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Office Of Readings | Monday Of Holy Week | A Reading From The Sermons Of Saint Augustine
‘Let us also boast in the cross of the Lord.’
At the heart of Saint Augustine’s sermon is a paradox that stands at the center of our faith: that the suffering and death of Jesus is not a defeat, but a triumph; not a cause for shame, but a reason to boast.
The Cross As Ground Of Hope
Saint Augustine begins by naming the Passion of Christ as ‘the hope of glory and a lesson in patience’. In other words, it is both a promise and a pattern. The Cross, he tells us, is not only what saves us—it also teaches us how to live. It shows us how God loves, and how we are called to love in return: not with power or prestige, but with endurance, humility, and self-giving.
This is not simply pious sentiment. It’s a bold statement. The crucifixion was the most humiliating and brutal form of death in the ancient world. It was reserved for the lowest and the worst—criminals, rebels, and slaves. That God would choose to enter into that place of suffering is staggering. And yet, Augustine says, this is precisely the foundation of our hope.
‘What may not the hearts of believers promise themselves,’ he asks, ‘when for their sake God’s only Son… even died at the hands of the men he had created?’
The sheer generosity of God’s love is on full display. Christ died not because we deserved it, but because we needed it. And because he did, we now have the surest reason to trust that he will not withhold anything else—not even eternal life.
The ‘Wonderful Exchange’
One of the most moving parts of the sermon is Augustine’s reflection on what later theology would call the admirable exchange—the idea that Christ took on what is ours, so that we might receive what is his:
‘Of ourselves we had no power to live, nor did he of himself have the power to die… Through us, he died; through him, we shall live.’
Augustine paints a beautiful picture of this divine trade. Christ had to take on our mortal flesh in order to die, because by nature, as God, he is immortal. He does not die by compulsion, but by choice—entering into the full experience of human frailty so that we might share in the power of divine life. In this, the Passion becomes more than a historical event. It becomes a door, an exchange, a gift freely given and waiting to be received.
No Longer A Scandal, But A Glory
The Cross, then, is no longer something to be hidden or apologized for. It becomes the center of Christian identity. Augustine points us to Saint Paul, who wrote in Galatians: ‘Far be it from me to boast except in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ.’ For both Paul and Augustine, the Cross is not just the instrument of salvation—it is the shape of the Christian life.
Augustine urges us to embrace this with boldness. The world may see the Cross as weakness or folly, but faith reveals it as glory. It is the place where love goes to its furthest end, where God himself is most fully revealed—not in triumph over others, but in suffering for them.
‘Let us confess [the Cross], not in fear but in joy, not in shame but in glory.’
This is a powerful word, especially as we begin Holy Week. The liturgies of these days draw us deeply into the Passion of Christ—not as spectators, but as participants. In the Cross, we see the measure of God’s love. We see the cost of our salvation. But we also see the pattern we are called to follow: to give ourselves, as Christ did, in love.
Looking Forward With Confidence
Augustine closes his reflection by turning our eyes to the future. If Christ was willing to suffer for us while we were still sinners, how much more will he be faithful in giving us the reward of righteousness? If he gave us his death, will he not also give us his life?
This is not optimism. It is confidence rooted in the character of God—his mercy, his constancy, and his love. As we walk with Christ through the events of Holy Week—his betrayal, his suffering, his crucifixion—Augustine reminds us that this journey ends in glory. The Cross is not the end, but the beginning. It is the seed from which resurrection grows.
A Reading From The Sermons Of Saint Augustine
The passion of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ is the hope of glory and a lesson in patience.
What may not the hearts of believers promise themselves as the gift of God’s grace, when for their sake God’s only Son, co-eternal with the Father, was not content only to be born as man from human stock but even died at the hands of the men he had created?
It is a great thing that we are promised by the Lord, but far greater is what has already been done for us, and which we now commemorate. Where were the sinners, what were they, when Christ died for them? When Christ has already given us the gift of his death, who is to doubt that he will give the saints the gift of his own life? Why does our human frailty hesitate to believe that mankind will one day live with God?
Who is Christ if not the Word of God: in the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God? This Word of God was made flesh and dwelt among us. He had no power of himself to die for us: he had to take from us our mortal flesh. This was the way in which, though immortal, he was able to die; the way in which he chose to give life to mortal men: he would first share with us, and then enable us to share with him. Of ourselves we had no power to live, nor did he of himself have the power to die.
In other words, he performed the most wonderful exchange with us. Through us, he died; through him, we shall live.
The death of the Lord our God should not be a cause of shame for us; rather, it should be our greatest hope, our greatest glory. In taking upon himself the death that he found in us, he has most faithfully promised to give us life in him, such as we cannot have of ourselves.
He loved us so much that, sinless himself, he suffered for us sinners the punishment we deserved for our sins. How then can he fail to give us the reward we deserve for our righteousness, for he is the source of righteousness? How can he, whose promises are true, fail to reward the saints when he bore the punishment of sinners, though without sin himself?
Brethren, let us then fearlessly acknowledge, and even openly proclaim, that Christ was crucified for us; let us confess it, not in fear but in joy, not in shame but in glory.
The apostle Paul saw Christ, and extolled his claim to glory. He had many great and inspired things to say about Christ, but he did not say that he boasted in Christ’s wonderful works: in creating the world, since he was God with the Father, or in ruling the world, though he was also a man like us. Rather, he said: Let me not boast except in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ.
In these Bible verses, Jesus begins his farewell to his disciples, and the chapter closes with the words: ‘Rise, let us go hence.’ The natural continuation would then be the verse which opens chapter 18: ‘When Jesus had spoken these words, he went forth with his disciples over the brook Cedron, where was a garden, into the which he entered, and his disciples.’ However, Jesus continues to teach his disciples through chapters 15 to 17. We are aware, then, of the rearrangements which seem to have taken place as John composed his Gospel [ … ]
Today’s Bible reading celebrates two complementary affirmations of Jesus’ true identity, of Jesus’ divinity. The first is of John the Baptist, who came to prepare the way toward Jesus, teaching people an initial baptism of repentance, with water, such that they might be initially prepared to receive the Lord. The second is of God the Father and the Holy Spirit, the divine affirmation, that of heaven, the Father’s voice visiting Earth and the Spirit descending, as heaven bows to Earth, the Father to acknowledge His beloved Son as His Own [ … ]
Sometimes, when I read my Bible, I pause in the reading and say to myself: ‘This bit’s real.’ It would be fair to say, I have issues with Mary, because, contrary to what we are taught to say, Mary isn’t my mother. Rather: Mum is. One bit of the Bible-text says this: And when his family heard it, they went out to seize him, for people were saying, “He is beside himself.” … And his mother and his brothers came; and standing outside they sent to him and called him. And a crowd was sitting about him; and they said to him, “Your mother and your brothers are outside, asking for you.” And he replied, “Who are my mother and my brothers?” And looking around on those who sat about him, he said, “Here are my mother and my brothers! Whoever does the will of God is my brother, and sister, and mother.” (Mark 3: 21; 31-35.) Here she comes. She is in considerable distress. I can imagine that. I can relate to that. To save her boy from whatever he’s got himself into this time. And you’re not telling me there isn’t something inside that. Her boy is beside himself. Radical. Radicalized. Radicalizing. A misunderstood word. /ˈradɪk(ə)l/ adjective & noun. 1 Forming the root, basis, or foundation; original, primary. 2a Inherent in the nature of a thing or person; fundamental. b Of action, change, an idea: going to the root or origin; far-reaching, thorough. c Advocating thorough or far-reaching change. d Characterized by departure from tradition; progressive; unorthodox. ‘He has a demon! And he is mad!’ – thus ‘the Jews’. (e.g. John 10: 20.) Come home! It’s all she wants. His family want him back now. But it is an exclusive cult: there is an inside and there is an outside; and on the outside, they are not meant to understand, lest they be converted. He has defined himself as different from anything she was. Only at the end does Jesus say to his Mum – and with savage, bitter irony: ‘Woman, behold your son.’ And then he dies. Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. We ask that we might find Mary in our hearts as a Yes! place for Jesus. It is also recommended that we pray to Jesus that we may be further in oneness with Mary. It is self-emptying, such that we only exist insofar as we are responsive to God’s Word. * Last term, and put-out to pasture, the old Archbishop Emeritus came over to stay for a few days and did the odd class with us. He spoke of Yes! as the meaning of Mary’s virginity. And we were not very nice about him. One or two took umbrage. One or two got the hump. In a sense, his Grace, the Arch, basically wanted to move anyone he’d ever known from a high-place – a mountain – received theological ‘truth’ – to an imminent, human plane. Earthing the spiritual. Recalibrating metrics of life’s believability toward a spiritual sense of things. He might have asked the impermissible question: what happened? His Grace described it. God’s love as a cloud. This descended upon Mary – and subsumed her. Within the cloud, Mary capitulated utterly. She became only and purely a response to God’s love. As he spoke, the Arch cradled her. He carried her in his lap – in his hands. His Grace was a consecrated bishop. He was faith. He sat squat, a rounded man, hands cupped and ankles crossed, fingers interlocked, with parted thighs. Rumpled, washed, speckled. A lifetime’s skin… There could be no doubt His Grace spoke through long-term personal relationship with Mary. It was Julian went for him: ‘So are you saying Mary was a Virgin? Or are you not saying Mary was a Virgin?’ Nasty. No, it wasn’t pretty. Julian twisting his silver ring. For a moment, what Julian had said to the Arch simply failed to communicate. No, for a moment, that dumped on the air meant nothing. Then His Grace said: ‘There is a range of possible meanings we may understand in the question of Mary’s virginity. For example, there are understandings of the word virginity entailed in the action of giving birth.’ Julian said: ‘Duh! So had she had sex or hadn’t she?’ Trigger words. No, it wasn’t pretty. On that went for a little while. At length, Julian’s point seemed reluctantly conceded. Then the Arch told us a new story, an additionally human event, the more to baffle us. Controversially, he told us that Mary could not have been Joseph’s first wife, for this would not have been the way of things in the society of that time. His belief was that Joseph must have taken Mary into his household through pity. That would be normal, he said, for Joseph to bring a young, vulnerable girl, who is about to have a baby, within his protection, not meaning to enjoy with her marital relations, but through kindness. ‘And this story of the inn and stable,’ the Archbishop said, ‘it can’t have been like that really. Joseph has travelled with Mary to stay with his family, at home in Bethlehem, and they don’t want Mary in their house, for reasons which I am sure we can understand. It must have been there was considerable resistance to Mary. But Mary gives birth, and who can resist a baby? That’s what happened. It must have been. ‘I’m convinced that must have been how it happened really.’ Later that term, toward the beginning of Advent, we met boys who had been here before, in Valladolid, and now were in regular seminary. They had heard and recited verbatim all the Archbishop had said to them. Their spot-on impressions of each of the fathers were scathing. […]
