Stations of the Cross in our midst

In 2004, I had the blessing to spend twelve days in the Holy Land, as a guest of a friend who was volunteering in Bethlehem.

One day I decided to go to Jerusalem, alone, and visit the Holy sites, walking the Way of the Cross. I visited the Dome of the Rock and then began the Stations of the Cross. I stopped at a few places and entered open chapels but what most affected me was seeing people walking in the streets where Jesus walked – not as pilgrims but as people going about their daily lives. I am including below what I wrote a few months after my pilgrimage. 

I took one photo that has moved me many times. A man and his son, with a small backpack, are walking where Jesus walked.

Jesus walked to his death, carrying the cross, in the midst of the daily lives of many people of his times. Some noticed him, as the women who wept. But many didn’t. But Jesus was there, suffering in their midst – and sharing their suffering. 

And so, too, he walks among us, carrying his cross – but also carrying the cross of the multitudes who suffer every day – especially here in Honduras, but also in every corner of the globe. 

May they always remember the presence of a God who suffers with them. 

A few weeks ago I gave a friend a ride to San Pedro Sula. Sister Pat was going to give a series of talks on the Cross to a congregation of sisters devoted to the Cross. As we talked, one idea touched me – the cross is the sign of the transformative power of “suffering with”. 

Jesus suffered with us, suffered for us, and shows us the power of suffering with others, sharing their sorrows and trials. 

As I reflect on this rainy Good Friday I realize that a central part of my ministry is being with people in the midst of their pain and suffering.

Last Monday, I went to Debajiados to preside at a Celebration of the Word for the end of the novena, the nine days after the death of a fifteen year old who had several physical problems but was a special young woman, very affectionate and exuberant. When we celebrated her funeral, I found myself close to tears while reading the Gospel.

This past Tuesday, I went to San Antonio El Alto and visited the sick – all eleven of them in this small village. Wednesday, I visited two sick persons in the nearby village of Granadillal. I also talked with someone about the need to get psychiatric help for at least two persons. 

 Visiting the sick is not always easy but is, for me, one of the most important my ministry as a deacon. Another important ministry is presiding at funerals. 

I find that I am transformed when I am at the side of those who are suffering and grieving. That’s what Good Friday is for me. 

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A DAY OF RETREAT IN JERUSALEM - November 2004 

from my Palestine vignettes, slightly edited

My friend had arranged a very full schedule for me for my twelve days in the holy land. I was so busy that I hardly experienced any jetlag. 

But by the end of the first week, I decided that I needed a day of quiet, walking alone through the Old City of Jerusalem. 

I had hoped to get into Jerusalem early enough in the morning to visit the Harim al Sharif, the Noble Sanctuary, the site of the Dome of the Rock. However, I left Bethlehem late and managed to get lost in the Old City. So, when I arrived at the entrance, it was about to be closed to non-Muslims. 

I proceeded to walk down the Kidron Valley and up the Mount of Olives to the Church of the Pater Noster on the summit. This is supposedly the site where Jesus often went with his disciples, where he taught them the Lord’s Prayer, and shared with them the discourses in Matthew 24 –25. The church has the Lord’s Prayer in more than 100 languages on plaques on the walls of the grounds. I stopped and prayed in several languages. I made an effort to read the prayer in Nahuatl, the language of many Central Americans, as I remembered their suffering. I finally stopped in the little chapel on the site and sang the Lord’s Prayer in Latin. 

“Your will be done” echoed in my heart. 

THE VIA DOLOROSA 

I proceeded down the Mount of Olives to visit and pray again in the Church of the Agony and in the Tomb of the Virgin. 

After a short prayer in both places, I hurried to the Western Wall since the access to the Dome of the Rock would be open for an hour. I walked around and marveled at the beauty of the mosque with its exterior mosaic walls. The mosque is only open to Muslims.

I left the area by the exit near the Lions Gate and proceeded to walk the stations of the cross. 

As I walked I saw some children in the Muslim Quarter playing; other children were just getting out of school, carrying their book bags on their back. At one point I came across twenty or so Israeli soldiers, young men and women, filing out of a house and filling the street. They looked like new recruits.

As I stopped and prayed at the stations, vendors invited me into their stores and men offered to guide me to the holy sites. I turned down their offers – wanting the silence.

On the route of the first stations the streets are not very narrow and are open to the sky. But as I approached the seventh station the streets narrowed. Shops with everything from backlava to clothing to souvenirs crowded the street.

Praying at the little chapel of the fifth station, Simon helps Jesus carry the cross, I thought of my call to help carry the cross of the suffering people of the world.

But it was in the street, by the eighth station that I felt the weight of the cross – the pain and suffering of so many people. At the eighth station Jesus met the women of Jerusalem who are weeping. Jesus told them to weep, not for him but for themselves and for their children. I was again near tears, having witnessed not only the sufferings of Jesus but of the people of this blessed land. 

As I approached the church of the Holy Sepulcher I realized that Christ went to his death not on a special day – but in the midst of a city that was bustling with people. And it is here that the crucified Jesus suffers still.

The Holy Sepulcher

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I was inspired to write this by a post of Deacon Greg Kandra in The Deacon's Bench. Click here to read his reflection.

The hope of Christ the King

“¿Se emocionó?” Padre German asked me after today’s celebration of the feast of Christ the King in the parish. “Did you get emotional, while carrying the monstrance through the crowd after the Mass for Christ the King in Dolores, Copán.

I didn’t answer, but he was right. I was touched deeply.

A custom here is to have a procession of the Eucharist in a monstrance on some occasions, especially here in our parish after the Mass for the feast of Christ the King. During the procession, people approach and touch the monstrance, seeking a physical connection with Christ.

I must admit that I have often been a bit skeptical about this aspect of the popular piety here, but today change that for me.

Toward the end of Mass, Padre German asked me if I wanted to carry the monstrance. I said that he should go first and then I would relieve him.

He started the procession through the crowd and I followed. At one point a little kid stood on a chair and reached out and touched the monstrance. He then turned around and gave me a hug. Emerson reached out a second time and I caught it in a photo.

I followed the monstrance, at time trying to open up a space for people who wanted to approach the monstrance but, because of the crowd or because they were a little timid, had a hard time getting close.

Padre then passed the monstrance to me and I continued the procession.

As they pressed on the monstrance, I could feel a deep longing for God. I also felt that they were bringing their suffering to Christ and sought his comfort and courage. I saw little kids reaching out – sometimes without the urging of their parents. I saw one short older woman approaching and bent down so she could be close to the luna where the host is placed. I sensed a deep desire to connect and so brought it closer to her and she kissed it.

I was floored, at times close to tears. So many, suffering so much, seek to touch God.

It was humbling, seeing their faith – babies in arms, older women and men, kids, adolescents, and young people.

As I think back this evening, I see this as a call to deepen my diaconal presence among them. How can I share in their pain and suffering, as well as their joys? How can I help them recognize the presence of a loving and tender God among them? How can I accompany them, opening them (and me) to the dignity we have and our mission to show forth the reign of Christ in a world full of all too much pain, suffering, poverty, injustice?

As if to ratify this, as I sat at home at the computer, I heard it raining, but I looked out and the sun was shining to the south of the house. I went upstairs and looked east – to see a rainbow which started in a nearby valley.

There is hope – the Eucharist, the people suffering, and a rainbow make that clear.

Avoidance and facing suffering

A friend, Dave Nantais, has a beautiful essay on the spirituality of living in a city in America magazine. Though I haven’t lived in a city since December, Dave’s wisdom is inspiring. In Santa Rosa de Copán, as well as on Baker Street in Ames, Iowa, there was a sense of front porch spirituality. The one thing I miss from both places is the sense of close connection I felt with my neighbors. There is a sense of community here in the village of Plan Grande, but it is different.

I am particularly touched by Dave’s remarks on coming face to face with suffering and, in particular, his quote from Thomas Merton’s The Seven Storey Mountain:

“The more you try to avoid suffering, the more you suffer, because smaller and more insignificant things begin to torture you, in proportion to your fear of being hurt.”

I have seen how I avoid suffering and seek to distance myself from even seeing suffering.

But I fear that this avoidance is widespread.

We erect walls and gated communities; we live in our part of town  or our village and avoid entering places of suffering, which we consider all too dangerous. We turn our eyes away from the images of suffering in the newspapers and turn off the news stories of violence and poverty on the radio or television.

But what does that do to me? It turns me in on myself, making me all too fearful and anxious and all too easily provoked to anger.

This past Monday and Tuesday I assisted Sister Pat Farrell in an alternatives to violence workshop in the prison in Gracias, Lempira. It’s the second one we facilitated there.

Some people fear entering a prison, especially after we are locked in. But this visit was a healing experience for me – listening to the men, watching them engage in the workshop activities – listening and talking with each other in a place of safety which is hard to find in a prison.

As we worked with them and listened to them when they spoke with us personally, we were being graced by their presence and by the ways that the Spirit was working in them.

I feel privileged and blest to be able to be with them and blessed by their presence. Their presence and my stay with the Franciscan sisters in Gracias were agents of God’s healing in me. I feel grateful and blest - after a very trying week.

We’ll do another workshop in November, God willing. I look forward to going to jail again.