I meditated on Station 3 and Station 8. For those of you who are still working through Good Friday, or who are like Thomas (who I get to preach on this coming Sunday) and can't quite yet believe the resurrection, or need to stay at the tomb for a bit longer, I've posted my reflections below.
The Third Station: The Cross is Laid on Simon of Cyrene
As they led Jesus away, they seized a man, Simon of Cyrene, who was coming from teh country, and they laid the cross on him, and made him carry it behind Jesus. "If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for my yoke is easy, and my burden is light."
“If any want to become my followers…” But who said that Simon wanted to follow Jesus? It seems like he was really just in the wrong place at the wrong time. A bystander, a gawker, who must’ve looked like easy prey for the guards. Simon didn’t volunteer to carry Jesus’ cross. Who would? Dressed in his finest clothes to come into Jerusalem to celebrate the Passover, surely Simon did not want to follow Jesus to the cross that day. This is no eager to please disciple. But still, his nice clothes got dirty, not to mention bloody from Jesus’ wounds. His hands became full of splinters, his pride trampled on by the crowd laughing, pointing, spitting. Simon didn’t volunteer, but he still became a follower, a disciple of Christ. He even became like Christ, carrying the very cross Jesus would be crucified on, a helper in the redemption of the world, of you and me. Simon didn’t volunteer, but God choose him anyway. God placed the cross of Christ on Simon when Jesus had become too weak, too near to death. And even though the cross was heavy, cumbersome, different, it was strangely easy, strangely light, as if Jesus was still carrying the cross for Simon.
And so too do we watch Jesus struggle by us, and we watch from the side. We are at once afraid and ashamed. Afraid that someone will seize us, like Simon was seized. Afraid that we will suffer like Christ, laughed at, spit on, the lowliest of the low. Afraid that if we pick up our cross, like Jesus, that our lives will no longer be our own, that we will lose precious control. A sense of shame makes our fear even worse. Ashamed that we do not really want to be like Christ, that we do not really want to lose control of our lives. Ashamed that we don’t want to stand out or be different. It’s become so much easier to just watch with the crowd, to blend in.
But maybe, just maybe God will chose us. God will give us the nudge to get over our fear, get over our shame. And so we are. We are claimed by God, pulled from the crowd like Simon. Called to follow this one who carries our cross. We are called to carry the cross with him. Called to follow behind this Messiah who is so weak, yet so powerful. So burdened, yet so light. A Savior, yet condemned to die on the cross. On his cross. On our cross.
And we are saved, even though we didn’t volunteer. But God volunteered for us. God is carrying our cross. Amen.
The Eighth Station: Jesus is Laid in the Tomb
When it was evening, there came a rich man from Arimathea, named Joesph, who was also a disciple of Jesus. He went to Pilate and asked for the body of Jesus; then Pilate ordered it to be given to him. So Joseph took the body and wrapped it in a clean linen cloth and laid it in his own new tom, which he had hewn in the rock. He then rolled a great stone to the door of the tomb and went away.
It’s quiet. It’s too quiet. The crowds have all gone away. The other disciples, they too have fled. Everyone is gone. The spectacle is over. Even Pilate seemed subdued, easily handing Jesus over to be properly buried. And he’s dead. Jesus, the one who was supposed to free us, who promised life, and justice, and peace. Who knew me like no other. He’s dead. And it’s so quiet.He lies there even now, in the tomb I made for myself. The tomb I was supposed to lie in, but now he is there, dead and gone. But I would rather be in that tomb instead of Jesus. I would give all my riches, all I have to be in that tomb instead of Jesus.
It’s so quite. Life seems so empty now, so hopeless. No one to follow. No one promising life, and justice, and peace, and redemption. No one.
It was the least I could do, to give Jesus a proper burial, especially after he died in such a horrible way. Laughed at by the crowds, his last breath taken in the garbage dump, on a cross. It was the least I could do. But now he is gone and I do not know what to do or how to be or how to live. I am lost. It’s like I too am dead. Life has left us. God has left us. We’re alone. And it’s so quiet. So quiet. So quiet.
*A little note: Oslo becomes deserted during Holy Week, as most people go to the mountains or elsewhere for vacation.
Artwork:
'Christ is Helped with the Cross' by Geoff Todd
'Jesus is Laid in the Tomb': Through Nomadic Eyes: Stations of the Cross, Turkana Artists, Kenya
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