In my experience, one of the most meaningful and moving Lenten devotions is attending the Stations of the Cross. Long a mainstay of Friday night Lenten spirituality, this prayer enables one to “walk” with Jesus along the Via Dolorosa (the “Way of Sorrow”) as He entered into His Passion. It was born, more or less, of necessity—for centuries, Christians had to literally risk life and limb to enter Jerusalem to visit the places Jesus walked—so the Franciscans brought “Jerusalem” to parishes in the West.
In saying this prayer, we are reminded of the sufferings of Jesus: physical, to be sure, but also his humiliation and abandonment. But in the prayer we repeat at every station, we are also reminded that it is by His Holy Cross that He redeemed the world.
In praying the Stations, we join with Jesus in His final moments. The beauty of the devotion is that it fits so beautifully with the practice of the “application of the senses” St. Ignatius called retreatants to use in his Spiritual Exercises. In the application of the senses, we are called to put ourselves into the moments of Jesus’ life (in this case on His walk to Calvary) and, along with using our imaginations to experience the sounds and smells associated with the event, put ourselves in the place of one of the people in the scene. Would we be the Roman soldiers so hardened by our work that we no longer see the suffering of those around us (or so prejudiced that we see Jesus only as a convict and fail to see His humanity)? Would we each be an anonymous member of the fickle crowd who shouted “hosanna” as Jesus entered Jerusalem only a few days before—only to call for crucifixion on Good Friday? Would we, like them, be more concerned with keeping with the fashion of the day and maintaining our social status than with loyalty to the One Who calls us “friend” (Jn. 15:15)?
Or would we be like those people who took a stand? Like Simon of Cyrene, whom Scripture tells us was “pressed into service” to help Jesus carry his cross (Mt. 27:32), or perhaps Veronica who came out of the crowd to wipe the spit and sweat and blood off of the face of Jesus recognizing behind it, His dignity? Or would we be like the women of Jerusalem (Lk. 23:27) who could offer nothing but their compassion—literally “suffering with”—Jesus, but in doing so, letting Him know that in His pain, He was not alone?
In praying the Stations—like participating in the other liturgical acts of the Church—we enter into kairos, “God’s time,” where past, present, and future come together. Transported in prayer, we go back to the streets of Jerusalem with the Lord on that Friday 2000 years ago.
But we also join with Him in His suffering today.
Jesus walks the sorrowful way in Palestine and Ukraine, at the Mexican border, and in abortion clinics. He is with the dying in hospices and the broken in emergency departments. He suffers with those in prison and the unemployment line. Indeed, He is with all those with whom He so closely identified in the parable of the Sheep and the Goats (Mt. 25:31-46).
Those whom Pope Francis recognized as being on the “periphery” of our society.
Like those who were near Jesus on the Via Dolorosa, we have a decision to make. We cannot be bystanders: our baptisms and confirmations—not to mention the Eucharist—compel us to be people of action and compassion. We are called to reach out in love to those with whom He most closely identifies.
And He identifies most with those who are hurting and alone, both abroad and at home.
I have often said that I truly believe we can handle just about anything in this life—any suffering, any obstacle, any discouragement—as long as we know that we do not have to face it alone. When Jesus faced his most terrifying moment, He was met by men and women who had the courage to leave their “comfort zones” and accompanied Him. They couldn’t take away His pain, and they couldn’t keep Him from facing His death, but they could give Him their strength.
And their love.
We think of the Stations of the Cross as a reminder of the self-sacrificing love of Jesus, as indeed it is. But perhaps they should also remind us of those who saw beyond the spit, and blood, and the label of “criminal” and responded to a man frightened and in pain. We’ve moved beyond the halfway point in Lent. In this final stretch before Easter, we can follow the example of those good people along the Via Dolorosa and see the Suffering Servant Who is present in our lives today. He waits for us in our aging parents who long for a visit. He is in our friends who are seriously, even terminally, ill: scared and feeling alone. His Face is the face of the unhoused person at the end of the off-ramp, hungering as much to be truly seen as to be fed. He’s weeping with the co-worker at the office who is going through a divorce with no idea how to face the future.
He’s easy to find.
On one of the next few Fridays, as we head to the parish to get our fish fries, perhaps we can commit to sticking around for the Stations. Let it remind us of the love Jesus showed in offering Himself for us in pain and humiliation. But let it also inspire us to reach out and offer our love, compassion, and time to those around us who suffer pain and humiliation in their lives. For this is the way of salvation:
The Way of the Cross.
A.M.D.G. / B.V.M.H.