“If Jesus is risen, why do Catholics keep Him on the Cross?”

Dear Friend,

There are moments in life when words fail.

When suffering strikes and no explanation is enough.
When guilt whispers that you’ll never be good enough.
When perfection feels like a mountain you just can’t climb.

It’s there—in that quiet ache of the soul—that Christianity really begins.
Not with self-improvement.
Not with pep talks.
But with a Man… hanging on a Cross.

“For this I was born, and for this I have come into the world, to bear witness to the truth.”
—Jesus (John 18:37)

And so people ask: “If Jesus is risen, why do Catholics keep Him on the Cross?”
The answer is simple: because the Cross is where His love is revealed most clearly—and that love did not end when He rose, it is made eternal in Him.

We don’t hide His suffering. We place it front and center.
We don’t cover the nails in His hands or the blood that fell.
We gaze upon it—not to feel shame, but to finally understand who we are…
…and how much we are worth.

The Crucifix Shatters the Lie That You’re Not Good Enough

Look at Him.
That is what you are worth.

The Crucifix speaks a truth deeper than any sermon.
You don’t have to climb your way to God.
He came down to you.

He entered our pain.
He entered our failure.
He took on our guilt, our weakness, our shame.

And He didn’t run from it.
He embraced it.
He became the offering.

That’s why we Catholics don’t just use a plain cross.
We show the full reality: the Crucifix.

Not to make you feel small…
But to show you that you are cherished by God, even at your lowest.

“God proves His love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.”
—Romans 5:8

Why Did He Stay?

“Come down from the Cross!” the crowd shouted.
But He didn’t.

He stayed.
For you.

As Archbishop Fulton Sheen once said:

“Jesus without the Cross is a man without a mission. The Cross without Jesus is a burden without a reliever.”

So when you feel lost…
When you feel like you’ve messed up too much…
When you wonder if God has given up on you…

Look at the Crucifix. He stayed.
And He stays still.

This Is Not a Story of Defeat—It’s the Door to Joy

The Crucifixion is not the end.
It is the doorway.

It’s the truth about what sin costs—
But more importantly, what love pays.

His suffering leads to our healing.
His wounds are the price of our peace.
His death is the seed of resurrection.

This is the kind of love that doesn’t flinch.
It doesn’t wait for perfection.
It meets you where you are and carries you home.

“By His wounds, we are healed.” —Isaiah 53:5
“He loved me and gave Himself for me.” —Galatians 2:20

The Cross Is the Mission—And It’s the Way We’re Healed

“If anyone would come after Me, let him deny himself, take up his cross, and follow Me.”
—Jesus (Matthew 16:24)

Following Christ doesn’t mean avoiding pain.
It means redeeming it.

It means entering a love that transforms even the worst suffering into something eternal.

Those who’ve suffered deeply already know—pain changes us.
But only Christ’s pain redeems us.

That’s why Paul could say:

“We preach Christ crucified… the power of God and the wisdom of God.” —1 Corinthians 1:23-24
“I have been crucified with Christ; it is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me.” —Galatians 2:20

We Are Easter People

We are not a people of despair.
We are a people of the resurrection.
But resurrection only comes after the Cross.

This is why Catholics keep the Crucifix in our churches, our homes, and even around our necks.

Not as a token of sadness…
But as a sign of victory.

Because of the Cross:

Every tear has meaning.
Every sinner can become a saint.
And even death is not the end.
We are Easter people—
and the path to joy goes straight through the heart of the Crucified.

A Quiet Room, A Crucifix, and a Question That Still Echoes

One night at what was once Holy Trinity Monastery in Huntsville, Utah, I was blessed to give my confession to a Trappist monk priest named Father Pat. He was old, his hair bright white, small in stature—but immense in mercy.

After hearing my confession, he looked at me and said:
“Rich… you do know we are sinners too, right? That we too have our problems?”

I was struck.
“Of course I do, Father,” I said.

He gave me my penance: “Go back to your room and say ten Our Fathers.”

As I turned to go, he added:
“You do know how much God loves you… right?”
“I do, Father.”

My room was small. A single bed. A writing table by the window that looked down on the courtyard. I happened to see Father Pat walking below, on his way to his quiet place. Above my bed hung a simple Crucifix.

I took it down.
Laid on my back.
Placed it on my chest.

Ten Our Fathers later, I was asleep.

And as for His Church…
I am wide awake.

And I give thanks every single day for it in my life.
For my Savior.
And my passion in this life… is for you to find the same.