There is another layer to the story of Holy Cross Day that I find particularly beautiful, which is the legend of Flavia Julia Helena, mother of Roman Emperor Constantine the Great. According to Christian tradition, Helena journeyed to the Holy Land in the fourth century, late in her life, seeking the sacred places associated with Jesus. Over time, she has become known as the woman who went searching for the lost Cross. The legend tells that beneath the earth near Golgotha, three crosses were uncovered—the cross of Jesus and those of the two men crucified beside him. No one knew which belonged to Christ. Different versions of the story describe its identity being revealed through healing, the restoration of life, or through the inscription that had accompanied Jesus’ crucifixion. We cannot know how much of this story is historical. Our earliest substantial witness to Helena’s pilgrimage, Eusebius of Caesarea, never connects her with the discovery of the Cross. Helena’s association with its finding appears decades later and develops considerably as it is retold. And yet, even as a sacred story/legend/myth, Helena offers us a striking archetype. A woman went searching beneath the accumulated layers of empire for something holy that had been buried. She dug. She uncovered. She remembered. Perhaps that is an invitation for us as well. There are layers that have accumulated around the Cross across nearly two thousand years—atonement theories, doctrines, political power, conquest, shame, fear, violence, patriarchy and empire. Holy Cross Day becomes an invitation to dig beneath those layers. Rather than discard the Cross along with our religious ties, we might uncover its deeper meaning. If we allow ourselves to remain in the threads of truth within religious traditions, we might find what remains once we have removed everything that has been projected upon it. What if beneath the theology of punishment we rediscover radical love? Beneath domination, surrender.