To Gaze Upon the Cross
A Letter from the Wilderness
Liturgical Season: Great Lent
Scripture for Reflection: “And as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, even so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have eternal life.” – John 3:14-15
I. The Cross That Heals
Dear Fellow Pilgrim,
I have never believed that suffering was optional. I have never thought myself unique in pain. I have always assumed that suffering was simply the nature of this world—a place fractured by sin, where grief is woven into the dust. And, tonight, that was made even more clear as I read: “Grace is activated by the Cross and demands a cross… as the Hebrews in the desert were saved from the poisonous snakes when they looked at the bronze serpent, so we escape from temptations and find salvation if we fix our eyes on the Cross in every situation.” —Archimandrite Zacharias Zacharou
I had read about the bronze serpent before. I knew the story well. The Hebrews, wandering in the wilderness, suffering from the venom of serpents, crying out for relief—and God commanded them to look upon an image of the very thing that afflicted them. The very thing that poisoned them was to be their cure. And only those who believed enough to look upon it were saved.
II. The Cross That I Bear
I know, of course, that Christ is the fulfillment of that serpent—The One lifted up, The One who became sin for us, The One who bore our afflictions so that by His wounds, we are healed. But tonight, something deeper clicked into place: Could it be that the serpent also represents my cross? Could it be that my suffering—the very thing that afflicts me, the very wound I try to avoid, is the very thing I am being called to look upon?
Take up your cross and follow Me.
I do not want to look upon it. I do not want to gaze at my brokenness, my instability, my suffering. I want to turn away. I want to reject it. I want to believe that I can be saved without ever looking at the thing that poisons me. And yet—and yet—Christ asks me to see it. To lift my eyes. To look, and live.
III. The Cross That Transforms
It is shocking, terrifying even, to realize that the very thing that wounds me is salvific. That my suffering is not just an obstacle to holiness—it is part of what is making me holy. To look upon my cross without despair. To look upon my suffering without self-judgment. To look upon my affliction without resentment. To lift my eyes, not with shame, but with gratitude, even hope. I have spent my life wishing this pain away. But today I am reminded to ponder—What if this suffering is not a curse but a gift? What if this pain is shaping me, sanctifying me, carving Christ into my very being?
IV. Small Mercies: Today’s Glimpse of Grace
Today, I saw my suffering with more clarity, I felt something stir— not resentment, not resistance, but acceptance. A cross may be heavy, but a cross carried with Christ is never carried alone.
V. The Cross and Great Lent
It is no accident that in the middle of Lent, the Church lifts up the Cross. We grow weary, we stumble in fasting, in prayer, in repentance. We feel the weight of our struggles pressing upon us. And the Cross is raised before us. “Look,” it says. “Do not turn away.” “Do not fear the suffering.” Because through suffering, Christ is forming us into something new. Through suffering, we are being remade. Through suffering, we are being prepared for Pascha. And one day— one day, after we have carried this cross, after we have lifted our eyes in faith, we will see that it was not in vain. Resurrection is coming.
Closing Prayer
O Christ, who bore all suffering, teach me to see my cross as You see it. Give me the courage to lift my eyes, to look upon what afflicts me, and to find salvation through it. Let my suffering not be wasted, but transformed. Strengthen me in this Lent, that I may walk with You, not in fear, but in hope. Amen.
Have you ever seen your suffering in a new light? Have you ever found healing by facing the very thing that wounded you?
