Station Fourteen, Jesus is laid in the tomb

At my mother's grave-side internment, there were about two hundred people present when a train suddenly passed by on the tracks which ran near the cemetery.  The priest paused for a moment as he waited for the rumbling  giant to pass by.  I wondered if anyone on the train knew who we were, why we were there, who was being buried, or, did they even notice that we were there.  How I wanted to be on that train.   We then retired to my Mom's home to begin the arduous task of clearing out a lifetime of memories. How cathartic to see her home empty and devoid of identifying belongings.   

Shortly after two hurricanes only a week apart struck our area, a woman called me at the suicide hotline.  Not only was her house destroyed, but her mom's graveside in the local cemetery was flooded and the area where her mom was interned had washed away.  The hurricane took this woman's present, future and past.  She was living in her mom's home which was paid for long ago, she didn't have a job, nor did she have insurance.  We discussed whether this was the end or a beginning.  I wasn't there to solve her problems, just to help her get through the moment.

I ascertained that she was a religious woman so we talked about the two Mary's who kept vigil at the tomb of Jesus and how they discovered the tomb empty three days later.   What could those women have been feeling at the thought of Jesus' body being stolen?  Later, when Jesus appeared to Mary, she didn't recognize him until he called her by name.  There is much power in calling someone by name.  At the suicide hotline, I always get the name of a caller, even if they want to give me  fake name.  I then make it a point to use a caller's name throughout all phone call.  It is often the difference between life and death, hope or despair, simply calling someone by name. 

I read in the paper this morning about a principal at an elementary school in Alabama who wrote a letter to the office of parole in support of a convicted felon's pardon.  It was unbelievable how many people were appalled at his action in an attempt at trying to help a man resurrect his life.  Due to the outcry and demands from a victims of crime group, like a blood thirsty crowd demanding the release of Barabbas, there were demands to the school board to remove the principal from his position.  No good deed goes unpunished.

Joseph of Arimathea risked his own life as he accepted Jesus’ body for burial.
 He laid his body there in a cave and rolled a large stone in front of it, then went home. What a sad day it has been for so many people. 

Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
by Mary Frye

    Do not stand at my grave and weep,
    I am not there; I do not sleep.
    I am a thousand winds that blow,
    I am the diamond glints on snow,
    I am the sun on ripened grain,
    I am the gentle autumn rain.
    When you awaken in the morning’s hush
    I am the swift uplifting rush
    Of quiet birds in circling flight.
    I am the soft starlight at night.
    Do not stand at my grave and cry,
    I am not there; I did not die.

Mary Frye, who was living in Baltimore at the time, wrote the poem in 1932. She had never written any poetry, but the plight of a young German Jewish woman, Margaret Schwarzkopf, who was staying with her and her husband, inspired the poem. Margaret Schwarzkopf had been concerned about her mother, who was ill in Germany, but she had been warned not to return home because of increasing anti-Semitic unrest. When her mother died, the heartbroken young woman told Frye that she never had the chance to “stand by my mother’s grave and shed a tear”. Frye found herself composing a piece of verse on a brown paper shopping bag. Later she said that the words “just came to her” and expressed what she felt about life and death.

Indeed, finding leads to losing, but losing lets you find.

O God, your blessed Son was laid in a tomb in a garden and rested on the Sabbath day: Grant that we who have been buried with him in the waters of baptism may find our perfect rest in his eternal and glorious kingdom; where he lives and reigns for ever and ever. Amen.

The Thirteenth Station, Jesus is taken down from the cross, by Joanne.

Jesus is placed in his mother’s arms.  A mother receives the body of a son.  Was it a senseless death, helpless, hopeless.  The grief is the same.  The wars continue.  Today, another Gulf war mother will receive her son’s body.  Helpless. 

My son has just finished his third tour in the Middle East.  I am so thankful that he will come home safely to my arms.  There are many mothers who will not be so lucky.  Their last visions of their sons and husbands will be in a morgue where the touch will be cold and the loss senseless. 

I knew an elderly woman who was dying of cancer.  When I visited her once, she said to me, if you come here and feel sorry for me, I don’t ever want you to come back.  Feeling sorry for someone is pity, not compassion.  Pity puts one in a stance of looking down upon the sick one.  Compassion (with - suffering) puts one side by side.  This elderly woman had found that the only healing possible in this world of medical miracles is the ability to accept one’s death even as one fights to hang on to life.  With this healing comes hope.  With this attitude comes compassion.  With this inner peace comes resurrection.  When this woman died, I was there holding on to her hand.  At her funeral, I was there holding her as a pall bearer of life. 

In the Pieta, Mary holds her Son on her lap as though he were again a boy she would comfort after a fall.  This gives me the inspiration to comfort the mourning, to minister to bereaved families, to keep vigil with those made homeless, orphaned or widowed, disabled or powerless by their experience of war.   Unlike many other mother's I will get to hold my living son.

Jesus, how brutally you were put to death. How gently you are taken from the cross. Your suffering and pain are ended, and you are put in the lap of your mother. The dirt and blood are wiped away. You are treated with love.

Sometimes we seem to be kinder when someone dies. If only we could learn to see the good things about them while they were alive. If only we would tell those around us how much we love them, while we still have the opportunity to do so.

Help us look for the good in those around us, especially those we love the most. Help us live each day as if it were the last. Help us become more gentle and loving people through our greater appreciation for those around us.  Amen.

The Twelfth Station, Jesus Dies On The Cross

It is finished.  Death by violence.  It wasn't the first time and won't be the last.  Across the country each day, people are shot, stabbed, starved, frozen, they die in auto accidents, they die from disease and, for many, no one cares.  Jesus said "I am thirsty."  and everyday there are many who thirst for the uncommon wine of compassion and relief from suffering.

I know a Deacon who used to serve the Roman Catholic church. When his son, the church organist, contracted HIV and developed AIDS, he and his wife were ashamed and told no one.  Eventually their son died and everyone in the parish found out as word spread faster than the Good News being shouted from the roof tops.  The deacon and his family felt no compassion or support from their parish nor their priest.  People didn't even want to receive Holy Communion from the Deacon because in those days, people were ignorant about how HIV was transferred.  The Deacon left the Roman church and for the longest time he didn't attend anywhere.

He and his wife are no longer ashamed of their gay son, nor of AIDS, nor that he died, nor for the secret they kept for so long.  Now they are very proud because the death of their son has empowered them to do volunteer work helping men to get tested regularly and promoting safe sex.  Out of their son's death has come much life, love, support and compassion for others.  They have refused to allow differences to destroy life but to save lives.

Father in heaven above, as Jesus hung on the cross, he forgave the soldiers who had crucified him, and prayed for his mother and friends. Jesus wanted all of us to be able to live forever with God, so he gave all he had for us.  May our lives drink in the wine of your compassion for, in the cup of suffering are mingled all our tears and fears.  Help us to pass this cup around.  Amen.

Station Eleven, Jesus is nailed to the Cross

The soldiers take big nails and drive them into Jesus' wrists and feet.  He has done nothing but good, yet they crucify him.  The soldiers have their counterparts today.  Some countries torture, brainwash, water-board, beat, electrically shock and humiliate their political prisoners and seldom do the people protest too strongly.   Instead, many people turn to Facebook where they can spew venom, invectives and callous hate with seeming impunity.  Torture doesn't have to be as deliberate as driving nails into someone's flesh.  It could be an ill chosen word, a thoughtless action, a comment on a Facebook page, or, sometimes not to act is to act. 

Sometimes we discriminate against others. Even without thinking, we judge others because of their color, intelligence, income level or name. We forget that we are to live as a brother or sister to all people. Sometimes we use harsh words when we speak to our children and family members. We can find it easy to look for something that isn’t very important and make it very important.

An organist for a local Roman Catholic church was living with a secret:  He was gay.  He was a dynamic musician and brought much life to the church liturgies and was an instrument for growth in the parish.  When he contracted AIDS and became too ill to continue serving his parish, he quit, word spread quickly and the church was scandalized.  The priest said "If I knew he was gay, I never would have hired him."   There was no forgiveness or compassion.  His father was even the deacon for the parish.

Sister Karen Klimczak of Buffalo ran a halfway house for ex prisoners.  She took in a new resident who was struggling with drug addiction.  His name was Craig Lynch.  It was Good Friday, 2007 and when Lynch saw Sister Karen's cell phone on a table,he strangled her and took her phone to sell for drug money.  Sixteen years earlier Sister Karen predicted her murder and wrote a letter forgiving the person who would one day take her life.  The letter was found in her belongings after her death and read in court at Lynch's sentencing:

“Dear Brother, I don’t know what the circumstances are that will lead you to hurt me or destroy my physical body.  No, I don’t want it to happen.  I would much rather enjoy the beauties of this earth, experience the laughter, the fears and the tears of those I love so deeply!  Now my life has changed and you, my brother, were the instrument of that change.  I forgive you for what you have done and I will always watch over you, help you in whatever way I can. . . . Continue living always mindful of His Presence, His Love and His Joy as sources of life itself — then my life will have been worth being changed through you.” 

Deputy District Attorney Frank A. Sedita stood up afterward and said, “There’s been talk of forgiveness, but, Judge, forgiveness is for God. Sentencing is for court.”  Lynch received the maximum of 25 years to life.  At that, the other nuns and co-workers of Sister Karen stood up and hugged the family of Lynch. 

Forgiveness can be hard, but, forgiveness is also very easy; Living with hate is very hard.  It is an endless downward spiral with the gravitational pull of a black hole but, it is surprisingly very simple to step out of.  Just like the cross - a symbol of death can be a symbol of life, compassion and forgiveness.  But, only to those with eyes to see. 

Almighty Father, help us look again at the people around us. Help us see the hurt and pain in others. Help us make amends for the harm we have done.Clothe us in your Spirit that we, reaching forth our hands in love, may bring those who do not know you to the knowledge and love of you; for the honor of your name.  Amen.

The Tenth Station of the Cross; Jesus is stripped of his garments, by Maggie

His clothes are stripped away and he is left naked before the crowed.  Stripped of the little that is his.  Stripped of dignity.   Forced to feel shame.  Humiliated. 

I had a normal and happy childhood, I thought.  I didn’t know I was different until other kids told me.  I was adopted by an American couple.  They came to Korea and chose me out of a nursery of a dozen other children.  Children can be merciless and hurtful.  They made fun of my slanted eyes and made up names about me and my heritage.  I felt my dignity was being taken away from me through emotional assault and humiliation.   I am able to forgive the mindless abusers who reduced and denied my humanity.   They didn’t really know what they were doing, they didn’t know the scars they were creating inside me that would last a lifetime.   They did however teach me to have a profound respect for those who are different.  Jesus didn’t allow evil to strip him of his dignity on the cross.  He has taught me to honor this humble house of flesh in which God is at home and we are garbed in spirit-strength and dignity. 

God, help us to keep ourselves pure and clean. Help us say things that build up the people around us. Help us overcome worldly desires that we may become more like Jesus. Help us set a good example for others to follow.  Amen.

The Ninth Station; Jesus falls the Third Time, by Mary.

At one time, I had everything and my life was filled with happiness and promise.  Then, one day I was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis.  I fell the first time.  Eight months later my husband left me because he was afraid that in time he would have to take care of me as my condition worsened.  I fell the second time.   Later that year a mugger outside the hospital slashed my palm with a knife, I had to have surgery and it took a long time to heal.  I fell the third time.  I even fell a fourth time when I became addicted and dependent upon pain killers.  During this time however, I discovered a purposeful religious life.  I found out that I could help other people and that by sharing my story, I could inspire others.  Wrestling with my grief, pain and anger, I found my destiny.  The old saying goes three strikes and you’re out but not for Jesus.  He got up and kept going.   I too had to keep going.  I discovered that life is to live intensely.  It doesn’t matter how many times you fail or fall, or even how many lives you touch.  No matter how many times you fall, courage is found in getting up again.  The road of life may be long and hard and strewn with pain and suffering, but the destination and destiny is in living life to the fullest.    I thank God that I have the strength to keep getting up and going on because with every turn in life I discover beauty and something worth living for, especially when I discover it is in living for others that I discover that life is worth living. 

Thanks to our beautiful prison ministry here at our loving church, I can forgive the mugger, I can forgive my husband, I can even forgive myself for blaming God for the MS.  They were all blood stained gifts to the discovery of love, compassion, mercy and forgiveness.  They have made me a better person and in turn, helped me to make other people, better people.

O God by the passion of your blessed Son you made an instrument of shameful death to be for us the means of life: Grant us so to glory in the cross of Christ, that we may gladly suffer shame and loss for the sake of your Son our Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.

The Eighth Station; Jesus Meets the Women, by Christine

Forgetting his own pain, Jesus consoles the woman who are weeping for him.  If we reflect on the millions who are facing death from hunger, those imprisoned, those living under bridges, the jobless, we too may feel like crying, but tears do not produce comfort or bread.

When the institutional church fails to practice the justice it so movingly proclaims to the world, we are diminished as Christians.  How many tears must a woman shed for her sons?  How many tears are being shed today by mothers for their children; by sisters for their brothers; by daughters for their fathers?  The tears of women around the world water the earth every day.   As I got off the bus which took me to visit a loved one in prison, the women gathered in the waiting room with tears, fear, anger, and eagerness.  Some of them shared their stories and some of them brought their children.  Their tears were real and so was their faith. 

I volunteer for the wonderful prison ministry here at our church and it was the week of Thanksgiving.  I was hired to play the guitar for a special Thanksgiving Mass to be held that week in a local jail.  The local Bishop and priests were invited to say Mass for the inmate population.  Over fifty priests showed up and the press was there to take pictures of the church living its ministry to the poor, oppressed and imprisoned.  The tiny chapel could only hold about sixty people.  Only ten inmates were invited to attend this Mass.  If there were not so many priests present for this ministerial photo-op, there would have been room for more inmates to attend.   I can only imagine, if Jesus were there, as in the temple, he would have stormed in and knocked over the tables and maybe even punched a few priests in the noses.   Jesus wasn’t angry over money changing hands that day as much as he was angry that the vendors displaced the poorest of the poor from being able to enter the temple to pray.   

Like Jesus himself, the women and children and the inmates are like grain to be ground by the millstone of injustice.  The powers and principalities will one day be vanquished, but in the interim, there is solace in mutual love and steadfast resistance.     

Jesus, as you carry your cross you see a group of women along the road. As you pass by you see they are sad. You stop to spend a moment with them, to offer them some encouragement. Although you are have been abandoned by your friends and are in pain, you stop and try to help them.  Sometimes we act like children. We become so absorbed in ourselves and in what we’d like that we forget about the needs of others. We take them for granted, and often ignore their needs. Help us to think more about others. Help us to remember that others have problems, too. Help us respond to them even when we’re busy or preoccupied with our own problems.

The Seventh Station; Jesus falls the second time

Jesus is so tired that he falls again under the weight of the cross.  He is bruised and bleeding and the soldiers whip him to hurry him along.

If we are afraid of falling, we will never walk again.  If our focus is on not falling, we will miss the thrill of living.   An infant learning to walk will fall but get back up to try again.  Each time, they will get stronger and better for their failure.  How many times have we heard from a convicted felon that his going to prison was the best thing that ever happened to them?  Either because they discovered strength and perseverance that they did not know they had, a deep font of compassion for the least of these or, it saved their life from a downward spiral of crime and destructive behavior.  Falling and failure often makes us stronger.

Remember the great circus act, “The Flying Walendas”?  It was a family of performers who glided through the air with the greatest of ease.  They dared the forces of gravity by walking on wires stretched high across canyons and chasms of every sort.  In 1978, Karl Walenda, the founder of the troupe died when he fell trying to walk a wire between two ten-story buildings in Puerto Rico.   Later, Karl's wife told a newspaper “All Karl thought about for three months prior to his death was falling.  It seemed to me that he put all his energies into NOT falling rather than WALKING that tightrope.” 

Where do we put our energies?  On our fear of falling or our faith in walking?   Falling is the easy part, it is getting up that is the hard part.  When we fall, we can get up and walk again.  When we fail in sin, we can be forgiven again.   When a loved one dies, we can live again.  Jesus fell in love for us, for whom will we fall?

The Sixth Station: Veronica wipes the face of Jesus

Without any fear of public opinion, Veronica rushes out from the crowd and presses her veil to the bleeding, sweaty and filthy face of Jesus. She can’t do much, but she offers what little help she can.  What will people think of her as she breaks rank to tend to this lawbreaker, to someone living on the fringe of society, to this convicted felon? She rejected the standards of society because she saw dignity in the face of this condemned man for whom she did not know.

What would we do for a loved one?  Would we run into a burning building? Would we dive into turgid flood waters? Would we ignore hospital visitation rules? Would we fly across the country at a moments notice? Would we stand between them and a vicious animal? Would we break the ranks of a barricade as Veronica did? We would do anything for someone we love, just as Veronica did for Jesus?

Sometimes we fail to notice the needs around us. Sometimes our own family members crave our attention, and we don’t even seem to notice. Sometimes a co-worker, friend, or family member could use help or understanding, but we don’t reach out to help lest we be criticized, or fear that they'll demand more of us than we’d like to give.

When my mother was dying from emphysema I took two months off to take care of her.  During the final two weeks of her life she was in a morphine induced sleep. I never left her side. I propped her pillows, rolled her over, gave her sponge baths, brushed her hair, I sang and read to her. I even slept on the floor beside her bed each night. It was both the most difficult and beautiful event of my life and I would do it all over again.

The name "Veronica" comes from two Latin words, "true" and "image." After Veronica wiped the face of Jesus, her veil was in imprinted with an image of Jesus' face.  I have photographs and memories of my mother imprinted in my mind and heart so that I can remember her.  I am now more inclined to be patient, forgiving and understanding to strangers because of the gift of love I experienced while caring for my mother.  May we see the face of Christ on every person we meet, to love and serve them all the days of our lives.

O God, help us see the needs of others as being as important as our own needs. Remind us to go out of our way to be helpful, even if we’re not asked. Help us to not be concerned about what others may think of us as we take the road less traveled, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Finding leads to losing
losing let's you find
living leads to dying
but life leaves death behind
-Ken  Medema.

The Fifth Station; Simon helps Jesus Carry the Cross, by Mark.

There he was minding his own business as part of a large crowd when the soldiers grabbed Simon and forced him to help the struggling Jesus. Whether Simon was reluctant to help or not isn't important.  After all who wants to worry about other people's problems.  We have enough of our own. But there is much we can do to help people who are stumbling under the weight of their own crosses even when it would be easier to look the other way. 

Every day, hundreds of people die of neglect, violence, abuse, hunger and even lack of clean water. When we feed or shelter another person we are doing the same for Christ. When we lift unjust burdens from another person or defend them against prejudice and exploitation, we are lifting the same burdens from Christ's shoulders. When we change unjust systems, racism, sexism, unfair wages, unfair trade and alienation, we alleviate the suffering of one million Christ's. When we take a step out of the crowd we stand in the spotlight of someone else's suffering, we make a difference in another person's story.  

In Marty Haugen's song, "We Remember," verse four starts: "See the face of Christ revealed in every person standing by your side;" and verse one begins, "Here, a million wounded souls are yearning just to touch you and be healed."  Sharing in another person's passion (suffering) holds the promise of transformation in our own lives. This single step, this initial attempt to help carry another person's cross is a ladder to the very heart of God.

Heavenly Father, whose blessed Son came not to be served but to serve: Bless all who, following in his steps, give themselves to the service of others: that with wisdom, patience and courage, they may minister in His name to the suffering, the friendless and the needy. Help us notice the needs of those around us. Help us do more than just stand there and watch. Help us see the needs of others as opportunities for us to reach out and help as you did. 

The Fourth Station; Jesus meets his Mother, by Sharon

Mary watches her son being dragged toward certain death.  She is helpless to save him.

As a nurse, I find it difficult to watch people come in to the ER and with all my training and experience I find myself helpless to do anything to save  them.  The most difficult scene which I see replayed over and over in the ER is when a child or infant come in and there is nothing their mother’s can do to save them.   I have seen children with tumors on the brain, mangled limbs from automobile accidents, teens overdosed on drugs, and babies with genetic blood disorders.   Pre-planning the funeral for a baby is not the way it is supposed to be.

What was Mary thinking when she saw her son’s battered and bruised body.  When their eyes met and they saw each other through the blood, the sweat, and the tears.   As heart wrenching as this scene is time and again, I am often touched by the scene of mother and child's eyes meeting, if just for a moment, there is a deep affection held in that sacred stare.

I pray that I always have the courage not to look away but to look toward the light and hold in our hearts the look of love.

Jesus, you feel so alone with all those people yelling and screaming at you. You don’t like the words they are saying about you, and you look for a friendly face in the crowd. You see your mother. She can’t make the hurting stop, but it helps to see that she is on your side, that she is suffering with you. She does understand and care.  Amen.

The Third Station; Jesus falls the first time

The cross is heavy and the road is long, Jesus falls to the ground and the soldiers drag him to his feet again.  The world is filled with people who have fallen and are trying desperately to get up.  People released from prison, the persecuted, a student struggling in school or with peer pressure, a breadwinner losing a job, or someone being told they have cancer.

While driving in downtown Amsterdam, I stopped at a light and noticed a homeless man with a long scar across his face, like a map to a life of pain and strife.  He was picking through the trash scattered along the road looking for discarded cans and bottles.  This down and out man depended upon the waste and squander of other people in order to survive.  I can’t imagine what happened to this man which brought him to such low estate.

It doesn’t take long for Jesus to fall from the weight of the cross.  When he falls the first time, can we imagine his head hitting the pavement or the crown of thorns pushing down and embedding into his head or the welts beginning to rise on the body of Christ?  Are we like spectators at an accident, looking for gore and missing the meaning and the call?

When we fall to the ground under the weight of our crosses, the temptation is to stay down low.  When someone else falls, the temptations is to stare, mock, look the other way, not get involved, or to think that it’s not any of our business.  

When we take the time to notice that we are all on our knees in some way or another, we might see some of the broken pieces of our lives scattered on the ground and how brightly they can shine in the eyes of another when their courage swells.  Dorothy Day once kissed the countenance of a cancerous faced woman.  She said, "When we kiss the face of someone who has fallen, we kiss the face of Christ."    Do we see the face of Christ revealed in every person standing by our side?

Jesus, the cross you have been carrying is very heavy. You are becoming weak and almost ready to faint, and you fall down. Nobody seems to want to help you.  Sometimes we put things off. Sometimes we give up too easily, and don’t do our work or give other people a chance.  Help us to do our work as well as we can and to finish what we have started. When we fall, help us get up again and keep going.

The Second Station: Jesus Takes Up His Cross, by Nat.

A heavy cross is thrust into Jesus’ arms and he is ordered to carry it.  Jesus accepts it.  We are burdened by so many crosses in life.  Crosses of fear, loneliness, hunger, poverty, persecution, relationships.  We scarcely notice people who are also carrying crosses: students struggling in school, a grandmother who is nearing the end of life, people who are afraid or lonely, someone in a relationship of unrequited love, the loss of job, homelessness, hunger, a diagnosis of cancer.  Sometimes we feel like we’re not appreciated. Sometimes we feel as if we accept more responsibility than we need to. We can feel sorry for ourselves, even though the crosses others carry are much larger than our own. In our self-pity, we may not reach out to help.

While serving my country in the army during World War Two, my platoon was ambushed by enemy fire.  A shell went off nearby and shrapnel flew everywhere.  Several pieces hit me and I was overcome with pain as the searing metal fragments sliced into the bone and muscle of my foot and ankle.  As enemy fire flashed around us, I knew that we had to retreat to a more safe location.  Despite the pain, I rose to my knees and noticed that the other men were severely injured.  Just as Jesus took up his cross, I too had to do what was required of me.  Practically paralyzed with pain, one by one, on my backside I dragged my brothers to safety, lifting each of them over a stone wall, away from enemy fire, to life.

As the macabre crucifixion scene plays out, Jesus labors to be upright and impervious to the jeers of some in the crowd.  Yet, there is an oasis within, a place where psalms still flourish.  Just as Jesus lumbered forward, I too did what was the right thing to do, choosing life with each labored pull and step. 

Almighty God, whose beloved Son willingly endured the agony and shame of the cross for our redemption: Give us courage to take up our cross and follow him; who lives and reigns for ever and ever. Amen.

*Nat received a Silver Star, Bronze Star and Purple Heart for his heroism on that day.

Stations of the Cross

One of my favorite seasons of the church year is Lent and one of my most favorite devotions is/are the stations of the cross. In the various churches I have served I have organized dozens of living stations of the cross services utilizing between 40 - 60 participants serving as actors, readers, musicians and writers.  During the next forty days I will occasionally blog a meditation from many of those various presentations.

The First Station; Jesus is Condemned to Death

Fearing for uprisings,  the government made it a law that no person shall proclaim to be the Messiah. Jesus broke that law, was arrested, accused, tried, judged, and executed. Many people today would perceive that law as an injustice but, it was the law of the day. Jesus took seriously the mission described in Isaiah: "The Spirit of the Lord has anointed me to bring glad tidings to the poor, to proclaim liberty to captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free." Injustice or not, Jesus broke the law and for proclaiming the kingdom that challenges the order of society and, in order to protect that current society and its powers, Jesus had to die.

Jesus stood all alone before Pilate.  His friends and followers abandoned him.  Nobody spoke up for him. Nobody helped defend him. He devoted his entire life to helping others, listening to the most hated of society and caring for those who were ignored by others. Nobody seemed to remember that as they prepared to put him to death.  No good deed goes unpunished. 

Sometimes we feel abandoned and afraid. Sometimes we may feel like we are treated unfairly or blamed for things we haven’t done. We have a hard time when people criticize us at home or at work.  Alternatively, we sometimes put other people down or mock them because they are different. We do this to fellow students and fellow workers, family members we know who will forgive us, to people from different cultures or different nationalities. We do this to people we don't like or are afraid of or feel superior to or threatened by.

For comfort and purposes of good health I spend 98% of my time barefoot. I like to feel on the bottom of my feet the cool and the warmth, the sharp and the round, the smooth and the rough. From a lifetime of walking barefoot I feel at one with the ground. When God called Moses to be a prophet he said to him, "Remove the sandals from your feet, for the place where you stand is holy ground." Wherever we stand, it is holy ground. The blood of the poor, the condemned, the accused, the hatred, the different, the lost, the abandoned, the forsaken, the homeless and the oppressed, has seeped into the soil beneath all our feet. This is holy ground. Without shoes our feet can feel the sharp pain from pieces of broken dreams hidden in the dirt on the ground where we stand. Our feet will kick up the dust of our past mistakes and condemnations of others. Only when we remove the feel good masking comfort of our thick soled shoes will we become one with the holy ground and everything which makes it holy (a friend of mine puts a silver dollar coin in her shoe during Lent to remind her of holy ground with each step she takes).

Almighty God, whose most dear Son suffered pain and was crucified, mercifully grant that we, walking in the way of the cross on your holy ground, may find it none other than the way of life, healing and peace; through Jesus Christ you Son our Lord.  Amen

"Well, the earth is the Lord’s
and the fullness thereof
From the waters beneath
To the heavens above, so...
Take, Take off your shoes
You’re standing on my holy ground
You’re standing on my holy ground"
-Jim Manley.