Before every Pacific Championship game, there’s a moment that gives me chills. The whistle hasn’t blown, the ball hasn’t been kicked, but something sacred is already happening.
New Zealand, Samoa, Tonga and the Cook Islands each perform their own variation of the haka – a war cry that unites their players in pride, spirit and purpose.
Then there’s Fiji, who lift their voices to the heavens with Noqu Masu, a hymn that echoes through the stadium with peace and power.
These moments aren’t just displays of aggression or performance. They’re declarations of identity – a way of saying, this is who we are, this is where we come from, this is who we represent.
And in a strange but beautiful way, they remind me of the Sign of the Cross.
Before every match, Pacific nations centre themselves in who they are.
Before every prayer, Catholics do the same. The Sign of the Cross is our own “war cry,” though not one of battle cries and challenge, but of belonging, remembrance and love.
When we trace the cross from our forehead to our chest and from shoulder to shoulder, we’re doing something ancient and powerful.
From the earliest days of the church, Christians have used this gesture to mark themselves as belonging to God the Father, Son and Holy Spirit – to bless, to protect, and to profess faith.
It’s a simple motion that carries the weight of centuries, linking us to generations of believers who have done the same.
The Sign of the Cross isn’t just a way to begin prayer; it’s a declaration that we stand under the victory of the Cross itself.
From the first Christians onward, it’s been seen as a shield – a reminder that we face life’s battles not alone, but with the power of the Trinity and the triumph of Christ already won.
It’s easy to overlook how profound that small motion is. Before a meal, before a journey, before sleep, before any challenge, we sign ourselves.
It’s our way of remembering who we are and whose we are.
In sport, a team’s war cry unites players as one body. In faith, the Sign of the Cross does the same.
It joins us to the Body of Christ and to every believer who has ever made that same gesture. It’s not something to rush through; it’s something to mean.
So the next time you see a team perform their war cry before the game – the stomps, the shouts, the rhythm that says “we’re ready” – remember that you have one too.
Ours begins not with defiance but devotion. Not with threat but with trust. It’s the gesture that says: I am His. I know who I am. I know whom I serve.
Because the Sign of the Cross is more than a gesture. It’s our battle cry of faith.
