Suicide and our Crucifix

There is a room in my memory lit by a soft yellow light, where I once stood at eight years old beside my father and grandfather, looking at my mother who had just taken her own life.

That moment has never left me. It is a wound that became a window. Over time—and only through the grace of God—that room led me to another one: the room at the center of all things, where Christ is crucified.

Not as a symbol.
Not as a memory.
But as the living doorway to mercy, forgiveness, and love.

The most glorious of images in all of Christianity.

If only my parents had known Him.
If only they had understood that forgiveness is not something to be earned or deserved—but given. That Christ did not come for the worthy, but for the wounded. That the Cross is not the end of the story—it is the place where the story begins again.

The Crucifix is not a Catholic ornament.
It is the key to reality.
It shows us what love costs—and what God was willing to suffer to save us.

“Jesus without the Cross is a man without a mission,
and the Cross without Jesus is a burden without a reliever.”
– Archbishop Fulton Sheen

We do not display Jesus on the Cross as if we deny the Resurrection. We keep the Crucifix before us because we forget too easily. We forget what He bore. We forget what it means.

The empty cross celebrates the victory.
The Crucifix reveals the cost.

Scripture affirms it again and again:

“But we preach Christ crucified... Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God.” (1 Cor 1:23–24)
“By His wounds, we are healed.” (Isaiah 53:5)
“God forbid that I should boast except in the Cross of our Lord Jesus Christ.” (Gal 6:14)
The saints knew this too.
St. Paul. St. Francis. Padre Pio. The martyrs.
They did not cling to a safe, comfortable Jesus.
They clung to the One who still bore wounds.
They followed Him into suffering—not away from it.

Fr. Richard Rohr once wrote that pain is not something to be eliminated, but something that transforms. That the only way to grow is to descend. That God meets us not in our ideal self, but in our actual suffering.

And Thomas à Kempis reminds us that few will follow Christ into the shame of the Cross. Many want miracles, blessings, comfort—but few will stay and drink the cup of His Passion.

And yet—that is where transformation happens.
That is where pride dies and mercy lives.
That is where we are set free.

From every confessional, you can see the Crucifix.

And in the quiet hours of suffering, when there are no words left, I’ve often laid in bed and placed a Crucifix on my chest. Just held it. Not to ask for anything, but to simply be with Him—because sometimes that’s all you can do. And somehow, that’s enough.

For me, this journey came full circle not through forgetting the past, but by walking with Christ into its pain.

The Crucifix taught me:
No pain is wasted. No wound is too deep. No life is too broken to be redeemed.

There is a room at the heart of every soul where Christ hangs on the Cross.
He is not waiting for you to be better.
He is simply waiting.

To forgive.
To embrace.
To make all things new.

Come to the foot of the Crucifix above every Altar.
Don’t look away.
You’re looking at Love itself.

With Jesus, you can suffer through anything…
and count your blessings for everything else.

This is the love that stays.

Why the Crucifix?

If you want to love God, look at the Crucifix.
If you want to know the infinite, eternal love of God, look at the Crucifix.
If you wish to have a part in giving that same love to others, look at the Crucifix.
If you want to know who you are and your worth, look at the Crucifix.
If you want to know how you were saved from the jaws of hell, look at the Crucifix.
If you want to know how much God wants to save your immortal soul, look at the Crucifix.
If you want to know who will lead you to Heaven, look at the Crucifix.
If you want to live well, look at the Crucifix.
If you want to die well, look at the Crucifix.

— Fr. Wade L. J. Menezes, CPM