Month: April 2026

Breathing In

shelliwilliams Breathing Out Series , , ,

(part of the “Breathing Out” Lenten Series)

(Again, there are a couple of musical offerings…keep scrolling or you’re miss part of it!)

SCRIPTURE TEXT:  John 20: 1-18 (Easter Sunday)

20Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene came to the tomb and saw that the stone had been removed from the tomb. 2So she ran and went to Simon Peter and the other disciple, the one whom Jesus loved, and said to them, “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid him.” 3Then Peter and the other disciple set out and went toward the tomb. 4The two were running together, but the other disciple outran Peter and reached the tomb first. 5He bent down to look in and saw the linen wrappings lying there, but he did not go in. 6Then Simon Peter came, following him, and went into the tomb. He saw the linen wrappings lying there, 7and the cloth that had been on Jesus’ head, not lying with the linen wrappings but rolled up in a place by itself. 8Then the other disciple, who reached the tomb first, also went in, and he saw and believed; 9for as yet they did not understand the scripture, that he must rise from the dead. 10Then the disciples returned to their homes.

11But Mary stood weeping outside the tomb. As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb; 12and she saw two angels in white, sitting where the body of Jesus had been lying, one at the head and the other at the feet. 13They said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping?” She said to them, “They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.” 14When she had said this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not know that it was Jesus. 15Jesus said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?” Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away.” 16Jesus said to her, “Mary!” She turned and said to him in Hebrew, “Rabbouni!” (which means Teacher). 17Jesus said to her, “Do not hold on to me, because I have not yet ascended to the Father. But go to my brothers and say to them, ‘I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’” 18Mary Magdalene went and announced to the disciples, “I have seen the Lord”; and she told them that he had said these things to her.

The women who walk to the tomb in the pre-dawn morning knew what they would find.  After all, they were there at the Cross.  They saw what had happened.  Jesus had died.  All hope for something more was gone.  All dreams of the world somehow turning around and emerging from the darkness in which they lived had ended at that cross.  They were able to quickly get his body and they had buried him, hastily laying him in a borrowed tomb so that the authorities would not find the body and take it as proof of his death.   And then sundown came all too quickly before they could prepare the body.  They had to stop what they were doing and observe the Passover Sabbath. They had to suspend breath if only for a moment…

This has happened before.  Way back in Genesis, way back in the beginning, while it was still dark, God created.  God took nothingness and made something.  God took darkness and made light.  God took chaos and made beauty.  God took a void and made life.  And here we are again…God has taken what we thought was the end, what we thought was death and grief and despair and made our eternity…breathe it all in….Finally…morning has broken again!

So, they come early, before the rest of the world was awake to finish what they needed to do, to properly prepare Jesus’ body for burial.  They knew what they would find.  But when they came around the path by the tomb, they were stunned.  The heavy stone, the one that had taken all of them to roll over the hole, was no longer covering up the entrance.  So, Mary takes off running.  She ran to Simon Peter.  He would know what to do.  You can imagine his response: “What do you mean he’s not there??? That’s crazy.  That doesn’t even make sense!”  So, Peter and one of the other disciples went to see for themselves, running faster and faster down the pathway, surely knowing but probably dreading whatever they might find at the end.  It was all there—the tomb, the linen wrappings, the cloth that had covered his head.  Everything was there but Jesus.  The Scripture says they believed.  I don’t think they fully grasped it, though.  They believed he was gone.  But where did he go?  And in that moment of not knowing what to think, not knowing what to do, not knowing where to turn, suspended between despair and hope, their faith journey truly began.  This was the point where faith had to replace making sense of things.

But Mary Magdalene, distraught yet again with grief over what seemed to be yet another loss, just looking for ANYONE that could explain what happened or maybe just listen, mistook Jesus for the gardener.  It wasn’t until he spoke that she knew who it was.  It wasn’t until he spoke and she heard his voice in the darkness that she knew that she had seen the Lord. She caught her breath as if it wouldn’t continue coming…but it would.

Yeah, they had it all figured out.  It was clear to them, until it wasn’t.  Perhaps part of the message of Easter is that there’s always more to the story than what we know or what we have figured out or the limits around which we have constructed our very lives.  So, in the darkness of Easter morning, our faith journey really begins.     

But there’s something we often miss in this story.  There is no sunrise service where Jesus rises with the Light.  In fact, this particular Gospel account doesn’t even have any light at all.  It takes great care in pointing out that it was early in the morning, while it was still dark.  All of this happened in the darkness.  But more than that, all of this REALLY happened before anyone showed up.  Under cover of darkness, while the rest of the world was sleeping and grieving, before the women came, before the world started stirring, while Creation was still groaning under the weight of that Friday, God began doing something new.  While it was still dark, God was recreating Life. God had done that before.  God had come into the dark void and spoke Light and Life into being and Creation had begun.  And, here, God does it yet again.

We speak of those that came to the tomb that morning as “witnesses” to the Resurrection, but, truth be told, there WERE no witnesses.  No one actually SAW Jesus rise any more than anyone actually SAW God create the world.  There was no one there to document either for us.  Everyone who saw Jesus alive again saw him after.  Whatever happened between the hours that Jesus was laid in the tomb and that moment when the grave cloths were found discarded on the tomb’s floor, whatever happened between the beginning of the Sabbath and the morning of that third day, happened in the dark.  We tend to begin our Easter morning with shouts of alleluia and beautiful Easter lilies offset by brightly streaming light.  But that’s not really the way the story goes.  Everyone who believes actually came into a story that was already going on, even those that were present that day at the tomb.  Believing is not about seeing it happen but rather coming into the work that God has already begun and knowing that it is Truth AND that it is your story.  Our journey of faith begins in the dark.

Maybe THAT’S the Resurrection story—that God does not wait until the world cleans up its act, that God does not wait until we are who we should be, that God does not wait until we believe to actually show up.  Maybe the story is that God is working all the time to resurrect, to re-create, to reconcile all of us so that even in the dark, no, ESPECIALLY in the dark, we know that God is there.

So, think about it.  Have you ever noticed how quietly Easter arrives?  There are no angelic choirs making announcements of Jesus’ coming.  There are no foreign visitors bringing gifts.  There aren’t even any ordinary folks that come in from the Shepherds Fields to see what has happened.  There is no voice thundering from heaven or Old Testament characters showing up on queue.  There’s no drama of parting waters or chariots of fire or burning bushes or mountains shrouded in cloud.  The sounds of the Resurrection are quiet, almost fearful.  They seem uncertain what will happen next, a little reticent at going forward in a new way.  And yet, there is a certain peace to Easter, a peace that begins in the quiet of the darkness and then allows the Light to begin to peek into the scene.  It’s as if Jesus rises just for Mary and calls her by name.  Maybe that’s what Jesus does for each of us.  In the quiet darkness, Jesus comes and rises before we get there and then when we are listening, says our name.  And we begin to follow wherever Jesus goes.  We just have to pay attention.

Some of you may remember this, but thirty-two years ago, an F4 tornado hit Goshen United Methodist Church in Piedmont, Alabama.  It was Palm Sunday and the younger children’s choir had just finished presenting a pageant and were all seated on one pew.  Rev. Kelly Clem was in the pulpit just beginning her sermon when the tornado struck, immediately lifting the roof off and toppling several of the church’s walls to the floor, crashing down on top of the pews and the congregation.  The tornado killed nineteen people and injured eighty-six others that day.  Over the next few days, all through Holy Week, the pastor performed one funeral after another, including one for her four-year old daughter, Hannah, who had been part of the choir.  Toward the end of the week, she began receiving calls from members of the congregation.  Given the death of the pastor’s daughter and the destruction of their sanctuary, they asked, “Reverend Clem, are we having Easter this year?”  Her response?  “Easter is coming.”

That Sunday morning, two hundred people gathered in the front yard of the destroyed facilities at Goshen UMC while it was still dark.  And as the sun began to rise, Rev. Clem, with a bandaged head and her shoulder in a brace and a heart broken with grief, stood up in a makeshift pulpit, opened her Bible and read from Romans 8: “Nothing in all creation can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

THAT’S the Easter message.  It’s not that God put light where there was darkness; it’s not that despite all the darkness that is inflicted onto us by circumstances or by other people, God always comes out on top.  The message is that while it is still dark, God is working, recreating, resurrecting, raising us up.  The truth is, we call ourselves “people of the cross”.  I’m not sure if that’s really it.  We’re probably more “people of the empty tomb”, “people of what happened after”, “people of what God is doing now”.  And more than that, if we read this story as something historic, something that happened nearly 2,000 years ago that we just make sure we read once a year surrounded by Easter lilies, we have missed the point.  This day is about Jesus’ Resurrection, the one NOW.  That’s why most of our words for today are in present tense.  “Christ the Lord is risen today…”  And it’s also about OUR resurrection, OUR re-creation, OUR reconciliation with God.  It’s ongoing.  Even while at times it seems dark, God is there, recreating and resurrecting and making us something new.

It’s not just looking on the bright side of life and ignoring the darkness as if it doesn’t exist; it’s not a promise that nothing will ever go wrong or that God will put everything back in place at some point if we just hold on.  To be honest, that’s just bad theology.  Easter is not about replacing the bad with the good; In fact, I will tell you that Easter makes a whole lot more sense when you go through Holy Week and Good Friday, when you travel through the darkness, through the breathlessness.  Because the truth is, we are not out of the darkness, the wilderness (ARE YOU KIDDING?).  Life is a wilderness.  And God shows us not the way around, but the way through.  In fact, God walks with us through the wilderness showing us The Way, struggling for breath though we may be.  That’s it.  God takes our hand while it is still dark, calls our name, and shows us The Way. 

So, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene went and announced to the disciples, “I have seen the Lord.”  Because, Easter does not merely change death; Easter changes life.  Easter shows us the Risen Christ.  And once we’ve seen the Lord, once we’ve peered into the darkness and have caught a faint vision of Light, even if we don’t really know EXACTLY where it is, once we, too, have heard our name and Risen, there is no going back. He is Risen!  He is Risen indeed!  And so are we—even when it’s hard to breathe.  Keep breathing…Breathe in…THIS IS IT!

We have been through mangers and angels and visitors from the East. We have read of sermons on a mountain and welcoming proclamations to those who did not belong. Where we started, that birth of a king, is coming to be. Glory to God! But the world is different. It’s up to us to carry that message into the world. It’s up to us to continue practicing resurrection! Joy to the World!

Go to the street corners and invite to the banquet anyone you find. (Jesus) 

Thank you for joining me for my “Breathing Out” Lenten series. I hope it was meaningful for your Lenten journey. I’ll be back to the once-a-week (ish) schedule so keep reading and I so welcome comments and responses. And keep breathing as you practice resurrection!

Happy Easter!

Shelli

Breathless

shelliwilliams Breathing Out Series , , ,

(part of the “Breathing Out” Lenten Series)

SCRIPTURE TEXT:  Psalm 31: 1-5, 15-16 (Holy Saturday)

1In you, O Lord, I seek refuge; do not let me ever be put to shame; in your righteousness deliver me.

2Incline your ear to me; rescue me speedily. Be a rock of refuge for me, a strong fortress to save me.

3You are indeed my rock and my fortress; for your name’s sake lead me and guide me,

4take me out of the net that is hidden for me, for you are my refuge.

5Into your hand I commit my spirit; you have redeemed me, O Lord, faithful God.

15My times are in your hand; deliver me from the hand of my enemies and persecutors.  16Let your face shine upon your servant; save me in your steadfast love.

What do we do with this day, this Holy Saturday?  We are still grieving.  The reality of it all is beginning to sink in, beginning to be real.  Jesus is gone, dying alone on some forsaken hill, a hill that tradition has “assigned” as the site of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre but one that is really unknown.  So, what do we do today?  How do we pick up the pieces in the midst of our pain and despair and just go on with our lives?  Oh, we 21st century believers know how the story ends.  We’ve already jumped ahead and read the next chapter many, many times.  (Don’t tell those that don’t read ahead, but it all works out in the end.)

And yet, we do ourselves no favors if we jump ahead to tomorrow.  After all, the Scriptures tell us that Jesus rose on the third day, the THIRD day, as in one-two-three.  The third day doesn’t happen without today.  It must be important, right?  But, oh, it’s just so painfully quiet.  The sanctuary is dark, awaiting to be redressed for its coronation.  The bells are quiet, hanging expectantly for tomorrow.  And we still sit here draped in black with our Easter brights hanging there ready for us to don.  What are we supposed to do today?

The truth is that this is not a day for answers.  The easy descriptions of God’s mercy and redemption come quickly but are soon suffocated.  The theological rhetoric eludes us.  Today is just this.  We wait.  It is hard to get our breath.  We have read of God breathing the life-giving breath into Creation and, yet, we struggle to catch our breath.  If this day were filled with answers and rhetoric, if we were breathing evenly, maybe taking the day off after a long hard and painful week, then yesterday would fade from our memories and tomorrow would only be tomorrow.  This is the day between what was and what will be.  This is the day when we will sit breathless and wait for what do not know.  This day is holy.  Let it be.

Tradition (and the older version of the Apostles’ Creed) holds that Jesus died, was buried, and descended into hell.  (It’s loosely supported in 1 Peter 3:18-20 and Ephesians 4:8-10)  So, is that what this day is?  Descent?  Good grief, wasn’t the Cross low enough?  The well-disputed claim is that Jesus descended into death, descended into hell, perhaps descended into Gehenna (Greek) (Hebrew–Gehinnom, Rabbinical Hebrew–גהנום/גהנם), the State of ungodly souls.  Why?  Why after suffering the worst imaginable earthly death would Jesus descend into hell?  Well, the disputed part is that Jesus, before being raised himself, descended to the depths of suffering and despair and redeemed it, recreated it.  The sixth century hymnwriter, Venantius Fortunatus claimed that “hell today is vanquished, Heaven is won today.” Why is that so out of bounds of what God can do?  Don’t we believe that God is God of all?  Or does it give us some sense of comfort to know that we are not the worst of the bunch, that there are always Judas’ and Brutus’ that have messed up a whole lot worse than any of us and so are destined to spend eternity on the lowest rungs of hell (according to Dante)?  But, oh, think about the power and grace and amazing love of a God who before the Divine Ascent into glory, descended into the depths and bowels of humanity and redeemed us all, every single one of us, perhaps wiped out the hell of each of our lives rung, by rung? 

Welcome, happy morning! age to age shall say:
Hell today is vanquished, Heav’n is won today!”
Lo! the dead is living, God forevermore!
Him, their true Creator, all His works adore!

And, yet, again, we cannot leave it all to Christ to do.  Just as we were called to pick up our cross yesterday, we are called to descend down into the depths, plunging into the unknown breathless darkness, so that God can pick us up again, set us right, and show us a new Way.  And so, this day, we stand between, between death and life, between hell and heaven, between a world that does not understand and a God who even in the silence of this day has begun the redeeming work.  In some ways, this is the holiest day of the week.  How often do we stand with a full and honest view of the world and a glimpse of the holy and the sacred that is always and forever part of our lives?  How often do we stand together and see ourselves as both betrayers and beloved children of God?  How often do we stand in the depths of our human state and yet know that God will raise us up?  How often do we sit breathless and yet alive?  This is a pure state of liminality, a state, as the Old English would say, “betwixt and between.”  It is where we are called to be.  It is the place of the fullness of humanity as it claims both human and divine.  In the silence of this day, we sit with God.  And we wait, we wait expectantly for resurrection. 

Do you remember how we started this whole thing?  Do you remember the Creation account from Genesis, how God spoke Creation into being, how God spoke US into being.  So today we wait for God to say us into being again.  It is where we should always be.  We won’t though.  We won’t be there. (Remember, we’ve had this problem before.)  And maybe on some level, it’s too much for us to always be there, always be waiting expectantly for God.  It’s an opportunity for God to say us into being again.  But at least we can remember what this day feels like as we stand between who we were and what we will be. 

So, for today, keep expectant breathless vigil.  Do not jump ahead.  We can only understand the glory of God when we see it behind the shadow of death.  But, remember, shadows only exist because the Light is so very, very bright. 

The shadows shift and fly.

The whole long day the air trembles,

Thick with silence, until, finally, the footsteps are heard,

And the noise of the voice of God is upon us.

The Holy One is not afraid to walk on unholy ground.

The Holy Work is done, and the world awaits the dawn of Life.

(“Saturday Silence”, Ann Weems, in Kneeling in Jerusalem)

You must give birth to your images.  They are the future waiting to be born.  Fear not the strangeness you feel.  The future must enter you long before it happens.  Just wait for the birth, for the hour of new clarity. (Rainer Maria Rilke) 

Grace and Peace,

Shelli

THE WAY OF THE CROSS: The Holy Sepulchre

shelliwilliams Breathing Out Series, STATIONS OF THE CROSS , , , ,

(part of the “Breathing Out” Lenten Series)

(Just a note…there are two You Tube musical offerings…don’t stop scrolling too soon!)

The Edicule in the main rotunda of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, Jerusalem

Breathe out…

I adore you, O Christ, and I bless you, because by your holy cross, you have redeemed the world.

Breathe in…

Station XII:  Jesus dies on the cross

Scripture: Mark 15: 37-39

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!”

“It is finished.” As Jesus breathed his last, the temple curtain tore in two, revealing a new world in which holiness was no longer separate and hidden from view. Trembling and shaking in the darkness, the earth opened to reveal a glimpse of a future yet to be. And through our grief and our tears, God entered the heartbreak and brokenness of the world and began recreating it. In this moment, God’s future enters our present. And in the most unfathomable act of love, the cross becomes God’s highest act of Creation. Because with it, we and all of Creation are made new. That which is finished is the beginning of life. In this moment, our own eternity is conceived.

Station XII, Jerusalem, Greek Orthodox Chapel of the Crucifixion within the Church of the Holy Sepulchre

Were the whole realm of nature mine, That were an offering far too small; Love so amazing, so divine, demands my soul, my life, my all. (Isaac Watts)

Father, forgive.

Jesus, Through my tears and my grief, I see your love flowing into the world. Enable me to be an instrument of that love that all may know the amazing love I feel. Amen.

“Requiem” by John Rutter, Movement VI, “The Lord is My Shepherd”

Station XIII:  Jesus is taken down from the cross

Scripture: Luke 23: 52-53

This man went to Pilate and asked for the body of Jesus. Then he took it down, wrapped it in linen cloth and laid it in a rock-hewn tomb where no one had ever been laid.

It is indeed over. There is a sickening finality to it all. Why did it have to end like this? Why did it have to end at all? We were just beginning to understand. We were just beginning to get what we were supposed to be doing. And now it is over. And then there’s darkness. It’s never been this dark at this time of day. It adds to the pall of our souls. We have to go back now. But to what? After all, deep down we know that he changed us. How can we live now in the world? How can we go back?

Station XIII, Jerusalem, Altar of our Lady of Sorrows (located between the 11th and 12th Stations) within the Church of the Holy Sepulchre

And yet, in this moment of our deepest despair, we remember that we have found love. Life will be different because we have found love. We’ll go back but we are different.

Father, forgive.

Jesus, I do not like endings. I was just getting comfortable. I want to go back–to mangers, and stars, and picnics on the hillside. Your love, though, tells me to go on. Give me strength to walk in that love even in the midst of grief, to walk in the light even in the shadows. Amen.

Station XIV:  Jesus is laid in the tomb

Scripture:  John 19: 40a, 41-42 (John 19: 38-42)

…They took the body of Jesus and wrapped it with the spices in linen cloths…Not there was a garden in the place where there was a new tomb in which no one had ever been laid. And so, because it was the Jewish day of Preparation, and the tomb was nearby, they laid Jesus there.

We have walked away from graves before and left the remains of a life behind us. But this…this is different. And so we strip our altars and we strip our lives and we try to make room for you. And then we wait. We wait for you to come. We wait for you to rise. We keep vigil and we enter into deep prayer, knowing the day will come. And we wait. We wait for our eternity to be born.

Station XIV, Jerusalem, The Edicule (the traditional Tomb of Jesus) in the main rotunda of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre

We waited for your coming once before, for your birth. But this is different. Now we wait for our own. And you…you are even now busy descending into hell, gathering up all that ever was, even the forsaken, even the rejected, gathering up all that ever was so that it will forever be. And so we wait for the Easter dawn.

Father, forgive. 

Jesus, In the darkness, wee wait for your light. Give us patience and strength. But more than that, give us the vision that you see for the dawn. Empower us to become your Easter people. In the Name of our Redeemer, the One who give us life. Amen.

I am the resurrection, and the life. He that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live. And whosover liveth and believeth in me shall never die. (John 11: 25-26)

There will come a time when you believe everything is finished.  That will be the beginning. (Louis L’Amour)

“Requiem” by John Rutter, Movement VII, “Lux Aeterna” (Eternal Light)

Grace and Peace,

Shelli

THE WAY OF THE CROSS: Agnus Dei

shelliwilliams Breathing Out Series, STATIONS OF THE CROSS , , , ,

(part of the “Breathing Out” Lenten Series)

Entrance to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, Jerusalem

Breathe out…

I adore you, O Christ, and I bless you, because by your holy cross, you have redeemed the world.

Breathe in…

Station X:  Jesus is stripped of his garments

Scripture: John 19: 23-25

…They took his clothes and divided them into four parts…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.

Station X, Jerusalem, Chapel of the Franks, the exterior entrance to the Holy Sepulchre

As a Jew, Jesus has been taught never to be seen naked. In those terms, this would be the ultimate disgrace. But Jesus’ disgrace is ours. His nakedness is ours. Stripped of his clothes and his dignity, Jesus remains unashamed. We can only ask God’s forgiveness for those times that we stripped others of their dignity and we realize that as the accoutrements of this life are stripped away, we have nowhere to turn but to God.

The other part of this is that Jesus was stripped of his garments, and of everything he knew. He was humiliated but he was also humbled. We, too, are called to humble ourselves before God, to, in essence, strip everything away so that God can make us new.

It is late morning on that day. Jesus has been stripped of all human dignity. And the cross is being prepared. This is the final hour. Father, forgive.

Jesus, Strip me now of all those things that get in the way of my being one with you. May my life become purely what you would have me be. Amen.

Station XI. Jesus is nailed to the cross

Scripture: Mark 15: 22-24a (Mark 15: 22-33)

Then they brought Jesus to the place called Golgotha (which means the place of a skull). And they offered him wine mixed with myrrh; but he did not take it. And they crucified him…

It is here that our regrets sink in. It is here that we want to go back. We would do it differently next time. We would not ask so many questions as to why he was doing what he was doing and to whom. We would just watch and listen and learn from him how to love. We would not fight and grapple with each other over who was in charge, over who was the most important, over who was his favorite. Instead, we would bask in his spirit and his radiance and his love of equality for all. And when asked if we knew who he was, we would not betray him. Rather, we would step forward no matter the cost. But we cannot go back.

Station XI, Jerusalem, Catholic Chapel of the Nailing of the Cross within the Church of the Holy Sepulchre

The sounds are deafening. The clanging rings out over the land and settles into our hearts. A nail of greed. A nail of selfishness. Nails of betrayal and hatred and war. Nails of hunger and poverty. Nails of not accepting and loving each other. Nails of being so sure of one’s beliefs, so sure of one’s understanding of who God is and who God wants us to be, that we miss what God is trying to show us. It is finished. In the Name of Jesus Christ, you are forgiven. Father, forgive.

Jesus, I have many regrets in my life, even though I know that you offer forgiveness for all. Open that path of forgiveness that I may forgive myself and accept what you offer. Amen.

The pilgrims sit on the steps of death.  Undanced, the music ends.  Only the children remember that tomorrow’s stars are not yet out.  (Ann Weems)

“Requiem” by John Rutter, Movement V, “Agnus Dei” (Lamb of God)

Grace and Peace,

Shelli

THE WAY OF THE CROSS: Gate of Judgment

shelliwilliams Breathing Out Series, STATIONS OF THE CROSS , , , ,

(part of the “Breathing Out” Lenten Series)

Gate of Judgment, at the entrance of the Church of St. Alexander Nevsky, Jerusalem

Breathe out…

I adore you, O Christ, and I bless you, because by your holy cross, you have redeemed the world.

Breathe in…

Station VII:  Jesus falls the second time

Scripture: Matthew 27: 27-31

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.

Here, the procession arrives at the Gate of Judgment, the place where the authorities would pronounce the final judgment on those convicted of crimes. This was the last point of hope. This was the place where many sentences were converted or lessened. Jesus knew that this would not be the case for him. Barrabbas has already been pardoned. There was no hope.

Station VII, Jerusalem, Franciscan Chapel at the intersection of Via Dolorosa and Souq Khan Er-Zeit

This time Jesus does not fall under the weight of his cross but, rather, the weight of the world. It is just too much to bear. And he falls. He falls at the gate. There is no going back. There is only going forward. The only thing left for the world is hope. Father, forgive.

Jesus, when all hope is lost, remind me to look to you, the hope for all things yet to be. Amen.

Station VIII:  Jesus meets the women of Jerusalem

Scripture: Luke 23: 27-31

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.

The women were convinced of Christ’s holiness. And this holy man was bleeding, covered in sweat and dirt, and near death. But he was still holy. Christ tells them not to weep for him, but for themselves, for their children, and for the world. If we weep, we weep for the world. Weeping is itself a form of prayer for the world around us.

Station VIII, Jerusalem, Wall of a Greek Orthodox monastery

Just outside the gates of the city, Jesus opens himself to the world. He knows that the world will hurt; he knows that the world will suffer; he knows that the world pits brother against brother, sister against sister, and poverty against greed. He knows that the world will weep. In our humanity, we weep, and in our tears, we drown, and in our work and in our life and in our faith, we find the hope for a world yet to be. Father, forgive.

Jesus, I weep–for my own self, for my church, for the world. May my tears become drops of nourishment and waters of life as I claim our part in bringing Creation into full being in your name. Amen.

Station IX:  Jesus falls the third time

Scripture:  Matthew 27: 27-31

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.

For us, we sense that this is a grand procession, but, in all truth, this was a common occurrence in that time: the poor criminal, already rejected by society, being dragged to a death that he or she must deserve. And this was the eve of Passover–a busy time to say the least. After all, there were errands to be done and food to be prepared and houses to clean. So think of all the passersby, scurrying through their lives, many complaining about the clogged roads because of the procession. Many would have just passed by on the other side of the road, not wanting to touch or be touched by hopelessness and despair and even death.

Station IX, Jerusalem, Near the Coptic Orthodox Patriarchate

We, too, fall whenever we pass by on the other side. We miss the grace that God offers in the touch of the unexpected. We miss the opportunity to be who God calls us to be. Father, forgive. 

Jesus, I often pass by on the other side of your grace. I often close my life to the opportunities that you reveal. May my life become one of compassion for other in your Name. Amen.

The only road to Easter morning is through the unrelenting shadows of that Friday. Only then will the alleluias be sung;  only then will the dancing begin. (Ann Weems)

“Requiem” by John Rutter, Movement IV, “Sanctus” (Holy, Holy, Holy)

Grace and Peace,

Shelli