They’ve
been having Eucharist Adoration on the Fridays of lent at St. Andrews and I can’t
begin to explain what a wellspring of grace I find sitting in the silent church
before the Blessed Sacrament. It is the
place I can unload my burdens, take a deep breath, and find peace.
Another
huge well where I draw the mother lode is in the contemplation of the Stations
of the Cross- the beautiful, traditional “action prayer”, calling to mind at
each of the fourteen stops the different scenes from the final sufferings of
Jesus.
I
was focusing particularly today on the ninth station: when Jesus fell a third
time. This had to be at what I would
call mile twenty-one of His marathon.
Hitting the wall. So many runners
told me about the common experience during a marathon (somewhere around miles
19-22) when the system just shuts down- mentally as well as physically. Then I found out for myself, around mile
twenty, with another six to go-
another WHOLE HOUR- what hitting the wall meant. There is no more strength or energy to go on. Everything hurts more than it has ever hurt
before. Everything in you that is sane
screams for you to stop. That’s the
point when you have to dig deeper than what can be gleaned through the physical
reserves to places you never even knew existed within yourself.
I
can see in my mind’s eye Jesus, poured out onto the gravel roadway, the crown
of thorns digging into his skull, the blood and sweat streaming in His eyes to
block His vision, the heavy weight of the lumber He carried oppressive on His
lacerated back and shoulders. And He was
thirsty! “As dry as a potsherd is my
throat; my tongue sticks to my palate…” (Psalm 22:16)
At
least for us, when we hit that wall have the comfort of an audience cheering
and encouraging us. “You got this!” “Come on!”
“Not much farther!” And water,
and bands playing, and cowbells ringing, and smiling faces giving you a
high-five. There are even motivational
signs and a guy dressed like Elvis performing on a roadside stage for your
enjoyment!
For
Jesus, He met only with derision- insults, mockery, hatred. No one gave Him a hand up, no one encouraged
Him. And
He was doing all of this to save us, not just competing in a silly
race.
He
had to be really low. At the bottom.
I’m
haunted each time at this station by the words from Lamentations 1:12-13:
Come,
all you who pass by the way, look and see whether there is any suffering like
my suffering, which has been dealt me when the Lord afflicted me on the day of
his blazing wrath. From on high he sent
fire down into my very frame; He spread a net for my feet, and overthrew
me. He left me desolate, in pain all the
day.
I
think, “Look!” “Look and see!” See Him there;
thrown into the mud and trampled underfoot, He Who is our creator! Who did all
that to save us! He showed us, He taught
us what the depth of real love is and His desire to drink the entire cup of
suffering for each one of us when, instead of simply dying in the street like a
dog, He did the following:
Then,
from reserves that could only come from the Divine, He took deep, gulping
breaths, He yelled out in anguish as He pushed up from that place in the dirt
and put one unsteady foot on the ground.
He grit His teeth, a stream of blood mixed with spittle and His sacred
tears fell to the ground as He muscled that cross back onto His ravaged
shoulder. He sobbed out again, but no
one could hear Him through the shouting and insults.
With
everything He had He set that other foot back onto solid ground and raised Himself up. He fixed His eyes on the road ahead. And He put one foot in front of the
other. And He moved on.
No comments:
Post a Comment