Category Archives: Suffering

Were you there?

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Tonight our church conducted something called “The Stations of the Cross.” Growing up, I’d never heard of this tradition, but apparently it originated in the Catholic Church. During Easter week, parishioners walk Jesus’ path toward the crucifixion, praying through each stage of his dreadful journey. The point is to ponder Christ’s suffering and death, appreciating it anew. Our initial prayer tonight was, “Let me see what once you did for love of me and all the world.”

I overheard one attendee said, “Isn’t this a Catholic thing?”

But another said, “Yes, and we grew up thinking we shouldn’t do it because they did.”

We were given a booklet listing 14 stopping points throughout the church, each with a suggested prayer and an opportunity to participate in Jesus’ experience.

At Station 1 we found a bowl of water representing Pilate washing his hands of Jesus, along with a gavel we could bring down in judgment representing the mob that unjustly condemned him.

At Station 2 we were invited to lift a heavy wooden cross as we thought about Jesus carrying that burden on his flogged and bleeding back. It symbolized the weight of our sins, so heavy they crushed him completely.

We were encouraged to choose a large, dirty rock and feel its weight, then write one of our sins on it and throw it into a garbage can, receiving forgiveness and leaving sin behind.

There was a station representing the love of Jesus’ mother and his love for her, expressed on the cross. Another station urged us to accept a small handkerchief as a symbol of the comfort so many in this world need but don’t receive, just as Jesus needed comfort on his painful journey. As Christians we ought to provide that comfort, even for someone who’s been disfigured and might be covered with spit, blood and sweat as Jesus was.

On we walked through each station, arriving at Station 8 where we approached a bowl of salty water representing Christ’s tears. If we so desired, we could taste them from a cup, sharing a tiny bit in his suffering. We were reminded of Psalm 126:5, “When we sow with tears, we’ll reap with songs of joy.”

We meditated in front of clothes representing Christ’s stripping and humiliation for us and prayed for a willingness to be stripped of whatever hinders our full submission to him – possessions, affections, addictions.

At Station 11 we planted wheat seeds in rich, black earth and meditated on John 12:24: “Unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds.” Jesus spoke these words in reference to his own impending death.

As we approached a full-sized, vine-wrapped cross at Station 12, we put dead branches onto it, symbolizing Jesus’ death. By this time I was feeling cold and shaky with a deep sadness from head to toe. Holding back tears was difficult, but Station 13 was harder yet.

Spread on the sanctuary communion table was a flax colored cloth (behind the cross) representing the removal of Jesus’ body and preparation for burial. Beside the cloth were bowls of sweet-scented spices. Something about touching that cloth made his death poignantly real for me, and the tears spilled. “I’m so sorry,” I whispered.

The last station found each of us sitting alone in the dimly-lit sanctuary while solemn music played, all of us in one-on-one conversation with the Savior. My little white hankie from Station 6 came in handy!

After sharing communion together, we went outdoors where a dramatic scene ended the evening. At one of the stations we’d been invited to leave our burdens at the cross by writing them on small cards and putting them inside a cardboard cross. The cross was now set on fire, and our burdens were lifted heavenward by the flames.

“When they had crucified him… they kept watch over him there. Above his head they placed the written charge against him: THIS IS JESUS, THE KING OF THE JEWS.” (Matthew 27:35-37)

Strength of Commitment

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I’ve been thinking of Good Friday, even in my dreams. This morning when I woke up, I felt awful because a fresh dream was still hovering. In the dream I’d been wolfing down a plateful of rice cakes coated with thick peanut butter. Since I gave them up for Lent, as I awoke I was devastated. No one in the dream seemed to know I was going against my commitment to the Lord. As for me, I’d simply forgotten about it.

In just a few seconds the nightmare faded, but the thought of “forgetting” to keep my tiny bit of shared suffering with Jesus was deeply disturbing. During Lent I’ve wanted to reflect every day on Christ’s cross and the weeks leading up to it. The rice cakes that stand in my kitchen cabinet next to the Jif have been important reminders of this season (especially because of the Post-it note there that says “Lent!”). But I’d like to think even if there were no rice cakes, Jif or Post-it, Jesus’ sacrifice would have been on my mind every day anyway.

As I’ve been thinking about Jesus’ walk toward his own death, I’ve wondered how much thinking he did about it. Although I doubt he thought about it as a child, we see him describing his death to his disciples as he taught. Somewhere between pre-teen and adulthood, his Father must have begun detailing the future. And surely as he did that, he also strengthened Jesus to follow through with the elements of the plan.

As the Father was reminding him about the cross and encouraging him toward bearing it, Satan was probably working non-stop to coax Jesus away from it, fabricating lies about being able to accomplish it in another way. And I believe Jesus could have pulled out, had he wanted to. Even as he was being arrested, he said he could have called on God to rescue him. (Matthew 26:53)

But the Son and his Father were in it together. They mutually devised salvation’s plan, and they partnered to carry it out. This is evident in the Father’s response to watching his Son suffer intense torment just before his arrest. Listening to, and watching Jesus agonize as they talked, the blood of intense stress coming from his brow, God responded with help. He dispatched an angel exactly then, and not just as a reminder to Jesus he’d soon be back where he belonged, in heaven. Scripture says the angel came for one purpose: to strengthen Jesus.

As I’ve been thinking of the anguish leading up to Easter Sunday, the thought of the Father-Son team embarking on this massive effort “as one” has brought comfort. Jesus understood the plan and refused to divert from it in any way.

Unlike me in my dream, he never forgot the importance of his commitment.

“The Father is in me, and I in the Father. I and the Father are one.” (John 10:38b, 30)

“Something happened!”

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My oldest grandchild, Skylar, has a sparking personality backed by a strong will. Recently I got to spend a week with her and her family, catching up on her latest dreams and schemes. One thing she loves (along with every other two year old) is to join adults in whatever they’re doing, and I love having her assist me.

Ever since she was little, she’s “helped” me put on my make-up. As we approach the task, I’ve already removed the dangerous items from my zipped bag: a hair-cutting scissors, eyebrow pencil sharpener and nail clippers. Then, as I work to improve my old face, Skylar pretends to improve her flawless one.

The only questionable tool I’ve left in the bag is an eyebrow plucker, the kind with a scissors handle. Its “points” are flat, and I didn’t think Skylar could do any damage with it. Leave it to a two year old to prove me wrong.

While I was busy staring into a hand-size 10X magnifier mirror trying to put mascara on, Skylar hopped off her stool and wandered out of the room. In 20 seconds I heard a “Tszt” just before the power went out. Immediately Skylar’s alarmed voice came from the next room. “Something happened!”

We all came running, and there, sticking out of a wall outlet, was my scissor-shaped eyebrow tweezers. She’d plugged it into a socket and had experienced something new, an up-the-arm jolt like we’ve all known, unpleasant but not especially harmful.

Skylar ran to her daddy’s reassuring arms but never shed a tear, and I would have given anything to know her immediate thoughts. For a minute, however, our chatty Skylar was speechless.

I would never intentionally hurt one of my grandchildren, but this incident was probably my bad. There was an up-side, though. Skylar’s experiment taught her a few things:

  • Outlets are covered for good reasons.
  • Electrical shocks feel terrible.
  • My parents were protecting me when they told me, “No.”
  • I should obey my parents.
  • I’ll never do that again!

Experience is our best teacher, and Skylar’s new respect for electrical outlets will never dim. No damage was done (except to the blackened tips of my tweezers), and important lessons were learned.

Once in a while all of us have to be taught just like Skylar, through harsh experience. Scripture is full of wisdom we don’t heed as we toss it aside in favor of our own flawed ideas. So God steps back and lets us learn the hard way. Once we learn to internalize wisdom simply by listening, we spare ourselves and others unnumbered “jolts”.

If Skylar had simply believed her parents when they told her electrical outlets could hurt her, she would have avoided her unpleasant zap. Hopefully that potent lesson will serve to increase the validity of her folks’ advice from here on.

As for me, when I work with my traumatized tweezers, I’ll try to remember Skylar’s example, because I’d rather learn by listening than by a jolting.

“Josiah was eight years old when he became king… He did what was pleasing in the Lord’s sight and… did not turn away from doing what was right.” (2 Chronicles 34:1-2)