Accepting the Cross...

In Jerusalem in 1978 I was standing on the lithostratos, a stone pavement which is now the floor of the sub-
basement of a convent. The nun explained that this was formerly at ground level, and is the very spot where He accepted his cross—willingly. He could have refused, calling on legions of angels to protect him, but no—He chose to accept it.
This stunned me. I had only begun to be a committed Christian five years before, after a Cursillo weekend.
From that pivotal announcement I grew to understand that my particular cross to accept—and bear—was named
“Forgiveness.” That following him means deciding, then learning, to forgive my parents, my wife, my co-workers, my friends, my children, and especially myself. It was years until I figured out that forgiveness made me free, whether or not the forgiven one accepted or even knew about my change of heart. The transaction was between me and Jesus. But how was I to do this?
God knew my dilemma. One particular evening I was driving home from work when He worked a miracle: unbidded, out of the blue, He brought to my consciousness the parable of the unforgiving servant in Mt 18:21-35.
He caused it to spring alive and remind me powerfully of for how much I had been forgiven—and by whom—during the carnage of thirty years of active alcoholism. He made the connection for me, so I could make the decision to
forgive, then pray to the Great Forgiver for the grace to do it. From my shoulders the eight-hundred-pound gorilla was instantly lifted—the burdens I’d carried, nurtured, even relished, for years. I became free!
Lord Jesus, you willingly accepted your cross. Now I know I must accept mine—daily, remembering to forgive often—to keep the freedom you’ve given me. How grateful my heart is! Help me to keep accepting my cross...