THE FOURTH STATION. JESUS MEETS HIS MOTHER ACCORDING TO MARY’S MEMORIES
At first it was unthinkable, that my son would be condemned to death and carry his cross.
I felt insulted and enraged. I felt so helpless and alone. My heart was
wounded by the knowledge that my son had been unjustly condemned to
death. And then John came over and asked me if I wanted to join him on
the way to Golgotha. Off we went. I went with him because I had to be
with him.
I saw Jesus fall and wanted
to go to him. I wasn't sure whether he would want me to make myself
known. But then he stopped. Our eyes met, his bloodshot eyes, eyes that
had seen guards beating, whipping, and tying him. He was choosing to
live in the present moment with Yahweh. What he said to me in no words
contained all he had ever said and all that we both knew but never
spoke of, though we never knew that the suffering we both experienced
in our sensitivity to life would have such bitter consequences.
I could see how sleepless he was, how strained by all that had
happened. Tears flooded my heart. And yet, I had the distinct
impression that he was not looking to me for sympathy. At a deep level
of his being, he was living the line from the prophet Second Isaiah:
"In quietness and in trust shall be your strength" (Is. 30:15, NRSV). And from his calm, I drew strength.
As he moved on, I found myself pondering the song of Hannah when she
first handed her son Samuel over to Yahweh for the whole of his life
shortly after his birth:
My heart exults in the Most High,
my strength is exalted in my God.
My lips renounce all that is evil,
because I rejoice in your salvation.
O God, you put to death and give life;
you cast down to the grave and raise up.
You make poor and make rich;
you bring low, you also exalt.
You raise up the poor from the dust;
you lift the needy from the ash heap,
to seat them with those of renown
and inherit a seat of honor (l Samuel 2:1, 6-8, People's Companion to the Breviary, Vol. 1 /Indianapolis, In.: Carmelites, 1997/, 69-70).
Is
birth so different from death? I chose to be a woman wrapped in
silence, pondering all that was happening in Yahweh's presence. And in
my heart I prayed with and for others in horrendous situations feeling
powerless.
Let us take a moment
and pray for las Madres de El Salvador who have chosen to pursue
nonviolent ways of finding their sons, husbands, brothers, fathers,
uncles who have disappeared or been killed; for poor women in Mexico
whose sons and husbands have tried to cross the border and either did
not make it or made it but got caught; for other women in Latin America
whose sons and husbands are the victims of the military and/or the
government.
SILENCE
THE SIXTH STATION. VERONICA WIPES THE FACE OF JESUS ACCORDING TO VERONICA’S MEMORIES
My husband was a wool dyer. I always dress well. When I saw Jesus in
the synagogue one day, I noticed that he wore a seamless garment.
Several years ago, he stood up and read from the scroll of the prophet
Isaiah about he Spirit of Yahweh having anointed him to heal the
brokenhearted (Isaiah 61:1, NRSV). He spoke to my own broken
heart. My husband Silas was having an affair at the time and I did not
know how to cope. I wanted to leave him. I felt rejected. Our parents
had arranged our wedding, as was the custom. My father, a wealthy
merchant, had recognized his father as a hard-working man of character,
and felt I would be in good hands to marry his son. The longer we lived
together, the more we appreciated each other and enjoyed being with
each other.
But then a woman started
selling the dyed wool in his tent. She seemed attracted to him. I can
understand why. He is handsome and rich. And then he started coming
home later and later. Some nights he did not come at all. I was beside
myself.
So I spent more time in town.
I began hanging out with the crowd that followed Jesus. I heard him
proclaim a message of forgiveness and saw him cure the sick. Slowly,
slowly, in prayer, I got in touch with my own unwillingness to forgive
and my husband’s pain of not feeling worthy of me, even though he was
so successful. He needed to count. This was the wound in his heart. In
time his mistress moved on and he started coming home for supper again.
Then as I continued to ponder my life in the presence of Yahweh, I
discovered my own need to count. I could never get enough attention and
affirmation. No one, nothing could satisfy me. This was the wound in my
heart. What finally changed me was hearing Jesus talk about loving as
he loved, listening as he listened, acting in others’ lives as he would
act, gently, peacefully. My heart was on fire to enter into his mind
and heart. In my prayer I kept begging for the grace to have mercy on
Silas and I felt drawn to say, “I am willing to forgive you and I
acknowledge the pain out of which you have acted like this. I share
this pain, this need to count. I forgive you for being the way you are.
I forgive you for being the way I am. I forgive myself.” And just as my
life was taking off due to my personal relationship with Jesus, his was
coming to an end.
My heart went out
to Jesus, struggling with the weight of the cross, exhausted,
overwhelmed. So often when he had visited our home, I had wiped his
feet when he arrived, dusty from his walk in the dirt and sand.
My heart went out to him. My hands went out to him. I had the cloth in
my hand because I had been cleaning when another woman disciple of
Jesus had come and told me that he had been arrested the night before
and condemned to death that morning. I was so upset I went as I was and
joined the crowd gathering around him.
My heart went out to him. I took one look at his face, an anguished
face, a face full of blood and sweat. The thorns had made marks on his
forehead. The whiplashes had left wounds on his cheeks. His lips were
cut. His eyes looked as if they had seen worlds.
At first I wiped his face so that he could see, wiping off some of the
blood and sweat. Then I realized I had wiped his face to ease his pain,
to give him some sense of our being with him and wanting to support him
in this horrific moment.
After his
death, I realized I had wiped his face to make a portrait, a keepsake,
an imprint, a memory of the suffering he endured. And that night I
recalled the scroll of the prophet Isaiah which describes another
portrait, another imprint, another memory of a suffering servant years
ago:
See, my servant shall prosper;
he shall be exalted and lifted up,
and shall be very high.
Just as there were many who were astonished at him
— so marred was his appearance, beyond human semblance,
And his form beyond that of mortals —
so he shall startle many nations. . .
He had no form or majesty that
we should look at him,
nothing in his appearance that
we should desire him.
He was despised and rejected by others;
a man of suffering, and acquainted with infirmity;
and as one from whom others hide their faces
he was despised, and we held him of no account.
Surely he has borne our infirmities
And carried our diseases;
yet we accounted him stricken,
struck down by God, and afflicted.
But he was wounded for our transgressions,
crushed for our iniquities;
upon him was the punishment that
made us whole,
And by his bruises we are healed (Isaiah 52:13-15, 53:2-5, NRSV).
In my heart I prayed with and for women with a strong need for
recognition and affirmation that they might let it be transformed for
others.
Let us take a moment and pray
silently for those who were engaged and those who were married, those
in happy marriages, those in broken marriages, and those in healing
marriages.
SILENCE
THE EIGHTH STATION. THE WOMEN CONSOLE JESUS ACCORDING TO THE MEMORIES OF SIMON PETER’S MOTHER-IN-LAW
When I first saw him falling for the second time, I wanted to reach
out, take him by the hand, and help him up. Three years ago I had gone
to bed with a fever. Was it arthritis, bursitis, or sciatica, coupled
with a strep throat, flu, or pneumonia? Everyone who came to visit me
had a different diagnosis. I think what was really getting me down was
my wounded heart. My daughter Thecla and I had had a big row, and Simon
Peter took her side. Who was I to tell them what to do? Maybe I should
not have moved in with them. After all, Simon Peter’s mother encouraged
him to get a place of their own. But my husband died and their children
grew and started families of their own. Thecla and Simon Peter had
plenty of room and I tried not to be underfoot. I ached to think there
was a rift between us.
I only
remembered how Jesus had reached out to me when Simon Peter had told
him that I was sick. He came to me at once, took me by the hand, and
helped me up. The fever left me. And when Jesus healed my body, he also
healed my heart. I apologized at once to Thecla and she to me. As a
gesture of reconciliation, I prepared a wonderful dinner for Jesus,
Thecla, and Simon Peter (Mk. 1:29-31, NRSV). I was able to get some chickens from a neighbor – a real treat for a family who eat a lot of fish!
After that whenever Simon Peter came home, he told my daughter and me
all that Jesus had said and done. But now was this the same Jesus who
had healed me? Was this the same man who could calm a storm?
This morning after Jesus’ arrest, Peter had come home distraught.
After a fine passover supper last evening, Jesus had taken him, James,
and John to the Garden of Olives. He had knelt apart from them and they
had fallen asleep. Then they saw torches and guards appeared. Judas
betrayed him with a kiss. But Peter followed him at a distance and had
been recognized by one of the serving women as a follower of Jesus.
Peter denied that he knew Jesus. After that the cock crowed, Jesus
turned and looked right at Peter, and Peter remembered what Jesus had
predicted: “‘By the time the cock crows today, you will have disowned
me three times.’ And he went outside and wept bitterly” (Luke
22:61-62, JB). Peter was beside himself. I think he was
scandalized by his own weakness. All this he told Thecla and me, and
then he asked us if we wanted to go with him to Calvary. We came with
him, out of gratitude and a deep desire to support Jesus in his hour of
need. I felt so helpless.
A group of
us women gathered together and wept to see him in this way. I
remembered another time when he himself had wept over Jerusalem’s
refusal to believe in him. He said, “Jerusalem, Jerusalem, you that
kill the prophets and stone those who are sent to you! How often have I
longed to gather your children as a hen gathers her brood under her
wings, and you refused (Luke 13:34-35, JB)! And now he himself
was being killed by his own people! I felt so sad that someone who had
done so much good to so many of us was being put to death.
We brought with us a soothing drink for Jesus and the two thieves being
crucified with him, but he refused to take it. But at least we offered
it to him. I think he felt strengthened by our supportive presence. He
knew we wanted to console him, and he turned around and consoled us,
saying, “Daughters of Jerusalem, do not weep for me; weep rather for
yourselves and for your children” (Luke 23:28, JB). He reminded us of our children and our children’s children.
I looked over at my daughter Thecla standing next to me. I could see
the sadness in her eyes, her concern for their son Philemon who ran the
inn nearby. He loved to join his patrons for a drink of wine, but
lately he was drinking more heavily, getting in fights, talking more
loudly when drunk, and not showing up for work. Thecla knows that
nothing she could say would change him. He does not grow by criticism.
His wife Aquila is waiting patiently for him to want to change. What a
heartache for Thecla and Simon Peter! Indeed she wept for their son
Philemon and I joined her. It seemed as if Jesus could tell that each
of us had a deep sorrow in our lives and was inviting us to grieve and
let the healing begin.
In my heart I
prayed for those who feel alienated or estranged from a loved one, and
for those who look outside themselves to fill the emptiness within. Let
us take a moment and pray for childless women, for women with children
and grandchildren, for women having difficulties with their in-laws,
for women who are alcoholics, for women related to alcoholics, for
women with other addictions.
SILENCE
THE TWELFTH STATION. JESUS DIES ON THE CROSS ACCORDING TO THE MEMORIES OF MARY MAGDALENE
Last night when I was serving him and his apostles at table, I
overheard him sharing deeply his vision and values. He said that his
hour had come, the hour of darkness, but that light would triumph, that
he and Yahweh were one (John 16:32, NRSV). And as I watched him dying, I began to ponder death in earnest.
At the end
there is only the silence at the center.
We watch, we wait, we practice learning how
to listen to the silence.
At the end
we are emptied and filled by the silence at the center of
our being.
We watch others go about their daily lives.
We wait as we let go of everything in order to surrender
to the emptiness, the open space deep within.
At the end
there is only one love healing and holding us in its silence.
We watch as the wounds of our lives are healed by peace.
We wait to be held by passion.
At the end
there is only the silence at the center of our lives.
We are emptied and filled by this silent, strong, steady love.
We watch, we wait, we surrender slowly, serenely,
to the light in the dark, to the fire.
He cried out “I am thirsty” (Jn. 19:28, NRSV)!
I felt he was speaking to my heart, how I thirst for so much in life.
What I seem most to long for is to be treated in special ways. This is
a wound in my heart that never quite heals. After he had gotten rid of
the seven demons possessing me, I felt he restored my dignity and sense
of self-worth. I had followed him everywhere. In fact, I loved to sit
at table with him and hear him talk. Often he would rest his eyes on me
as he was resting his heart on mine. He always took time to listen to
me no matter how tired he was. And when I bathed his dusty feet as he
came in after a long day;, he always thanked me. I loved it that his
God seemed bigger and deeper than the God our rabbi proclaimed. I
thirst for the vast mystery at the heart of our lives. I thirst for the
truth of my being. I thirst to feel in communion with all those who
have gone before me.
Seeing Jesus
crucified tore open my grief. My heart still ached for my father whose
lungs had given out, for my mother whose heart had given out, and for
my aunt whose hope had given out after my uncle died. One after another
had died only a few years apart, leaving me feeling alone and bereft.
And now Jesus, who had come to mean so much to me had just died.
In his presence I had come alive again. I rediscovered little things
that made me happy – the taste of olives in a side dish, the afterglow
of sunset, the afternoon breeze taking the edge off a hot day, and the
exquisite array of starts in a night sky. And then I discovered big
things that made me happy – the joy of helping others, the peace of
resting in his presence, the freedom to be myself disregarding my fear
of what others may think. I could not imagine my life without him.
In my heart I prayed for all those who had died, those who had died
alone and those who had died in the arms of loved ones, those who had
been killed, those who died by accident, illness, disease, or the
violence of others. Let us take a moment and pray for women who are
grieving a loss of some kind and for women who choose to companion the
bereaved.
SILENCE
THE THIRTEENTH STATION. JESUS IS TAKEN DOWN FROM THE CROSS ACCORDING TO THE MEMORIES OF MARY HIS MOTHER
My heart was aching too deep for words when they took my son down from
the cross. As I held his dead body in my arms, I felt the wound in my
own heart, the wound of losing a child, the wound of loving a child who
was somehow my own and not my own. I felt I was his mother in the flesh
but somehow his disciple in the Spirit. And somehow I sensed that this
would be the pattern of our days, identifying with him in his suffering
and death. But strangely, deeper yet I felt a quiet joy, that he at
last was with his Father, the one he had always called “Abba!” And this
conviction gave me joy, that all he had lived and died for was now
mysteriously fulfilled. He had been about his Father’s business and it
was finished.
Of course my heart
ached to see him dead. But what gave me comfort was to pray for
mothers with dead or dying children, or children who were very sick.
Could my prayer be a strength for them in their hour of need? I prayed
also for all those who were suffering and seemed to turn to me like the
group of his followers, especially the inner circle of his apostles who
were reeling with this day’s events. I felt my motherly love and
compassion reach out to embrace them, inviting them to continue in
their life commitment based on faith, hope, and love. I also prayed for
those without faith, hope, or love in all parts of our world -- parents
separated from their children, orphans, widows, the poor, and those
oppressed by tyrannical governments. And I prayed for others who had
been given the death penalty, those who were murderers, the thieves
crucified with him, and those who, like my son, had been falsely
accused of crimes. I felt in solidarity with all those for whom I
prayed.
Letting my pierced heart be
opened by others’ concerns and needs, as Simeon had predicted, was like
Jesus letting his pierced heart be opened, and blood and water flowed
out. I believed that Yahweh was very much at work and longing to bring
new life out of death. This movement was imprinted on my heart. It
would always be a sign for me of God’s action in our midst.
Let us take a moment and pray for mothers with children -- their own,
adopted children, children of second marriages, or developmentally
handicapped children. Let us also pray for mothers of aborted children
and for women related to convicted criminals.
SILENCE
INVITATION TO QUIET
Let us take a moment and see at which station of the cross we are drawn to pray this Lent.
What is our attraction? What is the wound in our heart? How are we begging God for healing?
What is the wound in another’s heart? How are we reaching out to that person with compassion?
