I have a San Damiano Cross. It is small - about three inches tall. My parish priest gave it to me the year I was chosen to participate in Holy Thursday foot washing ceremony. It hangs on the thumbtack that holds my desk calendar to the wall. When I switched the month from March to April a few days ago, it wouldn't stay on the thumbtack and kept falling to the floor. (Yes, I caught the symbolism that points to Our Lord falling three times on His way to Calvary.)
I didn't want to leave the cross on the floor, so I picked it up and set it on my office desk.
My grandson Jojo came into the office yesterday to see what I was up to. I picked him up and looked around for something to entertain him for a few minutes. He's just 15 months old and nothing holds his attention for very long. The nearest thing to us was the San Damiano Cross. He took it into his chubby little hands and I said, "Jesus. Jojo, that's Jesus."
I expected him to look at it, almost sure that he'd never seen one of these picture crosses (inhabited Saints' Cross). Instead, he looked at it briefly and then held it up to the calendar on my wall.
I was amazed. He not only knew what it was; he knew where it belonged. And I realized that he was far more aware of holy things than I ever imagined.
Jojo was baptized about a year ago. God is making good on His promise to Jojo - to whisper into his ears of the things of God, to begin to draw this little one to Himself in the deep mystery of sacramental grace, and to be a fountain of living water that bubbles up to salvation.
Lord, by your holy cross, you have redeemed the world.