On Monday mornings I pray with a contemplative prayer group some of whom have been meeting together since 1975 at the Episcopal Cathedral of St. Luke here in Orlando. We range in age from our mid-fifties to mid-90's. Normally, we begin our time of contemplation with a quiet, measured, repeated recitation of the Jesus Prayer: "Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner." Then the officiant claps her hands once and we lapse into silence, to continue, each in her own way. (I say "her" because at the moment only women are in the group, though at times in the past there have been men, as well.) Some of us continue with the Jesus Prayer or other forms of breath prayer. One finds her meditation formed by the hymns that come to mind unbidden, but virtually always appropriate to her spiritual condition.
During Lent, we have taken a break from this practice, and have instead been led in our meditation through several Stations of the Cross. Four of us have been to Jerusalem and walked the Via Dolorosa during Lent or Holy Week, and this experience surely has shaped all subsequent contemplation on the Stations. (An aside: I often hear people refer to this Way of Pain as the "Via de la Rosa," the way of the Rose--and find my thoughts moving to the thorns and blood-red color of the rose, and the Advent hymn, "Lo, How a Rose e'er Blooming," in which Christ is the Rose. So maybe Way of the Rose is not so far off....)
I missed the first Monday of Lent because I was traveling. The second week, we were at Stations 4 and 5. The woman assigned to lead our meditations on these events was the one who prays in hymns. She is a retired school music teacher. Having made a remarkable recovery after hip surgery in the summer and knee surgery in the fall, she walks enthusiastically, sings in a jazz ensemble, and leads the music at her church's monthly children's Eucharist. She is charming, athletic, and not given to unnecessary speech, though she has a wry sense of humor. She is nearly 90, and has outlived her husband and one of her sons. Our facilitator had assigned her these stations because, she suggested, they might be the easiest for children to connect with, and Mildred works regularly with children. She even lent Mildred a little booklet of Stations for Children.
Mildred chose to address us as children, as if she was teaching a Sunday School class and we were her pupils. For some reason, it enabled us all, "teacher" and "pupils," to access some tender spots in our hearts. All of us are mothers; all of us are still children, though none has a mother still living.
Station 4: Jesus Meets his Mother
We adore you, O Christ, and we bless you
because by your Holy Cross
you have redeemed the world.
Simeon said to Mary his mother: "This child is destined to be the downfall and the rise of many in Israel, a sign that will be opposed. And you yourself shall be pierced with a sword, so that the thoughts of many hearts will be laid bare."
Holy God,
Holy and mighty
Holy Immortal One,
Have mercy on us.
Mildred said words to this effect: "Boys and girls, have you ever been lost in a crowd and then suddenly noticed your mother? Do you know how much your mother loves you? Do you remember to say 'Thank you' to her? Jesus was doing something very hard, carrying a heavy wood cross to the place where he would be killed. A crowd was mocking him and his mother could see how Jesus was in pain and how tired he was, but she could not do anything for him, except to be there." Mildred's eyes were filling with tears. Her voice was almost breaking with quiet emotion. Every one of us found ourselves weeping quietly.
All of us had been there. I think all of us missed our mothers. All of us thought of what we might have said to express our gratitude for their love. All of us had longed, as mothers, to be able to do something more than simply be there, at some time or other, when our children were suffering or in trouble. Maybe it is axiomatic that all mothers know that sword that pierces the heart.
This stained glass piece suggests the possibility that Our Lady was perhaps able to touch her Son again while he was on this painful journey. The look in her eyes, of love, pain, concern, worry is compelling. James Ceaser of Fiatlux Glassworks in Vancouver is the artist, and this is one of the fourteen Stations, completed in 1998, at St. Mark's College at the University of British Columbia.
Station 5: Simon of Cyrene is compelled to carry Jesus' cross.
We adore you, O Christ, and we bless you,
because by your Holy Cross
you have redeemed the world.
A man named Simon of Cyrene, was coming in from the fields, and they pressed him into service to carry the Cross.
Holy God,
Holy and mighty
Holy Immortal One,
Have mercy on us.
"Boys and girls, what do you do when you see somebody --say, a boy or girl on the playground who has fallen down? Do you tease them and laugh at them, or do you help them?"
Our discussion turned to how Simon, like so many of us, was just going about his own business. He was tired after working in the fields. This crucifixion procession was none of his business. But the soldiers made it his business. He, a hard-working peasant, just trying to stay out of debt and put food on his family's table, was compelled to carry the cross for this man, ostensibly a common thief, or, more likely, what we would call today a terrorist. I thought a lot about how the suffering of others has a way of drawing us in. We can't immunize ourselves from the hurt of our sisters and brothers.
A week later, our group gathered again, and Sally, a wise and well-read woman, led us through meditations on Stations 6, 7, and 8. After giving us a gentle introduction to the event commemorated at the Station, we were invited to meditate for 5 or 10 minutes in silence, and then to share our responses to a simple question she asked.
Station 6: Veronica wipes the face of Jesus.
This is one of the stations that has no biblical basis. Rather, early Christian tradition has this woman compassionately doing what she could. Often the illustrations of this Station have the face of Jesus miraculously appearing on the cloth Veronica held. Sally asked us: Who has been an icon of Jesus for you? Who has shown you Jesus' face? The responses ranged from clergy who had been there at key moments in our spiritual lives to our mothers and grandmothers. In every case, as she told the story, the woman made it clear that it wasn't because this person was perfect that they were effective in inviting us into closer relationship with Christ. Indeed, in every instance we acknowledged that the person was deeply flawed, and that perhaps it was the brokenness that enabled the person to be effective.
This is a detail from Peter Paul Rubens' painting of Veronica.
Station 7: Jesus Falls for a Second Time.
The conversation continued, about how God is with us even when we are very weak. As I meditated on this Station, I realized that I talk a good talk about how important it is to fall and to get up and to fall and to get up again on the journey. But when it comes to my own life, I really resent falling a second or third time. I was brought up short: falling is not a sign of sin; it is a sign of weakness; and God said to St. Paul, "My grace is sufficient for you; my power is made perfect [complete] in weakness." This is kind of the opposite of the success mantra that appears to drive Americans in business.
This image comes from the Roman Catholic Cathedral of St. John the Evangelist in Milwaukee. Of Venetian mosaic inlay, the Stations are copies of those of St. Anne's Church in Munich, Germany. I find this very traditional depiction compelling because it illustrates how the soldiers are continuing to harrass Jesus, just because they can, though there's really no more he can do. This is so typical of the way that ordinary people, swept into positions of relative power in the Empire, can become callous and abusive.
Station 8: Jesus meets the women of Jerusalem, who weep for him.
"This is all of us!" said Margie. "This is our station. We are the women of Jerusalem." One of the women mentioned the Libyan woman who had burst into the hotel in Tripoli where all the journalists were staying, to try to tell them the story of how she had been gang raped by the government soldiers. As she was being violated yet again, dragged off to near-certain imprisonment, she wept and cried out.
When is is right for us to use our voices? When does it do no good? Perhaps Jesus was saying to the women that there was no use calling out to the authorities about the great miscarriage of justice that had been perpetrated as this innocent Man was being led to crucifixion. No one would listen. After all, it was the political authorities who had authorized this political assassination. But still more, in some hard-to-grasp way, I think Jesus was insisting on letting events follow their course. The way of the Cross leads to life only through suffering and death, it seems...
This is a photo taken by Joe Goldberg in the fall of 2009, at the 8th Station along the Via Dolorosa.
(http://www.flickr.com/photos/goldberg/4098306777/ ) I like it because of the very ordinary women it depicts. Ordinary women when Jesus was led through Jerusalem on his way to crucifixion. Ordinary women in our time. Pilgrims from all over the world walk the Way of the Cross in Jerusalem, through the Old City, while ordinary life is going on for the people who live there. That, too, is not so different from the day when Jesus was led on a similar path.
And that is as far as our journey has taken us. Next Monday, Pam will share, and then it will be my turn. Margie does the final meditations. I am profoundly blessed to share the journey with these women, and we all know ourselves blessed and challenged to share the journey of Jesus to the Cross-and beyond into new life.
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