THE CROSS AT THE CENTER OF TEN THOUSAND THINGS
Before the mountains grew into their names,
before the sea discovered their shores,
before the stars were taught their courses,
the Cross was traced in the mind of God.
Not yet of wood,
not yet crimson with blood,
but stretched invisibly
from East to West,
from height to depth,
the hidden Tree by which all things were held together.
Holy Ephrem sings:
“The Cross is a harp,
and creation is its sound.”
For when the Word spoke light into being,
He spoke in the shape of the Cross,
breath moving outward,
arms extended in gift,
life poured forth without remainder.
In the deserts of Syria,
the Cross is the Ladder of Fire,
set between dust and glory.
It is the balance-beam
where mercy outweighs judgment,
where death is measured
and found too light to rule.
In the islands of the northern sea,
Holy Patrick beheld the Cross
woven through oak and ash,
through sun and storm,
through the flight of birds
and the standing of stones.
He sang it as a shield around the soul:
Christ above me, Christ beneath me,
Christ before me, Christ behind me,
the Cross enclosing the fragile heart of man
as a circle of living light.
Holy Columba saw it standing
at the edge of the world,
where land ends and mystery begins,
a mast for the ship of the Church,
its sail filled with the Spirit’s breath,
bearing pilgrims across the dark waters of time.
Holy Aidan preached it softly,
like rain upon heather,
teaching that the Cross does not crush the earth
but roots itself within it,
so that even sorrow may blossom
and exile may become home.
Far to the East,
where the Yellow River bends
and the Tang emperors ruled beneath Heaven,
Holy Alopen proclaimed the Cross
not as an instrument of shame
but as the Pattern of the Dao fulfilled.
Holy Jingjing wrote:
“The Luminous Teaching
unites Heaven and Earth.”
The Cross stands as the Great Axis,
the pillar upon which the sky is steadied
and the earth finds harmony.
Its vertical draws the heart upward
toward the Unseen Father;
its horizontal teaches the myriad relations,
ruler and subject, parent and child,
stranger and friend,
to bow toward sacrificial love.
Thus the Cross is the true Tree of Life,
its roots drinking from the depths of Sheol,
its branches shading angels and men alike.
Birds of every land make their nests there:
the Syriac monk chanting in the night,
the Celtic hermit praying with the tide,
the Chinese sage copying sacred characters
by lamplight.
O Cross,
you are the meeting of opposites:
justice and mercy,
stillness and movement,
emptiness and fullness.
You teach the cosmos to kneel,
not in fear,
but in recognition.
For when the Son was lifted upon you,
the world was lifted with Him.
The stars leaned closer.
The earth held its breath.
And time itself cracked open
to receive eternity.
Now you stand at the heart of all things,
a sign written in wood and light,
calling every gentile nation,
every fallen language,
every wandering soul
to return to the Center of Eden,
The Tree of Life still beckons,
where Love is outstretched forever on the branches of an eternal tree…
- Bp. Joseph
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