This is a meditation based on The Way of the Cross… Peter, James, and John who walked with Jesus up the mountain of the Transfiguration must have wondered what Jesus meant when he said, “My soul is sad, even unto death…watch with me.” Read what Jesus might have been thinking on The Way of the Cross….
I’m sad about being alone when I go into the horror of pain and death. Much later, not now, not today, you will see me “sitting at the right hand of the power and coming with the clouds of heaven.” At the right hand of the Ancient of Days, the Holy One, the Holy Immortal One. But not now, not yet. Today I am called a blasphemer. I have no inheritance, no possessions, and no friends. They who hate me hand me over. Those who receive me hate me. I who was a strong tall sapling born out of parched earth am rejected today, avoided, held in no esteem. No one feels my need. I trip and in the dust, the blood, mud-like paste, sticks to my wounds as I struggle to stand, for I must go on though he tramples on my very spirit. Blood and mud, like the color of wine, stain my garment that clings to my legs, holding me down. There is no one who weeps for me. She first wrapped me in clean linens called swaddling. Warm and secure. Now my legs are bound and wrapped in this blood-red rag and I cannot move. But I feel the weight coming off my shoulders a little. Let me see who that is. A stranger lifts my pain a little. He doesn’t want to. He’s like I was last night. Not wanting to. Don’t be afraid, gentle stranger. Look at me. No! Look here, at me! Look at me! Even he would avoid me if he could. If only I could tell him whom he helps. But one day he will know. You who tred on my spirit, allowing this pain to afflict me. You! Listen to me! I look for you! I beseech you! I can’t see the path! Blood blurs my vision and I stumble again. I lie in the dust. I can’t breathe. My mouth tastes my blood. A cool dampness touches my fevered face. For a moment I am transported to a place beside a river where he promised he loved me. A woman wipes my face and touches my lips but I can’t speak. Thank you my friend. You don’t know me, but you risked death at the hands of these rabid dogs who pursue me and tear at me. You sacrificed your safety for me. Father, bless her. I must move on. I leave the cool comfort of that damp cloth. I leave one who helps me. A gift for you Veronica. A gift. Knowledge of who I am. I must move on. A sheep to be sacrificed for many. They wander, lost, without any guidance and I will go take their pain so they can be filled. Father, I am cut off and alone so that my friends may be healed. Heal them and send a guide so they no longer wander, poor, lost, and scattered sheep. Weeping, I move forward. Do you think I am weeping for myself as you weep for me? I do look a sorry sight don’t I? The lost and beaten Son of One who is gone away. But weep not for me as I do not weep for myself. “Weep for yourselves and for your children” who can’t see me or hear me. Or is it that they won’t? They do what they will, not what the Father wills. “My eyes run with tears.” Why has the Lord afflicted me with his blazing anger? Father forgive them for they cannot console me. They don’t know me. Give your word again, Father. Give life again. Give commands again. I lie in the dust so that they may have life. Father! I can’t bear this! I can’t see. I can’t speak. I can hear the roar of their jeers. They would devour me. I am weak and ravaged, yet you are my strength. It is in my weakness that I am strong for then I lean on you. They strip my clothes. The mud-dried garment sticking to my skin rips my skin off. Naked I came and you held me. Naked and alone I lie here while nails pierce my flesh. They steal my bloody clothes and turn their backs on me to play at dice. Then they raise me up. With a fearsome noise the beam they have nailed me to falls into a hole. The jolt of that setting in place shocks my every nerve. That wild animal scream; is that me? Reduced to this? A beaten, skinless beast, raw and screaming? Bind me, Father. Heal me, Lord. Let your waters pour out on me. Hatred and bitterness continue to beat at me. The hands that reached out to comfort the afflicted and rejected are smashed against a tree and nailed there. Father forgive them, for they know not what they do not know.
Father? Where are you? I was beloved. I was held against your chest. They have pierced me. But I ask you, Father to forgive them. Give them life. I know you are near for you have been at my side since the beginning. I accept your will. It isn’t easy Father. Sometimes your will is the hardest, most painful thing for me to do because I am selfish. Self-preservation is foremost in my mind. Die for them? Never would have crossed my mind. Like asking me to live with pigs — but you asked me to. You asked me to be love. And I am love because you asked me to be love. So I love them whether they act like animals or angels. They are your children Father, your creation and I love them as you asked me to. I accept crucifixion for them. Now Father, you show them the road through the cross to Resurrection. I will be life and you will help me to defy and to overcome the powers of death. In the silence I hear you Father and I move toward your chest again. Father! take my spirit into your hands and once again I put my head on your chest. Look Father. Some know me. They fall to their knees. The soldier knows. He will not let them hurt me any more although I’m already gone from them. The ones who know are sorry for having offended you, for answering you with the Cross. Look Father. They wrap my body in fine linen. Let us send forth our spirit to them. And then they too will experience the Resurrection. “With dawn comes rejoicing!” (Meditation based on “The Way of the Cross” 1965, Barton-Cotton, Inc, Baltimore, Md)