For a Christian fulfilling his duty, it is a desired end. The saint, without hesitation, was ready for it. But suddenly, he turned his whole heart — lifted toward God — toward that robber. His merciful heart was directed toward him, fearing that the robber might commit a crime and kill a man who bears the image of God on earth. And, out of mercy for his neighbor, he drank the wine — and by this he saved not only that robber, bringing him to repentance, but also the others.

Here is another story from the life of the Egyptian desert monks. In the Egyptian desert, monks had the custom of weaving baskets. One brother, who had finished weaving his baskets, was distressed because he had no handles for them and would not be able to take them to market the next day, thus losing his income. Another brother, who had also finished his work and had already attached handles to his baskets, took pity on his grieving brother and gave him his own handles, saying: “I have extra; I don’t need them.” In other words, he spoke untruthfully — but he saw his brother’s sorrow and suffering, and knowing the Lord’s teaching not only by hearing but with his whole heart — that we must be one body and one soul, that another’s suffering should be our own, and that we must bear one another’s burdens — he served his brother, seemingly not fulfilling his duty, formally speaking, by using a falsehood.

And another example: a robber who had committed many murders suddenly begins to repent. Everything within him is stirred. He goes to a church and approaches a priest. Inside him there is turmoil: repentance is there, but also anger, since he has not yet fully repented or purified his conscience. The robber asks the priest, as a servant of the Church, to hear his confession and help him repent. The priest leads him to the Cross and the Gospel and begins the confession. Hearing the terrible crimes on the man’s conscience, seeing before him a murderer, the priest thinks first of duty. Can such a robber be granted absolution? Should he not be treated differently? And so the priest refuses to absolve him because of the greatness of his sins. But the robber’s soul, having received no mercy, no compassionate love, trembles with anger, and he draws a knife and kills the priest. Then, as the account says, he could not continue living like this and went on seeking someone who would receive his repentance. He came to a monastery, asked persistently, even at an inappropriate time, to be received. There, in the church, a monk — also a priest — received him and received him with great love, showing mercy to him. And through this mercy, that great sinner received healing from the Lord and later became a great ascetic who even worked miracles. Merciful love led him to healing.

These, my dear ones, are examples from the lives of the saints, who showed not sacrifice but mercy, and through merciful love saved their brothers. What does all this have to do with us? Much, my dear ones, because we are Christians — we walk the same path as Christ, and before our eyes must be the One Who brought us here, Who restored in us the image of God. This is a difficult and troubling path for many. When you remember that we are called to bear one another’s burdens — if it is hard for another, it is hard for me; if it is good for another, it is good for me — to save one another, then you will begin to understand the truth and fullness of Christian life. For this, above all, we must humble ourselves deeply. Then, somewhere in the corner of our heart, we will offer not only sacrifice to God — through singing, services, and various deeds — but also find this mercy, seek it in small and simple acts, like that saint who gave the basket handles to his grieving brother. This is true compassion. Each of us has a small grain of it.

And when today we bring out the Honorable and Life-giving Cross, when we glorify the sacrifice of the Cross — the greatest sacrifice for our sins — then, my dear ones, let us feel that this sacrifice was a sacrifice of mercy. The sufferings of the Cross were not accidental: in them the Lord was thinking of us sinners. He loved us, suffered for us, grieved for us. And we too can fulfill this in our measure. We can find small grains — tiny crumbs — of mercy, and we can give them, we can gather them. We can give our whole soul for this mercy.

So, my dear ones, little by little, instead of offering only sacrifice to God, let us offer mercy, and we will come to feel the truth of the sacrifice offered by the Lord and the truth of the Cross on which He was crucified — as God’s mercy toward us sinners. Then we too will bring this mercy to our neighbors, these small grains of compassion, and only then will we understand the truth and fullness of Christian life. For Christ, crucified for our salvation, teaches us that He desires not sacrifice, but mercy. We do offer sacrifice — but strive to accompany it with these small grains of mercy, and, I repeat, let us remember the true and genuine path of Christian life.

When we come to the Last Judgment, the Lord will not ask us how we sang, how we served, nor about our prayers or various ascetic efforts. He will ask whether we were merciful. And only the merciful will receive mercy. “Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy” (Matt. 5:7). Store up mercy here, because when you come there, you will be asked whether you were merciful. Let us gather these small grains of mercy, and when we come to the Last Judgment, perhaps we will offer them like the widow’s two mites — two small grains of mercy. And I truly believe that just as that brother who gave the basket handles out of mercy was shown mercy, so we also will be shown mercy, because the promise given by the Lord is true: “Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy.” Amen.

Source: Translated by John Sanidopoulos.