FROM THE PASTOR
Via Dolorosa
The First Station: Jesus is condemned to death
John 19:13–16
Then [Pilate] handed him over to be crucified.
The water of your mother’s womb. The water poured over you in baptism. In these birthing waters is the fountain of your solidarity with all God’s children and all creation. In the natal waters of his mother Mary, and in the baptismal waters of the Jordan, Jesus became one with us. In the water we live for and from each other in communion with God. Especially in our world today we must regard one another as brothers and sisters in the water of life.
The way of the cross is the way of service to all born out of water. Christians understand that each believer received the way of the cross in baptism. From that moment we follow Jesus. The cross is Jesus’ way of showing how deeply God loves all humanity—even to death. All of life lived for the other is life lived in the shadow of the cross. The deepest meaning in life is revealed in being present to the need of the neighbor, and sharing life with the neighbor in the compassionate love of God.
The public trial of Jesus was held in the big courtyard, called Gabbatha. At this station where Jesus was condemned to death, let us think on those places in our own lives which call forth our servant love. And as we follow Jesus on the way of the cross let us remember that the final destination is life eternal. On the Via Dolorosa, look for the light.
Almighty God, your Son showed the servant way. Give us courage to follow that way to the cross, that we may die and rise with him. Amen.
Second Station: Jesus takes up his cross
Mark 8:31–35
If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.
Human community is formed or broken by the decisions we make. When disagreements escalate into tense and wary polarization, better decisions are needed. As anger boils, decide to say, “Wait, listen.” When confronted with human need, decide: “There is something I can do.”
In the lower level of the Convent of the Sisters of Zion, above the flagstones of the pavement of Pilate’s courtyard, a colorful mosaic shows Jesus accepting the cross. He is depicted with the cross resting lightly upon his left shoulder while his right hand is resting on the upright beam. A calm and peaceful expression appears on his face. “He obediently accepted even death, death on a cross” (Phil. 2:8).
There is nothing passive about the way of the cross. Jesus grasps the cross as if the meaning of his very life depended on it. There are crosses in our lives. A sick mother. A relationship in trouble. Someone who needs our forgiveness. The loss of a job. Polarization which needs our patience and wisdom. Some crosses we can seize if we have the courage and faith. Other crosses are laid upon us unbidden.
Christians and Jews share a fundamental belief that life in God is life together, with and for one another. In human community there will always be crosses awaiting our grasp. Which crosses have you taken up? Which ones are being thrust upon you? God’s hand joins yours. As you carry your cross, look for the light.
May we take up the cross, O God, as your Son calls us to do, and following in his path, find eternal life with you. In Jesus’ name. Amen.
The Third Station: Jesus falls the first time
Isaiah 59:14
Truth stumbles in the public square, and uprightness cannot enter.
On the corner of El Wad Road we are met by a surge of humanity. Competing groups of pilgrims on the Via Dolorosa converge with merchants carrying their goods and streams of worshipers leaving the mosques and heading for the central bus station and their return to the West Bank villages. The pressing crowds, the cacophony of polylingual voices, the hurrying bodies intimidate. Through the crush one can hardly see the bas relief sculpture depicting the first fall of Jesus over the portal of a simple Polish chapel.
Pressure. Financial pressure. The pressure of time. Social pressure. The pressure of new ideas colliding with inherited verities. You know about the crush of pressure.
Who can be strong every moment? Yet we often live as if we must always be on top of things, in control. We give the expectations of others such power over us. Yet to be human is to falter, to fall down. Sometimes we drop the crosses. They are simply too heavy. Sometimes we are weak, sometimes we doubt, sometimes we just cannot continue. We are human. Central to the faith of Christians is that Jesus of Nazareth was a man. Human. God came to us in the midst of our falling, pressured humanity. As we think of Jesus falling under the weight of the cross, the burden of his frail humanity, let us take comfort. In the midst of the passion of human life God joins us to look for the light.
Loving God, you know our weakness. When we fail and when we fall, send your angels to pick us up and strengthen us on our way. In Jesus’ name. Amen.
The Fourth Station: Jesus meets his afflicted mother
Jeremiah 31:15
A voice is heard in Ramah, lamentation and bitter weeping.
A scene from my former parish ministry: Gunshots on Teaneck Road. A fifteen-year-old black child lies dying. In a moment of perceived danger a grief-stricken white policeman’s life changes forever. Both boys have mothers who suffer and grieve. The demons of race twist black and white in a polarized community; long-simmering resentments bubble to the surface in violent aftershocks. But who will hold the hands of the grieving mothers, black and white? Who will hold their hands together? The lesions of fractured humanity seem clear enough on Teaneck Road.
Waiting mothers, suffering children: the world is too full of such heartache. They are found on the starvation trek in the sub-Sahara, amidst the wreckage of the South Asian tsunami, in the rubble of Baghdad, and in the Bronx. They are close to where you live.
A modern Mary. Above the crib in the pediatric ICU the mother has taped a picture of her smiling boy, typed beneath it: “With God nothing is impossible.” She gazes at him, his body attached to needles and monitors, hands stretched out as he lies in the crib. She says: “I think of Jesus when I see him lying there, stretched out like he was on a cross.”
Hannah. Naomi. Rachel. Mary, the mother of Jesus and the church. All mothers. Gifts of God. Signs of God’s compassionate presence in the suffering of life, a reminder to look for the light.
O God, sometimes the suffering of this world is almost too much to bear. Especially then, let us lean on you and find healing in your love. Amen.
The Fifth Station: The cross is laid on Simon of Cyrene
Mark 15:21
They compelled a passer-by to carry his cross.
At the point of the fifth station the narrow, noisy road begins its sharp ascent to Golgotha. Many in our group are old, some are mildly disabled. Unobtrusively hands reach out and grasp elbows, exhausted stragglers are accompanied by stronger friends who have slowed their pace. In the struggle of the via dolorosa our interfaith group of strangers are finding their rhythm of community.
The frustration of the Way of the Cross of our spiritual journeys is that we cannot make the cross go away. When we see a life we love being torn apart by suffering, something within us wants to be able to take the pain away. True service is to be rendered powerless, to wait and walk with the other, to share the pain when we cannot remove it. If we cannot be God, we can be Simon of Cyrene. We can be present, available, a comfort, a listener, a human sign of hope.
With the psalmist we sometimes ask: “How could we sing the Lord’s song in a foreign land?” (Ps. 137:4) Alone we cannot carry a tune. But then Simon appears to share our sad song, bearing our cross a little of the way, pointing us to the time when we will sing Alleluias together. As we share one another’s crosses, look for the light.
Remind us, heavenly Father, that we need not carry our crosses alone, but that we are helped by the church that surrounds us, and by your own strength. Amen.
(From: Look For The light: Pocket Devotions For Lent. Stephen P. Bouman, Augsburg Fortress: 2005)
