Eyewitnesses to the Stations of the Cross: Part 5

CrossThis is the fifth in the series of reflections on the stations of the cross.

I began to wonder about the wide-range of emotion among those who experienced the stations of the cross first-hand. I wrote this version of the Stations of the Cross to reflect these conflicting feelings. It was originally set as a play and is out of my own imagination. It is not meant to be historically accurate. It is meant to put us into the events of that day, for Jesus’ Passion is our story, too.

Each day through Good Friday I will post another “eye-witness” account. As you read, put yourself in the story and compare your own reactions, motivations, hopes and fears with the character’s. I invite you to reflect with me:

Why did I commit my crime? I know that I was hungry and needed money. But I had no right to take the gold from that rich man. I am guilty.

But Jesus, why does He deserve to die? I haven’t seen Him do anything but good or heard anything that wasn’t true from His lips. And, yet, here He is just as I facing the same fate as me. Worse.  He has been so badly beaten that He can’t even walk let alone carry a cross.

Oh, no. He has fallen again. Even the soldiers seem to wince at His fall, flat on His face in the rocks and dust of the hill. Jesus, for Your sake I pray that it ends soon.

God, though I have no right to utter a word to you, sinner that I am, please grant me mercy that I might not face the torture that Jesus is experiencing now.

I first met Jesus at my lowest, darkest hour. Condemned, and rightly so, for adultery. Jesus began to write in the sand…

I never did learn what He wrote, but they all left, one by one, tossing their rocks on the ground. When it was just Jesus and I, He offered a hand and lifted me to my feet.

What I remember most is the way that he looked at me, not just as a sinner. Though He didn’t turn away from that part of me, either. He saw through me to the core of my being, my very soul.

Now here He lies on the ground and is naked before me.

Why, Jesus? 

Why God?


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