FEAST OF THE HOLY CROSS - 1

A 15th-century iron cross overlooking Cordes-sur-Ciel, at sunset

A HYMN FOR THE FEAST OF THE HOLY CROSS

The Cross: two bars of bitter wood

the image of our shame:

for when the Son of Light and Good

for our redemption came

and loved and healed us where we stood,

we savaged Him with blame.

The Cross, where all directions meet,

the central point of space:

we drove Him there, on bleeding feet,

with slow and stumbling pace

till, thorn-crowned, in the noonday heat

He lifted up His face.

The Cross, that raised Him up on high

to suffer through the hours,

to thirst, to bleed, to break, to die

abandoning His powers;

while we were marble to His cry

deliverance was ours.

The Cross, now central point of time,

meeting-place of our prayer

where, maculate with sin and grime

beyond what we can bear,

we meet Love’s harmony and rhyme

and brightness in the air.

The Cross: two bars of living wood,

the image of His grace:

it stands where our despair once stood,

it centres time and space,

and brings us to the Light and Good

to kneel before His face.

I wrote this last year, and take the liberty of re-posting it here today. If anyone wants to sing it or have it sung, the intended tune is Morwellham.