Let Us Rest at the Foot of the Cross #
Bishop Mikhail (Semyonov)
On the summit of a hill stands a dark, weathered Cross. And below lies a village—poor, impoverished, and weary. In moments of deep sorrow, it stretches upward toward that blessed tree. A line of wretched and broken people climbs the steep path, clinging to the rocks, bearing the full burden of their suffering.
Whoever has a sick one at home, or pain in the heart, or sorrow that offers no escape—whoever is broken, poor, lost in the dark, whose soul quietly weeps and longs for hope as a sick child longs for its mother—all the outcasts of life, all the stepchildren of joy, make their way to the holy tree, seeking and begging it for healing of their afflictions.
With trembling hands they fasten to the Cross a small candle—and with it, a piece of their weary soul. They pray, watering the soil around the Cross with their tears. And it seems the “holy tree” weeps with them. Then they descend the hill, comforted, and return to shoulder again the heavy burden of life, now resigned to fate. And a light dawns in their dark lives; their pitiful existence no longer seems meaningless—faith in a brighter future saves them. It seems as though the Cross has taken upon itself a portion of the pain of those who came to it.
In such an image, I see the meaning of the Cross along the road of our sorrowful life.
The Cross is our joy, our hope, the “refuge of the sorrowful.” It is our rest and consolation in times of despair and grief.
When our suffering becomes unbearable, when our soul feels suffocated and dark—seek here, at the Cross, peace and consolation. Come to the Cross. Look upon Him who suffers for us. Innocent, He wears a crown of thorns. His hands and feet are pierced. Bloodied sweat clings to His brow.
Shall we not be able to bear our small sorrows—sorrows in which, more often than not, we ourselves are partly to blame? Fall in prayer before the feet of the Crucified, and He will pour the oil of grace and healing into your sorrowing soul.
You may say: “He suffered—but how does this comfort us? Why must we suffer too?” The comfort is this: in suffering, we share in His suffering. By suffering with Him, by bearing His Cross, we receive from Him the strength to carry our own. Accept suffering—any suffering—with humility and joy, remembering Him who suffered on the Cross.
And first, it will become for you a light and sweet burden. And second, it will make your soul a pure dwelling place of the Spirit of God. Suffering makes the soul a “habitation of God.” It polishes the soul like a rough diamond under the wheel of the cutter.
Many dangers lie along the path of our salvation. One is the danger of forgetting God, of surrendering entirely to the world and its pleasures, of making an idol of wealth, of children, and so on. This is the first danger. And from this we are saved by the crosses of suffering which the Lord sends. He breaks our idols, takes from us what is most precious, in order to deliver us from the power of a false god whom we have set in His place.
Another danger is this: that in constant contact with evil, we might lose the beauty of our soul, exhaust our spiritual strength, and soil the image of God in us with sin and the filth of the passions.
To save us from this danger, God lays upon us the cross of suffering. Suffering, like a thunderstorm, refreshes the air. It illumines the soul with new light. Under the blow of suffering, a person halts on the road of their ordinary life, looks around in horror, and begins to seek healing. And to the seeking eye, God is revealed—He, who was lost and forgotten, our Joy. But of course, suffering acts this way only when a person has preserved enough love for God not to rebel against the cross, but instead strives to hear the voice of God that speaks through the trial.
At the Cross of the Great Sufferer, many in prayer seek comfort and a revelation of the purpose and meaning of their cross. And I know people who later blessed the hour of suffering as the beginning of great joy. “When the sword pierces the human heart to the very hilt, often in the depth of that greatest suffering there arises a joy unspeakable, indescribable—so that the soul, even one far from God, recognizes His hand and reaches out to kiss it.”