STATIONS OF THE CROSS - Option 2 (for Good Friday)
“Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my thoughts. See if there is any wicked way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.” (Psalm 139:23-24)
Open to me the gates of righteousness, that I may enter through them and give thanks to the LORD. This is the LORD's gate; the righteous shall enter through it. I will give thanks because you have answered me. You have become my salvation. The stone that the builders rejected has become the chief cornerstone. This has come from the LORD. It is marvelous in our eyes. This is the day on which the Lord has acted. Let us shout with joy and rejoice in it. Please, save us, O LORD! Please! O LORD, please bring success! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the LORD. We bless you from the house of the LORD. The LORD is God He has given us light. With cords bind the festival sacrifice to the horns of the altar. You are my God, and I will give thanks to you. You are my God, I will extol you. O give thanks to the LORD, for he is good. For his steadfast love endures forever. (Psalm 118:19-29)
Open to me the gates of righteousness, that I may enter through them and give thanks to the LORD. This is the LORD's gate; the righteous shall enter through it. I will give thanks because you have answered me. You have become my salvation. The stone that the builders rejected has become the chief cornerstone. This has come from the LORD. It is marvelous in our eyes. This is the day on which the Lord has acted. Let us shout with joy and rejoice in it. Please, save us, O LORD! Please! O LORD, please bring success! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the LORD. We bless you from the house of the LORD. The LORD is God He has given us light. With cords bind the festival sacrifice to the horns of the altar. You are my God, and I will give thanks to you. You are my God, I will extol you. O give thanks to the LORD, for he is good. For his steadfast love endures forever. (Psalm 118:19-29)
Beneath the Cross of Jesus
Beneath the cross of Jesus I fain would take my stand The shadow of a mighty rock Within a weary land. A home within the wilderness, A rest upon the way, From the burning of the noontide heat, And the burden of the day. Upon that cross of Jesus Mine eye at times can see The very dying form of One Who suffered there for me. And from my stricken heart with tears, Two wonders I confess, The wonders of redeeming love And my unworthiness. |
Prayer
O Lord, we are gathered together here this day as your people, as those who have been called out of darkness into your marvelous light. We are here only because you have loved us and been faithful across the generations that we might be your people. And yet we quickly confess that we are not worthy of that love.
As we contemplate the Cross and what it means, we are filled with joy and wonder at the sacrifice that Jesus has made to show us light in the darkness and offer us life in the midst of death. We confess that we have nothing to offer in return for that sacrifice, nothing that will match such love. We know that only love can respond to such a gift. Yet we know that we are not always loving or lovable. But you remain steadfastly faithful to us. You love us even when we are not lovable, and remain steadfast in your grace that calls us to follow the example of Jesus who is the Christ.
We are committed to that journey, to be followers of the One who has given so much that we might be sons and daughters of God. But sometimes the journey that we take in following Jesus who is the Christ is not all light and joy. Sometimes the Way is rough and dimly lit. Sometimes the darkness of life threatens to engulf the light.
And so we cry out to you, O Lord. Forgive us for our sometimes faltering steps. Show us more clearly the Way. Shine anew the light of your presence into our lives so strongly that a new love for You will be kindled. Light within us a love beyond emotion and sentimentality, a love that is willing to lay aside all privilege and self-centeredness. Grow within us a love that is willing to surrender all our fears and uncertainties to you, that desires nothing more than to love God with all our being and to love those around us with the same faithfulness with which you love us.
Now, as we begin this journey of the Cross, we open our hearts and minds to you. We lay aside for these moments the trivialities of our life and bring ourselves into your presence. Speak to us what we need to hear. And help us to hear, not just the words that are spoken, but your Word spoken afresh in our hearts.
[A short time of silent prayer and meditation]
O Lord, we are gathered together here this day as your people, as those who have been called out of darkness into your marvelous light. We are here only because you have loved us and been faithful across the generations that we might be your people. And yet we quickly confess that we are not worthy of that love.
As we contemplate the Cross and what it means, we are filled with joy and wonder at the sacrifice that Jesus has made to show us light in the darkness and offer us life in the midst of death. We confess that we have nothing to offer in return for that sacrifice, nothing that will match such love. We know that only love can respond to such a gift. Yet we know that we are not always loving or lovable. But you remain steadfastly faithful to us. You love us even when we are not lovable, and remain steadfast in your grace that calls us to follow the example of Jesus who is the Christ.
We are committed to that journey, to be followers of the One who has given so much that we might be sons and daughters of God. But sometimes the journey that we take in following Jesus who is the Christ is not all light and joy. Sometimes the Way is rough and dimly lit. Sometimes the darkness of life threatens to engulf the light.
And so we cry out to you, O Lord. Forgive us for our sometimes faltering steps. Show us more clearly the Way. Shine anew the light of your presence into our lives so strongly that a new love for You will be kindled. Light within us a love beyond emotion and sentimentality, a love that is willing to lay aside all privilege and self-centeredness. Grow within us a love that is willing to surrender all our fears and uncertainties to you, that desires nothing more than to love God with all our being and to love those around us with the same faithfulness with which you love us.
Now, as we begin this journey of the Cross, we open our hearts and minds to you. We lay aside for these moments the trivialities of our life and bring ourselves into your presence. Speak to us what we need to hear. And help us to hear, not just the words that are spoken, but your Word spoken afresh in our hearts.
[A short time of silent prayer and meditation]
Station 1: Pilate Condemns Jesus to Die
Now Jesus stood before the governor; and the governor asked him, "Are you the King of the Jews?" Jesus said, "You say so." But when he was accused by the chief priests and elders, he did not answer. Then Pilate said to him, "Do you not hear how many accusations they make against you?" But he gave him no answer, not even to a single charge, so that the governor was greatly amazed. . . . So when Pilate saw that he could do nothing, but rather that a riot was beginning, he took some water and washed his hands before the crowd, saying, "I am innocent of this man's blood; see to it yourselves." . . . and after flogging Jesus, he handed him over to be crucified.
Matt 27:11-14, 24, 26b
Jesus, I wish you would speak! I wish you would proclaim who you are. I wish you would confront the disbelief of the crowds and the arrogant cowardice of the powers that be. Surely someone will speak up for you! Where are the lepers who were healed? Where are the blind who can now see? Where are all the people who ate the bread and fish on the hillside? Where are those who followed you so easily when they thought you would become King of the Jews? Yet no one speaks. No voice in the crowd comes to your defense. You stand alone.
You stand before Pilate, the power of Rome. Weakness stands before strength. And yet, Pilate, the ruthless enforcer for the Empire is not really in control here. He cannot make you confess. He cannot quiet the crowds. For all his power, he cannot find the courage to do what is right. So he does what is safe. He yields to the crowds for the sake of order. Courage and strength do not always sit on thrones or judgment seats. Power is not always in the hands of Empires.
I have been alone. I have been falsely accused, and no one has spoken for me. I have been treated unfairly by those who could have used their power for better purposes. I can understand some of your feelings as you stand silently before Pilate and watch him proclaim his own innocence as he condemns an innocent man.
But perhaps I have treated others unfairly as well. Perhaps I have not spoken up for others when they needed a voice. There are those around me who have been treated unjustly. Have I always had the courage to come to their defense? There are those around me who feel alone and abandoned. Have I always been there for them? O Lord, forgive me for not always being who I should be.
I find it easy to condemn the moral cowardice of Pilate. Have I ever given in to pressure from others to take the easy path rather than the right path? Have I ever chosen the easy path over the right path?
Jesus, I see in your silence the quiet strength that reveals a peace and a resolve. O Lord, help me deal with the unfairness of life without becoming critical of others. Help me to be sensitive to the pain and feelings of others. Give me the courage to do what is right without being swayed by the demands of others.
Now Jesus stood before the governor; and the governor asked him, "Are you the King of the Jews?" Jesus said, "You say so." But when he was accused by the chief priests and elders, he did not answer. Then Pilate said to him, "Do you not hear how many accusations they make against you?" But he gave him no answer, not even to a single charge, so that the governor was greatly amazed. . . . So when Pilate saw that he could do nothing, but rather that a riot was beginning, he took some water and washed his hands before the crowd, saying, "I am innocent of this man's blood; see to it yourselves." . . . and after flogging Jesus, he handed him over to be crucified.
Matt 27:11-14, 24, 26b
Jesus, I wish you would speak! I wish you would proclaim who you are. I wish you would confront the disbelief of the crowds and the arrogant cowardice of the powers that be. Surely someone will speak up for you! Where are the lepers who were healed? Where are the blind who can now see? Where are all the people who ate the bread and fish on the hillside? Where are those who followed you so easily when they thought you would become King of the Jews? Yet no one speaks. No voice in the crowd comes to your defense. You stand alone.
You stand before Pilate, the power of Rome. Weakness stands before strength. And yet, Pilate, the ruthless enforcer for the Empire is not really in control here. He cannot make you confess. He cannot quiet the crowds. For all his power, he cannot find the courage to do what is right. So he does what is safe. He yields to the crowds for the sake of order. Courage and strength do not always sit on thrones or judgment seats. Power is not always in the hands of Empires.
I have been alone. I have been falsely accused, and no one has spoken for me. I have been treated unfairly by those who could have used their power for better purposes. I can understand some of your feelings as you stand silently before Pilate and watch him proclaim his own innocence as he condemns an innocent man.
But perhaps I have treated others unfairly as well. Perhaps I have not spoken up for others when they needed a voice. There are those around me who have been treated unjustly. Have I always had the courage to come to their defense? There are those around me who feel alone and abandoned. Have I always been there for them? O Lord, forgive me for not always being who I should be.
I find it easy to condemn the moral cowardice of Pilate. Have I ever given in to pressure from others to take the easy path rather than the right path? Have I ever chosen the easy path over the right path?
Jesus, I see in your silence the quiet strength that reveals a peace and a resolve. O Lord, help me deal with the unfairness of life without becoming critical of others. Help me to be sensitive to the pain and feelings of others. Give me the courage to do what is right without being swayed by the demands of others.
Go to Dark Gethsemane
Go to dark Gethsemane, ye that feel the tempter's power; your Redeemer's conflict see, watch with him one bitter hour. Turn not from his griefs away; learn of Jesus Christ to pray. See him at the judgment hall, beaten, bound, reviled, arraigned; O the wormwood and the gall! O the pangs his soul sustained! Shun not suffering, shame, or loss; learn of Christ to bear the cross. [A short time of silent prayer and meditation] |
Station 2: Jesus Accepts His Cross
Then the soldiers of the governor took Jesus into the governor's headquarters, and they gathered the whole cohort around him. They stripped him and put a scarlet robe on him, and after twisting some thorns into a crown, they put it on his head. They put a reed in his right hand and knelt before him and mocked him, saying, "Hail, King of the Jews!" They spat on him, and took the reed and struck him on the head. After mocking him, they stripped him of the robe and put his own clothes on him. Then they led him away to crucify him. (Matthew 27:27-31)
Carrying the cross by himself, he went out to what is called The Place of the Skull, which in Hebrew is called Golgotha. (John 19:17)
Jesus, I cringe at the pain of the thorns. But I am wounded far more deeply at the humiliation and degradation you suffer, that the very thing you came to offer us as a gift becomes a source of ridicule. The crowds thought of a King in terms of power. But you came to be the kind of King who shepherds his people, who takes responsibility for their well being, whose principles are faithfulness, justice, and righteousness (Isa 11:3-4). And yet, the people are not ready for that kind of King.
I would like to think that I am ready to follow you who offer a Kingdom of peace and love for one another. But am I? Am I willing to yield my ideas of what the Kingdom should look like for the role of a servant? Am I really so willing to give up my human preoccupation with power and control and accept a different kind of crown than I was expecting?
I see you accept the Cross in the midst of such mockery. You could have refused. What more could they have done to you? Yet you begin this journey knowing full well where it will lead. I hear no words of complaint, no protestations of innocence, no cursing the injustice. And yet I am so prone to complain and whine about the most trivial things. Sometimes the things I face in my life are more than trivial. Sometimes the troubles of life bear down on me. But I so easily fall into self-pity. I too often assume that I am the only one who bears a cross, or that my cross is larger and heavier than any others.
But I am not alone in that. People all around me bear far more than I must bear. You accepted your cross without self-pity. Can I follow your example?
O Lord, forgive me for forgetting that in my weakness I am driven to trust on you, and that in such trust my weakness becomes your strength. Forgive my attitudes of self-pity that make me more repulsive than loving. I do not ask for crosses to bear. But when they come, give me the strength to bear them as one who follows your example.
Then the soldiers of the governor took Jesus into the governor's headquarters, and they gathered the whole cohort around him. They stripped him and put a scarlet robe on him, and after twisting some thorns into a crown, they put it on his head. They put a reed in his right hand and knelt before him and mocked him, saying, "Hail, King of the Jews!" They spat on him, and took the reed and struck him on the head. After mocking him, they stripped him of the robe and put his own clothes on him. Then they led him away to crucify him. (Matthew 27:27-31)
Carrying the cross by himself, he went out to what is called The Place of the Skull, which in Hebrew is called Golgotha. (John 19:17)
Jesus, I cringe at the pain of the thorns. But I am wounded far more deeply at the humiliation and degradation you suffer, that the very thing you came to offer us as a gift becomes a source of ridicule. The crowds thought of a King in terms of power. But you came to be the kind of King who shepherds his people, who takes responsibility for their well being, whose principles are faithfulness, justice, and righteousness (Isa 11:3-4). And yet, the people are not ready for that kind of King.
I would like to think that I am ready to follow you who offer a Kingdom of peace and love for one another. But am I? Am I willing to yield my ideas of what the Kingdom should look like for the role of a servant? Am I really so willing to give up my human preoccupation with power and control and accept a different kind of crown than I was expecting?
I see you accept the Cross in the midst of such mockery. You could have refused. What more could they have done to you? Yet you begin this journey knowing full well where it will lead. I hear no words of complaint, no protestations of innocence, no cursing the injustice. And yet I am so prone to complain and whine about the most trivial things. Sometimes the things I face in my life are more than trivial. Sometimes the troubles of life bear down on me. But I so easily fall into self-pity. I too often assume that I am the only one who bears a cross, or that my cross is larger and heavier than any others.
But I am not alone in that. People all around me bear far more than I must bear. You accepted your cross without self-pity. Can I follow your example?
O Lord, forgive me for forgetting that in my weakness I am driven to trust on you, and that in such trust my weakness becomes your strength. Forgive my attitudes of self-pity that make me more repulsive than loving. I do not ask for crosses to bear. But when they come, give me the strength to bear them as one who follows your example.
Must Jesus Bear the Cross Alone?
Must Jesus bear the cross alone, And all the world go free? No, there’s a cross for everyone, And there’s a cross for me. The consecrated cross I’ll bear Till death shall set me free; And then go home my crown to wear, For there’s a crown for me. [A short time of silent prayer and meditation] |
Station 3: Simon Helps Carry the Cross
They compelled a passer-by, who was coming in from the country, to carry his cross; it was Simon of Cyrene, the father of Alexander and Rufus. (Mark 15:21)
Jesus, I can only imagine the awful weight of that cross you carry. It is not just the weight of beams of wood that presses down on you. It is also the weight of the burden you carry for those whom you have loved. You came to offer them life, and yet they return only death.
So I see you fall from the crushing weight of pain and grief. I don’t know how many times you have fallen. But I know that your physical strength is failing. The soldiers must recognize this as well, because they force a man from the crowd to help you carry the cross the rest of the way to the place where you will be crucified. Perhaps they are afraid that you will die before you make it to the top of the hill. The man of Cyrene was just a bystander passing through on his way into town from the countryside. And yet he bears the weight of the cross to save your strength.
I would like to think that if I had been there I would have rushed from the crowd and volunteered to carry that cross for you. But would I have had the courage to face the Roman soldiers and risk being forced to join you on a cross? Would I have really been so eager to share your cross if it meant that I might have to die on one as well? Would I have been willing to risk everything to ease your suffering for a few moments by letting you know that you were not alone?
Besides, I have my own crosses already. I have as much as I can bear without taking on the added burdens of others. And what would people think of me if I were seen consorting with criminals and enemies of Rome in such a public spectacle? So instead of offering to help, I tried to become invisible in the crowd. And when the soldiers were looking around for someone to press into service, I looked away and pretended not to notice what was happening.
It is easy to pretend not to see the needs, the grief, and the suffering around me every day. It is easy to pretend not to hear the cries for help that come in many forms from those among whom I walk every day. It is easy to convince myself that I am too busy, or too tired, or have too much on my plate already to get involved in the lives of others. There are simply too many who need too much.
And yet, I remember something that you said, something about taking up my own cross and following you. You said something about becoming a servant of all, of putting myself last and others first. Is this what it means to be a servant? Jesus, are you showing me what it means to be that kind of servant. Is this man from Cyrene modeling for me the path of discipleship?
Must Jesus bear the cross alone and all the world go free? No, there's a cross for everyone, and there's a cross for me.
O Lord, forgive me for becoming so preoccupied with myself that I have become deaf and blind to the grief and suffering of those around me. Forgive me for my indifference. Constantly remind me that I cannot love you without loving others as well. Help me always remember that to be a follower of yours means that I share in the burdens of others. Lord, show me someone whose cross I may help carry.
They compelled a passer-by, who was coming in from the country, to carry his cross; it was Simon of Cyrene, the father of Alexander and Rufus. (Mark 15:21)
Jesus, I can only imagine the awful weight of that cross you carry. It is not just the weight of beams of wood that presses down on you. It is also the weight of the burden you carry for those whom you have loved. You came to offer them life, and yet they return only death.
So I see you fall from the crushing weight of pain and grief. I don’t know how many times you have fallen. But I know that your physical strength is failing. The soldiers must recognize this as well, because they force a man from the crowd to help you carry the cross the rest of the way to the place where you will be crucified. Perhaps they are afraid that you will die before you make it to the top of the hill. The man of Cyrene was just a bystander passing through on his way into town from the countryside. And yet he bears the weight of the cross to save your strength.
I would like to think that if I had been there I would have rushed from the crowd and volunteered to carry that cross for you. But would I have had the courage to face the Roman soldiers and risk being forced to join you on a cross? Would I have really been so eager to share your cross if it meant that I might have to die on one as well? Would I have been willing to risk everything to ease your suffering for a few moments by letting you know that you were not alone?
Besides, I have my own crosses already. I have as much as I can bear without taking on the added burdens of others. And what would people think of me if I were seen consorting with criminals and enemies of Rome in such a public spectacle? So instead of offering to help, I tried to become invisible in the crowd. And when the soldiers were looking around for someone to press into service, I looked away and pretended not to notice what was happening.
It is easy to pretend not to see the needs, the grief, and the suffering around me every day. It is easy to pretend not to hear the cries for help that come in many forms from those among whom I walk every day. It is easy to convince myself that I am too busy, or too tired, or have too much on my plate already to get involved in the lives of others. There are simply too many who need too much.
And yet, I remember something that you said, something about taking up my own cross and following you. You said something about becoming a servant of all, of putting myself last and others first. Is this what it means to be a servant? Jesus, are you showing me what it means to be that kind of servant. Is this man from Cyrene modeling for me the path of discipleship?
Must Jesus bear the cross alone and all the world go free? No, there's a cross for everyone, and there's a cross for me.
O Lord, forgive me for becoming so preoccupied with myself that I have become deaf and blind to the grief and suffering of those around me. Forgive me for my indifference. Constantly remind me that I cannot love you without loving others as well. Help me always remember that to be a follower of yours means that I share in the burdens of others. Lord, show me someone whose cross I may help carry.
Ah, Holy Jesus
Ah, holy Jesus, how hast thou offended, that we to judge thee have in hate pretended? By foes derided, by thine own rejected, O most afflicted! Lo, the Good Shepherd for the sheep is offered; the slave hath sinned, and the Son hath suffered. For our atonement, while we nothing heeded, God interceded. [A short time of silent prayer and meditation] |
Station 4: Jesus Speaks to the Women
A great number of the people followed him, and among them were women who were beating their breasts and wailing for him. But Jesus turned to them and said, "Daughters of Jerusalem, do not weep for me, but weep for yourselves and for your children. For the days are surely coming when they will say, 'Blessed are the barren, and the wombs that never bore, and the breasts that never nursed.' Then they will begin to say to the mountains, 'Fall on us'; and to the hills, 'Cover us.' For if they do this when the wood is green, what will happen when it is dry?" (Luke 23:27-31)
Jesus, as you struggle along the road toward that awful place of death, you see a group of women among the crowd following you, already grieving at your impending death. You have heard this wailing many times before at funerals and tragic events. But now, they mourn for you.
You have always shown equal compassion to women you have encountered across the years. You have always seemed to understand the unique burdens that women bear in a world and a culture that pushes them to the margins of society. So here, as you bear the most unimaginable pain of body and heart, you stop to speak to them. You are about to die, and yet you are more concerned with others than with your own suffering and death.
But your words are strange and seem out of place on this road of sorrow. They have a prophetic ring to them as if you were still trying to tell people something important that they cannot quite grasp, or that perhaps they do not really want to hear. You speak of even darker days, of far worse things to come upon the people. Yet, how can things get worse?
I do remember that you often spoke of repentance, calling the people to turn from their wicked ways and accept the coming of the Kingdom of God. Many times you criticized the religious leaders and those who thought themselves righteous, warning that they would bring destruction upon the people and the land. I remember that once you even spoke of the destruction of the temple. But no one really believes that is going to happen. God has always been with us, and surely he will not let such a terrible thing happen to his people.
And yet, no one thought the exile would happen. And here you are on the path of sorrow stumbling toward your death. No one thought that would happen either. Maybe you understand more than we have realized. Maybe you see something that we have refused to believe. Maybe we are not as righteous as we have thought. Maybe we have rejected repentance, not because we did not need it but because we needed it more than we dared admit.
Is that what you mean by these strange words? Is it possible that your death is only the beginning of things for which to weep? Is it possible that our refusal to repent and change the way we live is causing these beginnings of sorrow? Is our own sin and our refusal to confess it really the reason you are on this path?
I would like to think that I have repented, that I have confessed my sins and stand righteous before God. I would rather play the part of the righteous follower. I would rather weep for you, Jesus. I do not want to weep for myself and the pain I bring to others because of my failures and sin. Yet, how long has it been since I have shed tears for my own failures, for my own sins? Have I really been honest enough with God about who I am?
O Lord, forgive my unwillingness to repent, to confess all that I am before you. Help me go beyond the repentance mouthed in words of false piety, to sweep away all the facades of who I try so hard to be before others, and recall who I really am inside. Help me once again stand before God with a bare and open heart. Help me not just to repent in words, but to put that repentance into action in everything I am and do. O Lord, give me the gift of tears to weep for my own failures, for my sins, for the pain I bring to others, and to live the fruits of repentance. O Lord, be merciful to us.
A great number of the people followed him, and among them were women who were beating their breasts and wailing for him. But Jesus turned to them and said, "Daughters of Jerusalem, do not weep for me, but weep for yourselves and for your children. For the days are surely coming when they will say, 'Blessed are the barren, and the wombs that never bore, and the breasts that never nursed.' Then they will begin to say to the mountains, 'Fall on us'; and to the hills, 'Cover us.' For if they do this when the wood is green, what will happen when it is dry?" (Luke 23:27-31)
Jesus, as you struggle along the road toward that awful place of death, you see a group of women among the crowd following you, already grieving at your impending death. You have heard this wailing many times before at funerals and tragic events. But now, they mourn for you.
You have always shown equal compassion to women you have encountered across the years. You have always seemed to understand the unique burdens that women bear in a world and a culture that pushes them to the margins of society. So here, as you bear the most unimaginable pain of body and heart, you stop to speak to them. You are about to die, and yet you are more concerned with others than with your own suffering and death.
But your words are strange and seem out of place on this road of sorrow. They have a prophetic ring to them as if you were still trying to tell people something important that they cannot quite grasp, or that perhaps they do not really want to hear. You speak of even darker days, of far worse things to come upon the people. Yet, how can things get worse?
I do remember that you often spoke of repentance, calling the people to turn from their wicked ways and accept the coming of the Kingdom of God. Many times you criticized the religious leaders and those who thought themselves righteous, warning that they would bring destruction upon the people and the land. I remember that once you even spoke of the destruction of the temple. But no one really believes that is going to happen. God has always been with us, and surely he will not let such a terrible thing happen to his people.
And yet, no one thought the exile would happen. And here you are on the path of sorrow stumbling toward your death. No one thought that would happen either. Maybe you understand more than we have realized. Maybe you see something that we have refused to believe. Maybe we are not as righteous as we have thought. Maybe we have rejected repentance, not because we did not need it but because we needed it more than we dared admit.
Is that what you mean by these strange words? Is it possible that your death is only the beginning of things for which to weep? Is it possible that our refusal to repent and change the way we live is causing these beginnings of sorrow? Is our own sin and our refusal to confess it really the reason you are on this path?
I would like to think that I have repented, that I have confessed my sins and stand righteous before God. I would rather play the part of the righteous follower. I would rather weep for you, Jesus. I do not want to weep for myself and the pain I bring to others because of my failures and sin. Yet, how long has it been since I have shed tears for my own failures, for my own sins? Have I really been honest enough with God about who I am?
O Lord, forgive my unwillingness to repent, to confess all that I am before you. Help me go beyond the repentance mouthed in words of false piety, to sweep away all the facades of who I try so hard to be before others, and recall who I really am inside. Help me once again stand before God with a bare and open heart. Help me not just to repent in words, but to put that repentance into action in everything I am and do. O Lord, give me the gift of tears to weep for my own failures, for my sins, for the pain I bring to others, and to live the fruits of repentance. O Lord, be merciful to us.
Via Dolorosa
[A short time of silent prayer and meditation] |
Station 5: Jesus Is Stripped of His Garments
When the soldiers had crucified Jesus, they took his clothes and divided them into four parts, one for each soldier. They also took his tunic; now the tunic was seamless, woven in one piece from the top. So they said to one another, "Let us not tear it, but cast lots for it to see who will get it." This was to fulfill what the scripture says, "They divided my clothes among themselves, and for my clothing they cast lots." And that is what the soldiers did. (John 19:23-25a)
Jesus, I want to follow you on this journey. But I cannot watch this. I must turn away as you are humiliated.
You came into this world amid celebration and anticipation. Angels sang in the heavens to celebrate your birth. As a child, Magi from the East paid homage to you as to a king. The people followed you by the thousands as you taught on the hillsides of Galilee. They wanted to make you king! Just a few days ago the crowds followed you in the streets of Jerusalem singing praises to God: "Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord! "
Yet now, you are forced to suffer the worst of human indignity. You stand alone as the soldiers strip from you the last thing that you possess, and play games to see who will claim it.
Just yesterday, you removed your cloak and laid it aside to wash your disciples' feet. You called them to follow your example as a symbol of humility and service to others. Now you allow others to strip you of your clothes. You allow them to publically disgrace and ridicule you. You are left with nothing, not even human decency.
Are you still trying to teach us something about what it means to serve others? Is your surrender to such degradation a model for how we are to live in the world as your followers? I don't like such an idea. I would rather walk with you into Jerusalem with the praise of the people ringing in my ears than to risk such humiliation. I want to follow you! But is this really what it means to be a follower, that I must lay aside everything and risk this kind of degradation? And yet, that is exactly what you are doing.
O Lord, forgive me for wanting to take the path of glory and reward. Forgive me for my selfishness that wants to serve you in easy ways and seeks the reward of others' praise. Lord, teach me the humility of spirit that replaces self-centeredness with a sacrificial spirit. Make me vulnerable so that I may follow your example. Help me see those around me who are in need. Give me the courage to lay aside the things that I use to hide from their need, and find ways to minister to others as you have shown us.
When the soldiers had crucified Jesus, they took his clothes and divided them into four parts, one for each soldier. They also took his tunic; now the tunic was seamless, woven in one piece from the top. So they said to one another, "Let us not tear it, but cast lots for it to see who will get it." This was to fulfill what the scripture says, "They divided my clothes among themselves, and for my clothing they cast lots." And that is what the soldiers did. (John 19:23-25a)
Jesus, I want to follow you on this journey. But I cannot watch this. I must turn away as you are humiliated.
You came into this world amid celebration and anticipation. Angels sang in the heavens to celebrate your birth. As a child, Magi from the East paid homage to you as to a king. The people followed you by the thousands as you taught on the hillsides of Galilee. They wanted to make you king! Just a few days ago the crowds followed you in the streets of Jerusalem singing praises to God: "Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord! "
Yet now, you are forced to suffer the worst of human indignity. You stand alone as the soldiers strip from you the last thing that you possess, and play games to see who will claim it.
Just yesterday, you removed your cloak and laid it aside to wash your disciples' feet. You called them to follow your example as a symbol of humility and service to others. Now you allow others to strip you of your clothes. You allow them to publically disgrace and ridicule you. You are left with nothing, not even human decency.
Are you still trying to teach us something about what it means to serve others? Is your surrender to such degradation a model for how we are to live in the world as your followers? I don't like such an idea. I would rather walk with you into Jerusalem with the praise of the people ringing in my ears than to risk such humiliation. I want to follow you! But is this really what it means to be a follower, that I must lay aside everything and risk this kind of degradation? And yet, that is exactly what you are doing.
O Lord, forgive me for wanting to take the path of glory and reward. Forgive me for my selfishness that wants to serve you in easy ways and seeks the reward of others' praise. Lord, teach me the humility of spirit that replaces self-centeredness with a sacrificial spirit. Make me vulnerable so that I may follow your example. Help me see those around me who are in need. Give me the courage to lay aside the things that I use to hide from their need, and find ways to minister to others as you have shown us.
O Love Divine, What Hast Thou Done?
O Love divine, what has thou done! The immortal God hath died for me! The Father's coeternal Son bore all my sins upon the tree. Th' immortal God for me hath died: My Lord, my Love, is crucified! Is crucified for me and you, to bring us rebels back to God. Believe, believe the record true, ye all are bought with Jesus' blood. Pardon for all flows from his side: My Lord, my Love, is crucified! Behold him, all ye that pass by, the bleeding Prince of life and peace! Come, sinners, see your Savior die, and say, "Was ever grief like his?" Come, feel with me his blood applied: My Lord, my Love, is crucified! [A short time of silent prayer and meditation] |
Station 6: Jesus Is Nailed to the Cross
And they offered him wine mixed with myrrh; but he did not take it. And they crucified him, and divided his clothes among them, casting lots to decide what each should take. It was nine o'clock in the morning when they crucified him. The inscription of the charge against him read, "The King of the Jews." And with him they crucified two bandits, one on his right and one on his left. Those who passed by derided him, shaking their heads and saying, "Aha! You who would destroy the temple and build it in three days, save yourself, and come down from the cross!" In the same way the chief priests, along with the scribes, were also mocking him among themselves and saying, "He saved others; he cannot save himself. Let the Messiah, the King of Israel, come down from the cross now, so that we may see and believe." Those who were crucified with him also taunted him. (Mark 15:23-32)
Jesus, I do not want to see this. Yet I force myself to watch. I hear the sharp crack of hammer against nail and shudder. It sounds so final. Is it over? Did all those wonderful lessons you taught by the seaside mean anything? You spoke of being a light to the world, but it seems that darkness is winning.
How they mock you! You said that you could rebuild the temple in three days and I thought that anyone who can raise the dead surely could deal with broken stones. But it is not the stones in the temple that matter to you, is it? Your greater concern is how we relate to you and to one another. You so want us to know the power of living love. Is love stronger than this evil that now surrounds you?
I want to rage at the injustice of this. The cruelty of the Romans. The hypocrisy of the High Priest and religious leaders. The cowardice of the disciples. The treachery of Judas. The fickleness of the crowds. Do they not remember that you spoke of loving one another, of bearing the burdens of others, even of loving our enemies? They should know better, they should have listened and learned.
And yet, would I have done differently? Is the guilt just of those who drove the nails and the rest of us are innocent? Or is it human sin that drives the nails? My sin. The old American spiritual asks the question, "Were you there when they crucified my Lord?" I want to deny it. I want to pretend that it is someone else’s guilt, someone else’s sin. But I was there. Jesus, you are here, dying, because of my sin. I was there. It was I who drove the nails.
O Lord, remind me of the deathly cost of sin. Forgive me for those things I have done that are displeasing to you. Forgive me for not allowing you to deal with the darkness that I harbor in the hidden recesses of my heart. Forgive me for fooling myself into believing that I am more righteous than I am, that I am better than others, and that I have no need to repent. Forgive me for those things I should have done, but found excuses not to do. O Lord, make me better than I am, transform me into what I can be by your grace.
And they offered him wine mixed with myrrh; but he did not take it. And they crucified him, and divided his clothes among them, casting lots to decide what each should take. It was nine o'clock in the morning when they crucified him. The inscription of the charge against him read, "The King of the Jews." And with him they crucified two bandits, one on his right and one on his left. Those who passed by derided him, shaking their heads and saying, "Aha! You who would destroy the temple and build it in three days, save yourself, and come down from the cross!" In the same way the chief priests, along with the scribes, were also mocking him among themselves and saying, "He saved others; he cannot save himself. Let the Messiah, the King of Israel, come down from the cross now, so that we may see and believe." Those who were crucified with him also taunted him. (Mark 15:23-32)
Jesus, I do not want to see this. Yet I force myself to watch. I hear the sharp crack of hammer against nail and shudder. It sounds so final. Is it over? Did all those wonderful lessons you taught by the seaside mean anything? You spoke of being a light to the world, but it seems that darkness is winning.
How they mock you! You said that you could rebuild the temple in three days and I thought that anyone who can raise the dead surely could deal with broken stones. But it is not the stones in the temple that matter to you, is it? Your greater concern is how we relate to you and to one another. You so want us to know the power of living love. Is love stronger than this evil that now surrounds you?
I want to rage at the injustice of this. The cruelty of the Romans. The hypocrisy of the High Priest and religious leaders. The cowardice of the disciples. The treachery of Judas. The fickleness of the crowds. Do they not remember that you spoke of loving one another, of bearing the burdens of others, even of loving our enemies? They should know better, they should have listened and learned.
And yet, would I have done differently? Is the guilt just of those who drove the nails and the rest of us are innocent? Or is it human sin that drives the nails? My sin. The old American spiritual asks the question, "Were you there when they crucified my Lord?" I want to deny it. I want to pretend that it is someone else’s guilt, someone else’s sin. But I was there. Jesus, you are here, dying, because of my sin. I was there. It was I who drove the nails.
O Lord, remind me of the deathly cost of sin. Forgive me for those things I have done that are displeasing to you. Forgive me for not allowing you to deal with the darkness that I harbor in the hidden recesses of my heart. Forgive me for fooling myself into believing that I am more righteous than I am, that I am better than others, and that I have no need to repent. Forgive me for those things I should have done, but found excuses not to do. O Lord, make me better than I am, transform me into what I can be by your grace.
Were You There?
Were you there when they crucified my Lord? Were you there when they crucified my Lord? Oh, sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble. Were you there when they crucified my Lord? Were you there when they nailed him to the tree? Were you there when they nailed him to the tree? Oh, sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble. Were you there when they nailed him to the tree? [A short time of silent prayer and meditation] |
Station 7: Jesus Cares for His Mother
Meanwhile, standing near the cross of Jesus were his mother, and his mother's sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene. When Jesus saw his mother and the disciple whom he loved standing beside her, he said to his mother, "Woman, here is your son." Then he said to the disciple, "Here is your mother." And from that hour the disciple took her into his own home. (John 19:25b-27)
Jesus, these women with your mother have been with you for much of your journey. I shouldn’t be surprised that they are surrounding her with their love even in the midst of their own grief. Mary Magdalene, since the day you drove away her seven demons, has never faltered in her support. She has felt the full impact of your love. You made her whole. And here they stand suffering with you in your suffering.
Jesus, I wonder what Mary must be thinking, feeling as she stands and watches your life fade away hanging on that cross. Is she thinking back to the visit of the angel who announced your coming? Is she remembering the words of old Simeon who took you as an eight day old baby in his arms and declared that you were God’s salvation sent for all people, a light to the Gentiles and glory to Israel? Or is she reminded of that day in Jerusalem when you were twelve when she searched for you and could not find you? Finally there you were talking with the leaders of the temple who were listening intently. You asked her, “Did you not know I must be in my Father’s house?” Is that when your mission became clear to Mary? Is she now wondering seeing you on that cross, “Can this be what his Father intended for him?”
And what brought this one disciple to be standing before your cross? The others have all run away in fear or disappointment. This disciple could be in real danger. Besides he is standing with the women. Men just don’t associate with women who are not from their own family. What is he doing? Why is he here? Yet, you trust him so much that you tell him to take care of your mother for the rest of her life. I might visit her and bring her a meal once in a while. But to treat her like I would my own mother is a big commitment. You ask a great deal of him. Are you asking the same of me about other people’s mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers? Am I willing to accept the others that God entrusts me to love?
Leader: O Lord, make me whole so that I may love with the compassion with which you love. Give me the courage to stand beside those who are hurting and share their pain. You know everything about me, my weakness, my faults, and my sin. Redeem me and make me new. Through your strength and by your grace, make me a conduit of your love, not just to the lovable, but to any who need to be cared for and loved.
Meanwhile, standing near the cross of Jesus were his mother, and his mother's sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene. When Jesus saw his mother and the disciple whom he loved standing beside her, he said to his mother, "Woman, here is your son." Then he said to the disciple, "Here is your mother." And from that hour the disciple took her into his own home. (John 19:25b-27)
Jesus, these women with your mother have been with you for much of your journey. I shouldn’t be surprised that they are surrounding her with their love even in the midst of their own grief. Mary Magdalene, since the day you drove away her seven demons, has never faltered in her support. She has felt the full impact of your love. You made her whole. And here they stand suffering with you in your suffering.
Jesus, I wonder what Mary must be thinking, feeling as she stands and watches your life fade away hanging on that cross. Is she thinking back to the visit of the angel who announced your coming? Is she remembering the words of old Simeon who took you as an eight day old baby in his arms and declared that you were God’s salvation sent for all people, a light to the Gentiles and glory to Israel? Or is she reminded of that day in Jerusalem when you were twelve when she searched for you and could not find you? Finally there you were talking with the leaders of the temple who were listening intently. You asked her, “Did you not know I must be in my Father’s house?” Is that when your mission became clear to Mary? Is she now wondering seeing you on that cross, “Can this be what his Father intended for him?”
And what brought this one disciple to be standing before your cross? The others have all run away in fear or disappointment. This disciple could be in real danger. Besides he is standing with the women. Men just don’t associate with women who are not from their own family. What is he doing? Why is he here? Yet, you trust him so much that you tell him to take care of your mother for the rest of her life. I might visit her and bring her a meal once in a while. But to treat her like I would my own mother is a big commitment. You ask a great deal of him. Are you asking the same of me about other people’s mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers? Am I willing to accept the others that God entrusts me to love?
Leader: O Lord, make me whole so that I may love with the compassion with which you love. Give me the courage to stand beside those who are hurting and share their pain. You know everything about me, my weakness, my faults, and my sin. Redeem me and make me new. Through your strength and by your grace, make me a conduit of your love, not just to the lovable, but to any who need to be cared for and loved.
O Sacred Head, Now Wounded
O sacred Head, now wounded With grief and shame weighed down Now scornfully surrounded With thorns, Thine only crown How pale thou art with anguish With sore abuse and scorn How does that visage languish Which once was bright as morn What Thou, my Lord, hast suffered T'was all for sinners' gain Mine, mine was the transgression But Thine the deadly pain Lo, here I fall, my Savior 'Tis I deserve Thy place Look on me with Thy favor Vouchsafe to me Thy grace What language shall I borrow To thank Thee, dearest friend For this Thy dying sorrow Thy pity without end O make me Thine forever And should I fainting be Lord, let me never, never Outlive my love for Thee |
Station 8: Jesus Dies on the Cross
When it was noon, darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon. At three o'clock Jesus cried out with a loud voice, "Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?" which means, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" When some of the bystanders heard it, they said, "Listen, he is calling for Elijah." And someone ran, filled a sponge with sour wine, put it on a stick, and gave it to him to drink, saying, "Wait, let us see whether Elijah will come to take him down." Then Jesus gave a loud cry and breathed his last. And the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom. Now when the centurion, who stood facing him, saw that in this way he breathed his last, he said, "Truly this man was God's Son!" (Mark 15:33-39)
It is dark in the middle of the day. It seems that the heavens and the earth are grieving, telling us that something is horribly wrong. And yet some still seem to mock. Or do they really expect some final miracle to save you?
Jesus, I hear you cry out in lament from the Psalms and know that it is the cry of human pain and desolation. Here, where too often we see you only as God, you reveal your true humanity. Most everyone has forsaken you, and in your pain the emotion escapes in a cry of abandonment. Yet, it is a prayer, a cry from human lips to a God who hears such cries.
Finally, it is over. You are dead. What have we done?
The earth shakes. The curtain in the temple is torn right down the middle. The Holy of Holies is exposed for all to see. What does it mean? Who are you? Even the Romans now think that you are the son of God. But you are dead. It’s too late. What have I done?
Yet you never stopped loving me even in death. Oh, how I wish I had shown my love for you more while you were here. You died because of human sin, because of me. Yet we know that sin is never the final word. God can redeem the worst that human beings can do. But this? What can come of this? What can God do with such a final ending? We hope, and wait…
O Lord, I cannot comprehend the depth and breadth of your love. There are not enough words in all languages together to describe what your love means to me. May my love for you and my love for all your children in some way reflect your love. Let this dark night become fertile soil for growth in your love and for our growth as a community of Faith. May you use this night to teach us how to love you and to love others the way you have loved us. O Lord, we long for newness, for hope, for renewal, for life where there is now death. Out of this darkness bring to us the light of a new dawn. O Lord, have mercy on us.
When it was noon, darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon. At three o'clock Jesus cried out with a loud voice, "Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?" which means, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" When some of the bystanders heard it, they said, "Listen, he is calling for Elijah." And someone ran, filled a sponge with sour wine, put it on a stick, and gave it to him to drink, saying, "Wait, let us see whether Elijah will come to take him down." Then Jesus gave a loud cry and breathed his last. And the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom. Now when the centurion, who stood facing him, saw that in this way he breathed his last, he said, "Truly this man was God's Son!" (Mark 15:33-39)
It is dark in the middle of the day. It seems that the heavens and the earth are grieving, telling us that something is horribly wrong. And yet some still seem to mock. Or do they really expect some final miracle to save you?
Jesus, I hear you cry out in lament from the Psalms and know that it is the cry of human pain and desolation. Here, where too often we see you only as God, you reveal your true humanity. Most everyone has forsaken you, and in your pain the emotion escapes in a cry of abandonment. Yet, it is a prayer, a cry from human lips to a God who hears such cries.
Finally, it is over. You are dead. What have we done?
The earth shakes. The curtain in the temple is torn right down the middle. The Holy of Holies is exposed for all to see. What does it mean? Who are you? Even the Romans now think that you are the son of God. But you are dead. It’s too late. What have I done?
Yet you never stopped loving me even in death. Oh, how I wish I had shown my love for you more while you were here. You died because of human sin, because of me. Yet we know that sin is never the final word. God can redeem the worst that human beings can do. But this? What can come of this? What can God do with such a final ending? We hope, and wait…
O Lord, I cannot comprehend the depth and breadth of your love. There are not enough words in all languages together to describe what your love means to me. May my love for you and my love for all your children in some way reflect your love. Let this dark night become fertile soil for growth in your love and for our growth as a community of Faith. May you use this night to teach us how to love you and to love others the way you have loved us. O Lord, we long for newness, for hope, for renewal, for life where there is now death. Out of this darkness bring to us the light of a new dawn. O Lord, have mercy on us.
When I Survey the Wondrous Cross
When I survey the wondrous cross Oh which the Prince of glory died My richest gain I count but loss And pour contempt on all my pride Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast, Save in the death of Christ my God All the vain things that charm me most, I sacrifice them to His blood See from his dead, his hands, His feet, Sorrow and love flow mingled down! Did e'er such love and sorrow meet, Or thorns compose so rich a crown? Where the whole realm of nature mine, That were a present far too small, Love so amazing, so divine, Demands my soul, my fire, my all. [A short time of silent prayer and meditation] |
We hope for the dawning of a new day. We hope for God to bring newness out of endings. But today, we remain home, and there is nothing more to see. Jesus is dead.
The banners are courtesy of Maj. Robin Stephenson-Bratcher, retired, Chaplain, USAF The Meditations and Prayers for Stations 1-5 are by Dennis Bratcher. Marilynn Knott contributed to the Meditations and Prayers for Stations 6-8. -Dennis Bratcher, Copyright ©, Dennis Bratcher, used with permission.
The banners are courtesy of Maj. Robin Stephenson-Bratcher, retired, Chaplain, USAF The Meditations and Prayers for Stations 1-5 are by Dennis Bratcher. Marilynn Knott contributed to the Meditations and Prayers for Stations 6-8. -Dennis Bratcher, Copyright ©, Dennis Bratcher, used with permission.