Acts 2:14, 223-23; 1Peter 1: 17-21; Luke 24: 13-35
I mentioned in my homily last week that, one of the things I like about our Sunday Gospels, is that they’re often episodic . . . that the Gospel that we hear one weekend, is sometimes a continuation of the Gospel we heard the previous week, or have been hearing over the course of several weeks. And that’s the case today. Although this is the Third Sunday of Easter, our Gospel today is still taking us back to what happened on that first Easter Sunday around 33 AD.
Today we hear what happened in the mid-to-late afternoon, as two downcast, depressed, disheartened, discouraged and disillusioned disciples walked to a town called Emmaus, seven miles outside of Jerusalem. They discuss with one another the events of the past weekend: how the one they hoped would be the Messiah was violently, brutally, put to death. But today, their grief and disillusionment has joined hands with their confusion and bewilderment at the reports that now, three days later, His body has disappeared from its resting place. These two are met up with someone they mistakenly believe is a stranger, who, through the course of their seven-mile trek, breaks open the Scriptures for them and shows them why it was necessary for the Messiah to suffer and die. But it isn’t until he breaks the loaf of bread with them that their eyes are opened. He is no stranger. He is Jesus.
I love that Scripture passage for numerous reasons. But I also find it intriguing . . . what prevented Cleopas and his unnamed companion from recognizing Jesus? You would think, that being in his company on a seven-mile trip, at some time they would have recognized Him! I checked on Google just how long such a trip would have taken. I found out that the average person, walking at a moderate pace, walks one mile in about twenty minutes. And so, the stroll from Jerusalem to Emmaus would have taken at least two hours and twenty minutes! TWO HOURS AND TWENTY MINUTES??? And they don’t recognize the one they’ve been following, pinning their hopes on, loving, and now mourning??? How is that possible?
We could engage in a lot of speculation, but the fact is, there’s probably no way that, in this life, we’ll ever find out the answer to that question. But there is a question that we can find the answer to – What prohibits us from recognizing the Jesus that travels with us on our personal roads to Emmaus?
Well there’s lots of possible explanations to that question. Maybe I’m just too busy. Or maybe I’m too lazy. Maybe there are other people or other things in my life that blind me to his presence. Or maybe I’m afraid that, if I do recognize his presence, there are changes I should make that either I don’t want to make or aren’t ready to make. So, if I don’t recognize him, but want to, where can I find him? Our Gospel today gives us three really good starting places.
Number One:“He interpreted to them what referred to him in all the Scriptures.” In other words, the REALITY of who He is, the MYSTERY of who He is, the TRUTH of who He is was broken open for them through the words of Sacred Scripture. Want to find Jesus? Open up your Bibles . . . He’s THERE! How about you? In the past six weeks or so, have you taken your Bible off the shelf, dusted off its cover, and allowed Jesus to speak to you in what’s written there? Have you searched for answers to your questions, searched for words to calm your fears, deepened your knowledge of God’s presence throughout human history, seen for yourself that God has never abandoned his people, by picking up your Bible and reading. Have you sought an inspiration for the day, a message that God is trying to let you know, right then and right there, by engaging in what some people call “Bible Roulette” and simply thumbing through the Bible, stopping at a random page, closing your eyes and pointing to a particular passage and reading it, convinced that that’s what God wants to tell you? Try it! More often than not, it works. Or have you paused as you scroll through the endless posts on Facebook and taken time to read and reflect on the post that contains the one verse or one passage that a friend felt so meaningful for their lives, they wanted to pass it on to you? As Jesus broke open the Scriptures to the two on the road to Emmaus, let him break forth into your life through His most sacred word.
Number Two:“They recognized Him in the breaking of the bread,” the Eucharist. Although recent surveys tell us that 70% of our fellow Catholics no longer believe in the true presence of Christ in the Eucharist, the TRUTH is the TRUTH! And the TRUTH is that the Eucharist IS the body, blood, soul and divinity of Christ. Not a sign, not a symbol, not a nostalgic glance back at the Last Supper! Want to recognize Jesus? Recognize that reality! Adore Him! Receive Him! “Oh but Deacon, I can’t do that in this pandemic lockdown. And doing it remotely, through livestreams and praying the “Prayer of Spiritual Communion” just isn’t cutting it for me.” GOOD! Let me ask you: Has your desire for Jesus heightened over the past six weeks? Has your devotion to His sacramental presence deepened? Has your conviction of His true presence in the Eucharist actually become stronger, having now been deprived of what you previously took for granted? Do you now truly hunger and thirst to participate in the sacrificial meal and be satiated at the Eucharistic banquet? When the doors to our church are reopened, will you ever look upon the Eucharist in the same way as you did in the past? Do you now possess a deeper love and a more profound appreciation for the Eucharist than you ever had before? I hope so. I know I do.
Number Three:“Jesus himself drew near and walked with them, but their eyes were prevented from recognizing him.” Jesus appeared to the two on the road to Emmaus as a stranger, as someone else. Likewise, could Jesus be making himself present to you in the words and actions of others, even in the midst of our pandemic lockdown?
How about the Frontliners - the doctors, the nurses, the other health care professionals, the police officers, fire fighters, rescue squad volunteers and all those who continue to put their own lives on the line for us. In them do you see Jesus’ sacrificial love?
How about our teachers, who on such short notice, have had to become adept at teaching remotely and creatively in ways that were never taught in any Methods in Education class they took in college. In them do you see Christ’s complete dedication to us?
What about the parents whose love and patience has been put to test and their vocation as mom and dad taken on new dimensions as they’re now with their children 24/7 and have added “Teacher” to their parental resume. In them do you see the presence of Christ’s selflessness?
What about our priests who had to learn livestreaming on the fly and not only use it to celebrate the Mass, but Adoration, the Divine Mercy Chaplet, the Rosary and Morning Prayer, as well. Or how about the priests who have thought outside of the box and have built confessional sheds or engage in “drive through” confessions? In them have you noticed the presence of Christ’s constant love?
Or what about some of own parishioners who have used their time and talents to make masks for those who need them or have used their own resources to buy breakfasts and lunches to deliver to area hospitals. Or how about those friends who have called, texted or messaged you on Facebook to say, “Hi. How you doing? Do you have enough food? If you need anything, just let me know.” In them, have you seen the presence of Christ’s compassion?
Yes, Jesus might not look like he does in the statues and stained-glass windows that adorn our churches or the pious pictures of classic works of art. But look around. Squint you eyes. Adjust your focus. He’s present. He’s here. He just looks different than you thought.
Acts 10: 34A, 37-43; Colossians 3: 1-4; Matthew 28: 1-10
Be not afraid . . . Lord, that is the first message that your angel proclaimed to Mary when she was asked to be the mother of your Son. And it is the first message that your angel proclaimed to the women at your empty tomb on the morning of your Resurrection . . .
Be not afraid . . .
Are those words also meant for me on this Easter morning? Because, Lord, I AM AFRAID! And sometimes, Lord, I'm not even sure I know what I fear but I know when I'm afraid because I know how fear feels - and I know when I feel it . . .
And you tell me, Be not afraid . . .
Sometimes I'm afraid of things in my past, things that don't even exist anymore: the ghosts of things long gone . . .
And you tell me, Be not afraid . . .
And sometimes I'm afraid of what doesn't yet exist: I fear what's next, or what might be, or what could be . . .
And you tell me, Be not afraid . . .
Sometimes, Lord, I'm afraid of people . . . people who are strangers . . . people who I know wield power over me . . . people who have it in for me . . . even people who love and care for me – fear that they just don't "get me" . . . fear that I will disappoint them . . . fear that they will disappoint me . . . fear of losing their love . . .
And you tell me, Be not afraid . . .
Sometimes, Lord, I'm afraid of myself, of who I am and what I've done or what I might do or fail to do . . .
And you tell me, Be not afraid . . .
Sometimes, Lord, I'm afraid of you. Sometimes I'm afraid of what you know about me, what you think about me, what you ask of me, what you expect of me. And sometimes, Lord, I'm afraid that you don't hear me or see me or love me . . .
And you tell me, Be not afraid . . .
And now, Lord, I’m afraid. I’m afraid to leave my home. I’m afraid of living life in the way that I always have. I’m afraid of social contact that is too close. I’m afraid of germs and illness and death. I’m afraid so, I hide behind masks and gloves and locked doors. And perhaps most of all, Lord, I’m afraid of the future. I’m afraid because I can’t see it. I'm afraid that I have lost control of it. I’m afraid to make plans that might ultimately need to be cancelled in the uncertain future. I’m afraid because I can’t see when this pandemic will end. I’m afraid that this new way of life might never end and that it is the new normal. What will it take, Lord, what must I do, to step out of my fear, beyond my fear, to trust in you, to walk with you with confidence that you are my strength, my safety and my shield?
And you tell me again and again: Fear not . . . have no fear . . . be not afraid . . .
Lord, on this Easter Sunday, do not let my fear blind me to the truth that is revealed in faith. You are RISEN! You are RISEN INDEED! O Risen Lord . . .
Do not let my fear take away my joy – YOU LIVE!
Do not let my fear take away my hope – DEATH, DEPRESSION, DEFEAT, DISAPPOINTMENT ARE NOT THE END OF THE STORY, AS THE CROSS WAS NOT THE END OF YOURS!
Do not let my fear paralyze me – LET ME RUN AND AWAIT YOU IN WHEREVER GALILEE IS IN MY LIFE WHERE YOU WILL TURN MY FEAR TO CONFIDENCE; MY HOPELESSNESS TO TRUST, MY GRIEF TO JOY; MY CONFUSION TO UNDERSTANDING, MY DEPRESSION TO SERENITY, MY LOSS TO FULFILLMENT AND MY DEFEAT TO VICTORY!
You tell me again, Lord: Be not afraid . . .
Take me by the hand, Lord, put your hand on my shoulder: guide, lead and push me where I need to go and let me know you're by my side, that I am never alone. Encourage me to trust you, to believe that you are with me always; to see that you are greater than anything I fear, than anyone I fear; that in your company, I have nothing to fear and I need not be afraid.
Lord, on this Easter day when the seemingly impossible happened and death gave way to life, and darkness gave way to light, and fear gave way to hope nudge me just a step beyond my doubts and fears to a point where I can look back and see: that much of what I'd feared had no real power over me; that much of what I feared I'd meet was really nothing to fear after all; that in taking that one small step I found that you are at my side, that you are my strength, my safety, my shield; that you are with me and I am not alone . . .
You tell me again, Lord: Be not afraid . . .
And I need to hear your words, again and again, until my faith is stronger than my doubt, my trust is stronger than my worries and my joy greater than my fear . . . Help me believe, Lord, that with your help I can walk out of my fear, beyond my fear, to joy. Fill my heart with your presence and be with me everywhere I go, every step of the way . . .
Did you see the narrow streets already crowded with pilgrims and visitors mingling with the merchants from the villages and the shepherds coming down from the hills? There were men and women carrying burdens – baskets of vegetables, casks of wine, jugs of water – tradesmen with their tools, the aged - stooped with years, the children playing – calling to each other in shrill voices. Here a donkey stood sleepily beneath his burden in the sunlight. There, under a narrow canopy, a merchant shouted his wares in a street-side stall.
Did you see the procession of Roman Legionnaires as they forced their way through the throng, pushing pilgrim and merchant, the aged and the child aside to the fringes of the street with curses and careless blows? And between them staggered three condemned men, each carrying a heavy wooden cross on which he was to be executed.
The crosses were heavy, and the first of the victims, the man called Jesus of Nazareth, was at the point of collapse, having been scourged, lashed with a leather whip in the thongs of which had been inserted rough pieces of lead. Blood trickled down from wounds in His brow from the twig of long-thorned briar twisted around in the shape of a crown that had been pushed down on His forehead. Slowly, they all moved forward from the courtyard of Pilate's palace and made for one of the gates leading out of the city.
Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
Did you hear the whispers in the crowd? A group of women went with the procession sobbing aloud, others moaning in that deep grief that knows not what to say or do. There were men too. Their lips were moving in prayers and their hearts were heavy - they wanted to help but there was nothing they could do. The deaf he had cured covered their ears to the to the shouts and insults directed at Jesus. Those to whom he had restored sight were blind once again, but this time blinded by tears. And the crippled that he had healed, limped along to accompany Jesus as the procession inched slowly forward.
Did you hear the shouts that grew louder and louder, to a beat, a rhythm, a chant: “crucify, crucify, crucify!” Simon of Cyrene did, as he entered the city gates and found himself jostled and shoved along by the unrelenting crowd. Suddenly, the Man with the cross stumbled and the soldiers, moved more by impatience than by pity, seeing that the Nazarene was almost too exhausted to go any farther, laid hands on Simon and forced him to take the cross. Just a few minutes before, he was a lonely pilgrim quietly approaching the Holy City. Now he is a beast of burden, his shoulders stooped under the weight of a cross on which this Man was soon to die.
Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
Were you there at the place called Golgotha? It was where two great highways converged upon the city, and the valley below was a place of stench, a place of horror, a place of ugliness where garbage always burned and the evil smelling smoke curled up and was wafted over the brow of the scull-shaped hill. This was the place of public execution - Calvary - and here the procession stopped. And there on that hilltop, did you hear as the sounds of shouting were interrupted by the sound of shrieks of pain as nails were driven through human flesh . . . a sound that echoed across the Kidron valley with each hammer blow.
Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
Did you see the faces of those who witnessed the spectacle? There were some who had followed Him once, who had been attracted by the charm of the wonder-worker. Some had accepted loaves and fishes at His hands. Now they shouted taunts at Him. They remembered what He had said and now they hurled His words back at Him - barbed arrows of hate and malice, promises He had made, predictions and eternal truth that had come from His lips. They shouted until they went hoarse. The noise was so great that only a few of them standing near the cross heard what Jesus said when His lips moved in prayer: "Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do."
Where you there when the crucified my Lord?
Did it seem like time oozed out like the blood that dripped from the cross when a thunderstorm was blowing up from the mountains and it was becoming strangely dark? People looked at the ominous sky and became frightened. Women took little children by the hand and hurried back to the city before the storm would break. Yet His mother stayed . . . did you see the grief that pierced her heart?
And were you there when suddenly Jesus opened His eyes and gave a loud cry. The gladness in his voice startled all who heard it for it sounded like a shout of victory. "It is finished. Father into your hands I commend My spirit." And with that cry, He died.
Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
No . . . you weren’t there . . . and neither was I.
But . . . is it not I who dips my hand in the dish with him? Is it not I who leaves the table and goes out into the night and betrays him with every lie I tell, with the gossip I spread, with the cruel and hurtful things I say? Do I not also sell him out for thirty pieces of silver every time I seek vainglory or sell my soul to achieve the riches of this world? Do I not betray Him with a kiss each time I use my affections to satisfy my own selfish and sinful desires rather than for it to express love?
Do I not run away from Him every time I turn away my face and abandon the need of one of His “least ones?” Do I not desert Him when sometimes He is too slow to answer my prayer, or even, perhaps, when everything in my life is going well and I no longer have need of Him? Is it not my voice that boasts, "Lord, even though I should have to die with you, I will not deny you!” while my actions and example scream, “I do not know Him?”
Is it not my lips that cry out, “Crucify Him!” each time I sit in judgement of another? Do I not shout out the name “Barabbas” each and every time I choose condemnation instead of mercy, revenge instead of justice, violence in place of peace, selfishness over service, retribution instead of turning the other cheek?
Do I not scourge His back when I abuse, or even tolerate, the physical, sexual or emotional abuse of another, or abuse my own body with drugs and alcohol? Do I not press a crown of thorns on His head when I play mind games with another and use my intelligence, my wit or my sarcasm to harm someone’s self-esteem? Is it not me who pounds hammer upon nail into His hands and feet every time I sin and thrust a spear into His side through my cold heartedness and indifference to the plight of the poor, the aged, the lonely, the homebound, the outcast, those deprived of the right to life?
Yet, O my Jesus, I hear the words you say from the pulpit of your cross: “Father, forgive them; they know not what they do.” Me, Lord? Forgive me? Even after I have done all this to you . . . you whose only crime is that you love such a one as me for all eternity?
Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
Were you there when they crucified my Lord?
Oh, sometimes it causes me to tremble, tremble, tremble.
Yes . . . yes . . . I WAS THERE when they crucified my Lord.
The cross. To many, a sign of violence, death, and defeat. To us, it is the most sacred, the most cherished of all images. For us it represents Christ’s suffering and victory: a sign of love, life, and triumph. Today, through the Stations of the Cross, in our hearts and through our imaginations we stand on the Via Dolorosa in Jerusalem and retrace the footsteps of Jesus from the Fortress Antonia, where he was condemned to death, to Golgatha, where he was crucified.
What would we see if we were there when Jesus was crucified? Far from the ornate crosses that decorate our churches and homes, we would see a stark cross of rugged wood. Our eyes would see a crucified man dying slowly, his body wrenched by pain. A sight not easy to look at. What would we hear if we were there when Jesus was crucified? The harsh thud of nails driven through wood and flesh, the moaning of the dying, the insults shouted to the cross, the mockery of his enemies to his claim of divinity, the few gasping words of Jesus himself. Sounds not pleasant to the human ear.
It is through the Stations of the Cross that we are invited to experience the sights and sounds of that day by spiritually accompanying our Lord on his sorrowful journey to Calvary, meditating at each scene of his Passion and death.
We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you
Because by your holy cross, you have redeemed the world.
Rejected by his own people, tormented by his accusers, tortured by his persecutors mocked by the Roman officials. Jesus, the King of Kings, is forced to wear the distorted trappings of kingship: a crown, not of gold but of thorns; a robe, not of royal splendor, but a cloak soaked with blood that irritates his scourged body. The King of both heaven and earth receives the judgment of a mere puppet of the Roman government. Pilate is convinced of Jesus’ innocence, but bows to the pressure of the crowd and condemns Jesus to death. The implementation of the sentence, begins. Christ draws near to the cross, his body already atrociously bruised and lacerated, blood trickling down his face from his head crowned with thorns. Ecce homo. Behold the man.
Let us pray . . .
Lord, how often I am so very much like Pilate. How often I sit in the seat of judgment and condemn others without cause. How often I too yield to the pressure of the crowd and give up my own will just because it’s safer to agree with everyone else. Yet in your tortured appearance, Jesus, I receive my strength. Despite all obstacles, you remained true to yourself, true to your convictions. Forgive me, Lord, when I bow to the pressures of others rather than following your way. Forgive me when I become more concerned with what people think of me than what I know is right. Forgive me the times when my words, my deeds, or my silence condemned others. Amen
We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you
Because by your holy cross, you have redeemed the world.
Wood. A material very familiar to Jesus. As a boy, he watched Joseph cut, shape, and mold this raw material into products of beauty. And as Jesus grew into manhood, he too accepted the trade of a carpenter and came to depend on the wood as a way of life. But now, the wood has become his way of death. That wood, which had been such an instrument of joy and livelihood, becomes the very instrument of his suffering and death. Yet Jesus accepts the cross as he accepts the will of his Father: freely . . . no questions asked. And yet, it is not his cross that he bears; it is ours.
Let us pray . . .
Lord, I accept your cross, but with much hesitation. Why do I choose to leave my comfortable world and allow hardship and pain into my life? I bear it that others may know you more fully through me. Be at my side as I begin my journey. Give me strength. Give me courage. Amen
We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you
Because by your holy cross, you have redeemed the world.
"I am a worm, not a man, scorned by all, the laughing-stock of the mob": the words of the psalmist-prophet come wholly true in these steep, narrow little streets of Jerusalem in the last hours before the Passover. The cross weighs heavily upon his shoulders, and he falls. And he wills all this; he wills fulfillment of the prophecy. He falls in accordance with his own will, so that "the scriptures may be fulfilled": "I am a worm, not a man.” When it would have been so easy for him to give up, he staggers to his feet once more. He continues on toward his tragic destination.
Let us pray . . .
All: Lord, in my life, there are so many times that I stumble and fall. So often I just want to lie there and give up, make people feel sorry for me. But I know that there is no cross too heavy for me because you are always there to share the weight of my burden, to pick me up and set me back on the right path again. Yet, sometimes you are the last one that I remember to call on when I need help. Lord, help me to remember that I am totally dependent on you.
We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you
Because by your holy cross, you have redeemed the world.
Innocence meets innocence in the face of injustice. Mary looks upon her son, burdened by the cross, crowned in thorns, mangled and bleeding. Tears run down her face, her arms outstretched to embrace her beloved son. Jesus looks up and sees his mother before him. Their eyes meet – hers full of tears, his full of pain and confusion. Marys’ lips move, “I love you” they say. Knowing he is doing his Father’s will and secure in his mother’s love, Jesus finds the courage and strength to meet his own death.
Let us pray . . .
Lord, forgive me the many times our eyes have met and I turned mine away. Forgive me the times things did not go my way and I let everyone know about it. Forgive me the times I brooded over little inconveniences or became discouraged and did not heed your call to courage. Yes, our eyes have met many times, but fruitlessly. Amen
We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you
Because by your holy cross, you have redeemed the world.
Just passing by. Just minding his own business. Perhaps visiting Jerusalem for the Passover feast. Perhaps intrigued by the commotion of what was going on. A perfect stranger, in wrong place at the wrong time. Simon of Cyrene is summoned, perhaps compelled, by the soldiers to relieve Jesus’ burden and carry the cross, if only for a short time. When the condemned man's shoulders became too weak, he lends him his shoulders. What was Simon’s reaction? Did he accept the cross freely, as Jesus did or did he try to get out of carrying it even the short distance that he did?
Let us pray . . .
Lord, often I do not wish to help others when they (or you) call upon me. Often I say, “Hey it’s not my problem!” Or I agree to help out, but only begrudgingly. Other times, I have offered my hand to help other people, but when it became too much, too inconvenient, too demanding of my time, I left them, making excuses for myself. Help me to relieve the pain and misery of those around me with the strength and love that I receive from you. Amen
We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you
Because by your holy cross, you have redeemed the world.
Jesus’ face is bathed in sweat, spit and blood. Moved with pity and compassion, a woman from the crowd, Veronica by name, unconcerned with what others may be thinking, pushes forward from the crowd and wipes Jesus’ face. As a gift for her courage and unselfish caring, Jesus leaves his image imprinted on her veil.
Let us pray . . .
Lord Jesus, perhaps the reason you chose to leave your image upon Veronica’s veil was because in her faith, in her compassion, and in her love, Veronica was the image of you. So many opportunities arise everyday for me to give to you by giving to others. But so very often, I pass them by. Help me to give all I have to you by giving all I have to others. Let me be your image for others. Amen
We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you
Because by your holy cross, you have redeemed the world.
No sleep, nothing to eat or drink since supper the eve before, the interrogations, the scourging, the mockery - they have all taken their toll. Jesus falls again to the dust and grime of the crowded street of Jerusalem amidst the noise of weeping and heckling with even greater force than the first time. Yet, despite the pain that he is in, despite the humiliation he must be feeling, despite the weight of the cross, despite the jeering crowd, despite the whips from the soldiers, Jesus struggles to his feet once more to continue on his way to Calvary.
Let us pray . . .
Lord, I've slipped, I've stumbled, I've fallen many times in life. But the weight of my cross is nothing compared to your cross, O Jesus. Sometimes I fall because of weakness; other times I fall because I lack the incentive or the courage to keep trying. Sometimes it is just so much easier to lie there and give up trying to do your will, trying to become the person you call me to be. Give me the strength and perseverance I need as I struggle on my way back to you.
We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you
Because by your holy cross, you have redeemed the world.
Pain . . . exhaustion . . . the realization of what lies ahead, and still Jesus finds compassion in his heart to console the women who stand on the side of the road weeping. He speaks words of comfort to them, even though it is difficult for him even to speak. When few in the crowd have compassion in their heart for Jesus, he, in his sufferings, still finds compassion in his heart for others.
Let us pray . . .
Lord, Sometimes my heart is touched by the suffering of others, but not moved. Not moved to speak out against injustice. Not moved to act to end their hurt, their pain, their grief, their loneliness, their hunger, their poverty. But tears are not enough. Tears cannot stop evil from happening. Tears cannot stop agony. Tears cannot heal. Tears cannot bring peace. Move my tears beyond weeping and into action. Let my words, my deeds, or perhaps just my presence, comfort those whose lives are filled with hurt. Amen.
We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you
Because by your holy cross, you have redeemed the world.
Face first, Jesus crashes onto the pavement once more. Every fiber of his body cries out to give up. But every element of his will insists that he continue on. Jesus falls under the weight of the cross. Once he said: "Do you think that I cannot pray to my Father, who would at once send me more than twelve legions of angels?" But he does not ask for that. Having accepted the cup from his Father's hands, he is resolved to drink it to the end. He wills it no other way.
Let us pray . . .
Lord, it’s tough being a Christian. You call me to pick up my cross daily and follow you. But your way is difficult and is often the unpopular way. It requires me to be different from everyone else, and I crave the acceptance of others. Yet, I also long for your acceptance of me. Sure my every step. Give me strength. Help me to realize that you are all I need. Amen.
We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you
Because by your holy cross, you have redeemed the world.
Publicly stripped of his dignity, of his self-esteem, and now of his clothes. The utter humiliation he must have felt. He has lost so much in just one day’s time: his friends, his popularity, his reputation, and now his clothes – the last material possession he has. He has but one thing left to give, and that is his very life. With every wound, every spasm of pain, every wrenched muscle, every trickle of blood, with all the exhaustion in its arms, all the bruises and lacerations on its back and shoulders, this unclothed body is carrying out the will of both the Father and the Son.
Let us pray . . .
Lord, in my own way, I too have stripped you. I have taken away the good name of another by foolish talk, and have stripped people of human dignity by my prejudice. Jesus, there are so many ways I have offended you through the hurt I caused others. Help me to see you in all people. Amen.
We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you
Because by your holy cross, you have redeemed the world.
Roughly, contemptuously, the soldiers thrust Jesus down onto his cross. Holding him down, they pound the nails through his hands and feet. The ringing of hammer upon nail must have been deafening. The echo of the shrieks of his excruciating pain must have been ear-piercing. Yet the persecutors are dauntless, the onlookers unmoved by pity. All around Jesus are the mockers and those who take delight in human misery. Does no one remember his loving message? Does no one remember the healings? Does anyone remember anything good at all about him? “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”
Let us pray . . .
Lord, I too sometimes seem to get pleasure out of making others suffer. The gossip I spread, the lies I tell, the games I play in relationships, the guilt trips I lay on others, the revenge I seek for the hurt others have caused me, are all my subtle, yet torturous ways that I inflict pain on others. Jesus, what your persecutors and tormentors did to you appalls me; how then can I treat others in this way? Give me insight into the ways I hurt others and help me to exchange these hurtful ways with ways of healing. Amen.
We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you
Because by your holy cross, you have redeemed the world.
On his journey as the One sent by the Father, he preached the breadth of his love, which overlooks no one; the length of his love, which is faithful in every generation; the height of his love, a hope that triumphs over death itself; and the depth of his love, which sent him to call not the righteous, but sinners. Once he told others, “No greater love does any man have than to lay down his life for those he loves.” And here it is – the total gift of self – the perfect gift of love. Total. Complete. Free. Uncompromising. Selfless. For you. For me. Sinners. Unrighteous. The nightmare of pain and suffering, the agony of betrayal and loneliness come to an end. After three mercifully brief hours on the cross, suspended between earth and sky, Jesus dies. Choking on the hyssop dipped in wine he gasps out the words, "It is finished." He bows his head and gives up his spirit.
Let us pray . . .
My Jesus, have mercy on me for what my sins have done to you and to others. I thank you for your great act of love. Teach me to live my life for others, and not fail you again. Amen
We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you
Because by your holy cross, you have redeemed the world.
Jesus’ lifeless body is taken down from the cross. Once again Jesus is in the arms that once held him in the stable in Bethlehem. Mary holds Jesus’ body close to hers. She kisses his head. Her tears mingle with his blood. The crowd has gone. The noise has stopped. The show is over. The passion has ended. Or has it? There is still injustice, still pain, still the sufferings of mankind.
Let us pray . . .
Lord, you have said, “Whatever you do to one of my least ones, you do to me.” There was nothing that I could do to stop your crucifixion two thousand years ago. I was not there. But I am here now! Help me to make a difference in this world by helping to end your pain and suffering in the person of my fellow brothers and sisters. Amen.
We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you
Because by your holy cross, you have redeemed the world.
He was born in a borrowed place, a stable. And now, his lifeless body is placed in another borrowed place, the tomb of Joseph of Arimathea. End of story? Not quite. What appears to end in utter failure becomes the ultimate triumph. Three days after his death, he destroys death by rising to new life. Jesus lives! Death has no hold on him! What an utter contradiction of the way it’s “supposed” to be!
Let us pray . . .
Lord Jesus, help me to show the world that you do live – in me! Let me be your eyes that look compassion on the world; your heart that pulsates with love for all; your arms stretched out in service to the needs of others; and your feet which guide others on their way back to you. Amen.
CLOSING PRAYER
Lord Jesus, for how many ages have you remained imprisoned upon your cross, and still we pass you by, ignoring you? How often have we overlooked your tender presence in our lives, paying little attention to your great sorrow, your pain, your power to love.? How often have we, by indifference, added to your sorrow, deepened your pain, and refused your love?
You constantly stretch forth your hands to re-create us, to touch us with your love, and still we close our eyes to your presence and force you to remain imprisoned upon your cross.
Yet our names are written in your heart forever, and you will not allow us to ignore you or run from you. You have loved us with an everlasting love, and we continue to place obstacles in your path.
Your cross shows us, however, the power of your love, that is stronger than our fear, that it can overcome our need to run from you. Lord, let the love that flows from your cross surround us, break down the walls of our fear, and fill our hearts.
Lord Jesus Christ crucified, teach us how to love one another, as you have loved us, even to the cross. Amen.
