The Cross is the approbation of our existence, not in words, but

In the luminous and soul-shattering words of Pope Benedict XVI, “The Cross is the approbation of our existence, not in words, but in an act so completely radical that it caused God to become flesh and pierced this flesh to the quick; that, to God, it was worth the death of His incarnate Son,” we are confronted with the most profound mystery of all—the divine affirmation of human worth through sacrifice. These words carry the weight of eternity. They tell us that our existence is not an accident, nor a trivial episode in the universe’s vast expanse, but something so deeply loved, so fiercely willed, that the very Creator entered into creation, clothed Himself in mortality, and bore the agony of the Cross to proclaim: “You are worth dying for.”

The meaning of this quote lies in the notion that the Cross—the instrument of death and suffering—becomes the supreme declaration of love and approval. In every age, humanity has sought assurance that its existence has purpose. Philosophers have reasoned, poets have dreamed, and seekers have prayed, but none have found an answer as radical as this: God Himself chose to suffer for us. Pope Benedict reminds us that this was no symbolic gesture, no divine performance—it was an act, brutal and real, written not in ink but in blood. Through the Cross, God’s love ceased to be mere concept and became flesh, pain, and surrender. The approbation—the divine yes to humanity—is not spoken but lived, embodied in suffering love.

The origin of these words can be traced to the ancient Christian understanding of the Incarnation and the Passion. From the earliest days of the faith, believers proclaimed that Christ’s death was not an accident of history, but the central event of creation—the moment where eternity touched time. In this act, the distance between God and humanity was abolished. The God who created stars and seas now hung upon wood, pierced by nails, for the salvation of the very creatures who betrayed Him. This paradox—divine majesty wrapped in human frailty—is what Pope Benedict calls “radical.” It is love so profound that it overturns every measure of reason and justice. For it is not justice that explains the Cross, but mercy, and mercy is the language of God’s deepest truth.

To understand this, we might remember the story of Maximilian Kolbe, the Polish priest imprisoned in Auschwitz. When a man was chosen to die in retaliation for an escape, Kolbe stepped forward and offered his life in the man’s place. In the starvation bunker, he led his fellow prisoners in prayer until his last breath. His act echoed the very logic of the Cross—a love so selfless that it embraces death for the sake of another’s life. Kolbe’s sacrifice, though human, mirrors the divine pattern that Pope Benedict describes: a love that does not speak approval, but enacts it. For in both Kolbe’s and Christ’s deaths, we see that to truly affirm the value of another’s existence, one must be willing to bear their suffering.

The Cross, then, is not a symbol of defeat, but the throne of love’s triumph. It is the moment when God’s “Yes” to humanity resounds through history. When Pope Benedict says that “it caused God to become flesh,” he reminds us that divine love is not distant or abstract—it is incarnational, dwelling among us, entering our sorrows and our wounds. When he adds that this love “pierced the flesh to the quick,” he reveals that redemption is not clean or easy. It costs something—it costs everything. The Creator does not heal us from afar; He enters our suffering, sanctifies it, and transforms it into the gateway of resurrection. Thus, the Cross is both agony and victory, both death and life intertwined in one sacred paradox.

But these words also challenge us. If the Cross is the divine approbation of existence, then every human being—no matter how broken, forgotten, or sinful—is of immeasurable worth. To look upon another person is to see someone for whom Christ deemed death worthwhile. And if that is true, then how can we despise another? How can we devalue life, ignore suffering, or withhold forgiveness? The Cross demands that we, too, affirm existence through action, not just words. It calls us to love sacrificially—to comfort, to serve, to stand beside the wounded and the lost. For the Cross is not only Christ’s act; it is our calling.

So, dear listener, let this be your lesson: the measure of love is not comfort but cost. If God Himself entered into death to declare your worth, then your life must be lived as a response to that love. Bear your own crosses—not as burdens of despair, but as bridges of redemption. When you forgive where you have been wronged, when you suffer patiently, when you love those who do not love you back, you participate in the same mystery Pope Benedict speaks of: the radical act by which life conquers death.

For the Cross, as he teaches, is not a relic of pain but a radiant sign of victory. It is God’s eternal “Yes” to creation, spoken not from a throne of gold but from one of wood and nails. And every time you act in love, no matter the cost, you echo that same divine affirmation—the approbation of existence that once split the heavens and turned death itself into the doorway to eternal life.