Station Eleven: Jesus is Nailed to the Cross

contemplative imaging/ flickr

"With him they crucified two insurgents, one on his right and one at his left."
   Mark 15. 27

I don’t know which was the harder part—nailing Jesus to the Cross or hanging there naked in the sun as his flesh tore and the pain was unbearable.

We arrive at Station Eleven. Soon our journey will be over and we can get back to buying groceries, paying bills and worry about what the doctor will say. Why stop here—we know the rest of the story. We’ve read the book—we know how this journey ends.  But we must linger here and remember that our Lord was nailed to the cross. We cannot even imagine what torture that was.

But we do know that everything nailed down does not come loose. Through the years as the pilgrims shuffled to this Station—they pondered the nails—and so do we. All the constrictions and all the box-in-ness. All the painful, painful sides of life.

We have our nails, too.

We lose loved ones and life is forever different...

We have cancer...

Our hearts break—literally...

Or depression comes that seems endless...

Sometimes saying goodbye to your first child who only lived one day...

Or being told you can’t drive anymore...

Or not being able to reach that child you loved with all your heart...

Or wishing you could call back that terrible thing you said or did...

Or divorce...

Or the word, inoperable...

Or falling down and not able to get up...

We could go on and on. For standing in the hardware store there is a whole section for nails. They come in all sizes—we know that well, these nails.

We cannot move on without pondering his nails and ours. But we remember later when the tears had dried and the grief was not so strong—Jesus came back. Thomas, who was not there said: “Unless I see the nail prints I cannot believe.” And days later Jesus came with his outstretched nail-scarred hands. And Thomas who never missed a chance to talk—could not say a single word. Everything nailed down really does come loose. Just look at those scars—his and ours.

                       --Roger Lovette /  rogerlovette.blogspot.com

Is This 1855?

photo by KICKS Flicks/ flickr

Word comes from the reliable Southern Poverty Law Center that the College of Charleston has called as its new President a man whose stand on equal rights seems to be a mite off center. It looks like nothing stays won. We have to continue to fight for equal rights for all and support those who stand by the Constitution and Bill of Rights of our country.

http://www.splcenter.org/blog/2014/04/03/glenn-mcconnell-began-selling-segregationists-products-in-wake-of-boycott/

                       --Roger Lovette / rogerlovette.blogspot.com

Sometimes the Church Really Is the Church

photo by adventuresinbrazil.com/ flickr

Every once in a while you read something so good and so moving you want to share it with everybody. My good friends Russ and Amy Dean are Co-Pastors of the Park Road Baptist Church in Charlotte, North Carolina. Some anonymous person left some infant's ashes on the doorstep of the church. They left a note saying that they could not afford proper burial. The Deans decided to have a funeral service for the baby. A Charlotte TV station picked up this event--and you can read what happened for yourself. Sometimes the church gets it right. I am still proud to be a member of the club. Thanks Russ and Amy and Park Road Church, too.

http://www.wbtv.com/story/25177029/church-members-spread-ashes-of-unknown-infant-after-discovery

                       --Roger Lovette / rogerlovette.blogspot.com

Palm Sunday: The Donkey Speaks

photo by Anthony/ flickr

It’s funny, now as I look back on it. Two men came into my village where I was tied next to a colt. They simply untied me and the other animal and took us to the one called Jesus. This Jesus came close and patted both of us. He smoothed out my coat—he looked at my feet to make sure my hoofs were fine. He seemed to be interested in both of us.  Most people just treated us like beasts that were to do the work. Sometimes we were beaten—often we were cursed and kicked.

The disciples who had brought us came and put cloaks on both our backs. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just the outer cloaks peasants wore. The same kind of people that owned us and worked us in the fields.  Jesus slowly mounted my back. I think the colt must have been right behind. In the rush of everything I don’t remember. But Jesus began, clip-clop, clip-clop down the road to Jerusalem. As we got closer we saw people on both sides of the road. Some were shouting. Some had palm branches in their hands. Some even took their garments and palm branches and paved the road. As we moved on there were more people and they yelled, over and over, “Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord.”

Then the roads were packed with people. Most were shouting and singing and some had tears running down their faces. Children were everywhere. The crowds scared me. I found myself pulling back, not wanting to go forward. But this man Jesus did not kick or pull hard on my bridle—he just patted me, whispered in my ear and I felt things were going to be fine.

We finally made it to the Temple. And Jesus slowly dismounted and went inside. I was outside but I heard the clanging of coins and it sounded like tables overturned. I think I heard Jesus say: “This is supposed to be a house of prayer and you have turned it into a den of robbers.” He sounded angry. Some important-looking people came running out and I heard them say, “Now we can get him. He’s gone too far.”
 

Someone led me away from the crowds and confusion. They gave me something to eat and drink. The colt was there with me. I do not know exactly what happened. Some called him the King of the Jews. I wondered. How cans a King ride into the city on a donkey? Kings always rode on horses. I do not know if he was a king or not.  I only remember his gentleness. I remember how he patted me as if he loved me.

It was strange, though. The crowds just wandered away. The palm branches they had laid down with some of their cloaks had been brushed aside. Later I overheard someone say they had sentenced this Jesus to death. Where were the crowds that welcomed him into the city so joyfully? Now they shouted, “Crucify him! Crucify him!” I did not understand at all.

Some said they nailed him to a Roman cross. I heard somewhere that they put a sign above his head that said: “This is the King of the Jews.” I was confused. Kings rode in on stallions. Kings did not die on crosses.

What I do remember was that the sky turned dark. It thundered and the ground shook. And then the rain started. I didn’t think it would ever stop. But finally it did and everything got very quiet. I do not know what all of this meant, if anything. I only know he was gentle and kind and he acted as if he cared for me and the colt. So unlike a King. But I will remember him until he day I die.  

photo by Kay Ebel / flickr

Station Ten: Jesus is Stripped

photo by Jerry Daughtery's Connecticut/ Flickr

"He was despised and rejected by others; 

a man of suffering and acquainted with infirmity; 

as one from whom others hide their faces 

he was despised, and we held him of no account."
                   --Isaiah 53. 3

Matthew’s gospel doesn’t linger over the scene we find in Station 10. He hurries by, saying: “And when they had crucified him...they took his garments...” Matthew must have been embarrassed by this story.

We don’t see many pictures of Jesus naked. Artists in those first renderings of the baby Jesus covered the infant’s privates. It must have been their way of saying: this holy one really is not like us—he is sexless and sinless. But this Tenth Station puts it bluntly: Jesus was stripped. And so we may avert our eyes—but here he is as human and vulnerable as the rest of us.

He has come a very long way. His scourging and torture, Pilate’s washing his hands, the crowds screaming for blood. And then the crown of thorns, the purple robe, the laughter, the spittle and the terrible falls. Could he have missed their hisses: “How weak he is, this Messiah.” Pain piled on top of pain—surely this is enough.

But no. We come to the Tenth Station. A naked Jesus. This may very well be the worst. All his pretensions have been abandoned. All his friends are hiding or silent except for a little cluster. He is alone.

To be stripped is to be violated. The last shreds of respect are gone. Jesus stands helpless and naked—this may be the final indignity. No place to hide. No one comes to his rescue. They have done all they can do. And so he stands before us ashamed and afraid. Stripped.

Leonard  Boff asks: “How many people have been stripped naked in the subterranean depths of repressive systems and mechanisms! How many have been violated, bestialized, and subjected to every kind of harassment! Husbands are forced to watch their wives being raped. Wives forced to see their husbands tortured and castrated, their daughter violated, and their children executed. These violations of the sacred rights of the human person, of the poor in particular, are justified in the name of the legitimate defense and security of society.”*

Jesus is naked and vulnerable—ashamed, as we have been ashamed. Wanting to run away and hide as sometimes we want to run away and hide. Whatever shames we and the rest of the world have felt—Jesus is one with us all.

David Read, great preacher of another era told a story in one of his sermons about the boy who came home naked and ashamed. He had done terrible things. But the father in the parable ran out to meet him and put his arms around him and whispered, “ My boy...My son.” The father yelled to his servants: “Bring forth the best robe and sandals and a ring.” He covered the boy’ shame and nakedness—with what Read called, the dignity of faith.

And as we ponder this painful Tenth station—we all know the story Jesus told is really our story. He takes all the indignities—and there are many—and covers them with a grandeur of love and forgiveness.

*Leonard Boff, Way of the Cross-Way of Justice (Maryknoll, New York: Orbis Books, 1982) p. 84

saintjohnswilliamstown/ flickr

Station Nine: Jesus Falls a Third Time

photo by caprockcruisers /flickr

A medieval peasant asked a monk what the holy fathers did within the walls of the monastery on the hill. In his eyes such a  place, walled off from the troubles of the world, must have been as close to heaven as anything. The monk answered the man, "We fall down and we get up; we fall down and we get up; we fall down and we get up." 

How can Messiah keep falling? And why would the Church choose this painful moment a third time? Jesus falls...and falls...and falls. Because, perhaps the story is true.

Jesus falls yet again. He is exhausted. Even though his journey is not far now—he falls opening up old sores and wounds. There is no time on this way of sorrows that our Lord has felt more defeated.

We want to turn away, standing here looking up at the all-too-human Jesus. But here we come to the heart of his incarnation. Jesus is more with us in this third falling than at any other point. We want a different kind of kingdom. The kind back there in the desert where we wished Jesus did not shake his head. Not all the bread you could ever eat—complete with trimmings. Not all the kingdoms so his power could change it all. Not even some holy miracle where all would see his glory and fall at his feet.

No. Not this Jesus. Not here on twisting winding way of sorrows. This longing is 2014 stuff. We’ve been there before and we’ll be there again. We want power that waves a wand and changes it all. No. Not here on this rocky path.

We cannot avert our eyes because we know, deep in our hearts that this kingdom is different. His kingdom is far different from the Caesars or the princes of the church. His kingdom divides families and friends and sometimes the human heart itself. No wonder the atheists are having a field day. Like the poet they mutter: “God, if you’re really God, fling us a dipper full of stars.” Why suffering? Why failure? Why me? And the only answer is a man who falls a third time.

This Station can march into any AA meeting and feel at home. This Station is for whoever it is that feels crushed and weak and hopeless. Flat on the ground his hopes seem suffocated. Here he shoulders the tragic fall of every sinner--which includes us all.

But this is not the last station. Thank God. Jesus will somehow shuffle to his feet. He has miles to go, like us, before he sleeps. And so the journey will continue. And we ponder the mystery. So different from all we expect of God and Jesus and his broken church. This one is with us all. God writes off none of the fallen. With the crooked sticks of our lives—there is hope for everyone. He takes us one and all—and even with our fallings—he will write a clean straight line.

photo by contemplative imaging/ flickr

 is p;ower does not feed all the hungry then and now. His H

Station Eight: Jesus Speaks to the Women

photo by maherite

"But Jesus turning to them said, "Daughters of Jerusalem, stop weeping for me, but weep for yourselves and for your children."
  --Luke 23.28 NIV

Jesus struggles from the second fall. He is on the road again. It is still a long journey to Calvary. With the pain and the uphill climb—he must have thought it would take forever. And maybe it would have unless there was this Eighth Station. He heard them even before he passed them. The daughters of Jerusalem. Weeping...weeping for Jesus, for the wrongness of the world, for the injustice of their own lives. If this could happen to one so good—and even to a man—what could their daughters expect?

So much of religious has tried to push women into a less than equal place. Paul’s old words about women being subjected to men. If they wanted to know anything ask their husbands. Women were not smart enough or have the right to teach male children. They would wear burkas. Their faces and heads were to be covered. They would be denied the right to vote. They cannot attend school even now in some foreign lands. Malala told us in her book about what happens when a young woman dares to try to read and know and dream and be. Lilly Ledbetter way down in Gadsden, Alabama dared to raise the question of why women were not paid the same as men in the tire company where she worked. Even today politicians piously explain why they cannot vote for a bill that would equal pay for all—not just men.

And in the Stations women must weep as they follow this journey up the hill. But they also must smile at Jesus’ mother, dear Veronica and now the daughters of Jerusalem. For this Gospel and this Jesus left no one out—not even the women--especially the women.

Remember what Jesus said as he shuffled past them with his cross. “”Daughters of Jerusalem, do not weep for me, but weep for yourselves and for your children.”  Even today the tears of the daughters of Jerusalem have yet to be dried.

photo by justinvandyke / flickr