This past week was the Feast of the Exultation of the Cross. In non-Catholic speak; it was a celebration of Christ’s suffering and victory on the cross. At the seminary, a relic of the true cross was brought to our chapel for meditation and prayer. Again, in non-Catholic language that is a piece of Jesus’ cross that has been preserved through the ages and now is in small parts all over the world to inspire the faithful. There are questions about the authenticity of the relics, but I’m not going to get into right here.

The prospect of getting to sit at the foot of (part of) the cross is daunting. There is pain, guilt, relief, forgiveness, triumph, and a hundred other emotions wrapped up in it. There aren’t many words to articulate what being in the presence of the cross can do. One of the beauties of the Catholic Church is the tangibility of faith. There are connections to the earliest Christians and Christ himself that can be seen, touched, and experienced.

So I knelt in front of the cross, as Mary did and uncountable others have done, and prepared to encounter my crucified god in a profound and life changing way.

Nothing happened.

The heavens didn’t open up for me. There was no vision from on high. No choir of angels were singing (at least that I could hear). Apparently there is more to sacred objects than just making an appearance.

As I was kneeling in my disillusionment I noticed something hanging out behind the disappointing splinter. There, hanging out in a golden dove, was the sacrament. Christ himself, given in the Eucharist, was in the room where his cross had been brought. Despite how amazing and wonderful and awful and painful and everything else the cross was, Christ himself was present in that space. Surprising as it is, even the cross can be a distraction from Christ. In the unintentionally profound layout of the room, the relic of the cross was in my line of sight, blocking my view of Christ.

Relics are wonderful. They are a window into who God is and a memorial of the saints who blazed the trail for us. They are gifts that radiate God’s grace. At the same time, they are not an end in themselves. The cross is never the fullness of what there is. Behind the cross, when we choose to look past it, is the resurrected and intimately immanent Jesus. The cross may have been that day’s special attraction but Jesus is always present and waiting for me.

Although seeing the cross is a special treat that circumstantially happened to be situated between me and Christ, the path to God remains exactly the same: humility, prayer, and listening. I was too caught up looking for the cross to see Christ. Had praised God for his sacrifice, I might have heard that choir that was doing just the same. Had I been searching for God and not for holy fireworks, I may have found both.