Lord,
the pain wraps around us,
throbbing,
throbbing,
like the rhythm
of a beating,
like metal on iron
of the hammer fall hitting nail,
piercing flesh,
going deeper
until it lodges in wood.

The pain,
oh the pain,
a woman crying out in the night
as her loved one is slain,
a man standing in grief
in the bombed storefront rubble,
a child shocked at the blood
from a slashed parent,
the armwrenching agony
as they hauled you with ropes,
arms nailed to the crossbeam
up up to the drop,
white pain electric
tearing through shoulder and arms
as the beam found the mortise,
like the pain of the tortured
screaming beneath their captor's hands,
crying out as the voltage
streams through their bodies,
throbbing the pain,
through heart and through body
the pain of being stripped here in public
of everything but the pain
and the stares of the gathered
as they gambled,
and witnessed with tears and with laughs,
waiting for the blood to fall
for the last breath to finish
like guards who kept watch
at a starvation ward
waiting for thirst to still his voice,
make an end to end his praying,
like nurses piling blankets high
to dehydrate the damaged
in the name of mercy killing.

The pain,
o the pain,
throbbing,
throbbing,
with each beat of your heart,
each hard sought breath,
like the pain of the deserted,
lost in the wild lands,
aching,
bereft,
afraid to stir out in the day,
afraid of what men would do,
victims they cower,
victims of terror,
victim of rape,
victim of hunger,
scurrying out quick by night
seeing their children die
with no way to stop it,
like your mother in pain
standing there
watching each breath you take,
afraid of the last one,
dying inside
watching your death.

O Lord,
the pain,
O the pain,
you wrapped yourself around it,
accepted it,
tasted it,
drank it down to the last dregs,
and bore all the burden
of man's too willing evil,
of man's dark inhumanity
down to the pit of death,
walking each step with us,
walking each step along with us,
and accepted that last, lone breath,
that would shatter the chain.

Lord, in our grief,
hold us,
and tell us
as we unite with you,
as we live for you
you live for us,
and when the pain,
the last ache,
the last throb
is over and done,
you will take us
to where pain is banished.

Amen.

Susan E. Stone, 2007

Labels: Need for God, Passion of Christ

Let me remember this night, Lord,
when your poor battered body
lay cold in the tomb,
and you descended into the realm of the dead,
how those who loved you felt -
how dark the night
without your light to shine on them,
how they gathered,
a lost cluster of souls,
sheep without a shepherd
not knowing what was to befall them
so soon.

O my Jesus,
when I am lost and lone and torn and frightened,
bring me back to remember how lost they felt,
and then remind me, too,
of the glory that would dawn on Easter morning.

Amen.

Susan E. Stone, 2007

Labels: Discipleship, Passion of Christ

This one is too long to put on a blogger post.

Please go here:

http://escproductions.bizland.com/catholicmeditations/sadandholy.html

Labels: Passion of Christ

See the torches burning bright as they gather in the garden,
see the shadows gather as they come to take him away
see his followers run and hide as they scatter from the soldiers,
see them drag him off with him by night instead of day.
Torches still are burning bright to mask the dark of heart now,
Shadows wrapping around their lives as they call the evil right,
So many choose the counterfeit and think they have the answer
As others try to hide the truth and smother His bright Light.

See the court who tries the One who came to bring them new life,
See them mock and slander Him, and beat Him as he stands.
He did not try to defend himself, he listened as they slandered,
He knew that what was happening was in the Father's hands.
And still today they judge him in the papers and in books,
And learned seminars try to shrink him down to size,
And yet they cannot shrink the one who brought life to the world
He stands before them still and calm as they pile on their lies.

See the one who takes the cross that he was born to carry,
Beaten, crowned with thorns, in pain before the crowd,
Burdened with the weight of sin that he carried for all others
He follows in procession and the cries grow ever loud.
And still the crowd howls for his blood in angry shrieking tones,
Mocking him to prove that they are stronger folk than he,
Setting up alternatives to the light that he would give
Trying to hide the truth he taught for what they want to be.

And though they crucified him long ago beside two thieves,
And he, forgiving to the end went down to death so dark
The empty tomb still haunts the ones who long to see him dead,
But to those who accept His words, it gives them life's new spark.
And He, the Light that came to man will never go away,
The Bread of Life who stands before us still to feed our soul
For he is Living Water to the parched who come to drink
And from his cross comes the hope that makes our torn lives whole.

Susan E. Stone, 2007

Labels: Jesus' Love, Passion of Christ

O Lord,
as I witness the darkness,
and see it wrap itself around more lives,
as man becomes less a creature of worth,
but merely a cog in the machine,
to be send into the night
when inconvenient, frail,
awkward, sick,
where purpose is sidetracked
into dehumanizing gratifications,
where truth is determined
by the shifting sands of what is popular
instead of true,
where hate and anger become the emotion of choice,
and intolerance hides under masks of fairness,
I think back to the garden of olives,
And the hard aching prayer as you steeled yourself,
confronting the truth of humankind's folly,
and I take hope in the fact you thought us worth the cost.

When the darkness is heavy, Lord,
let me see your cross burning in the night,
the only beacon I can trust to show me the way.
And at its foot, in the rough bloodstained sands,
kneeling, let my heart find the refuge it needs.

When the darkness is heavy, Lord,
let me be a lantern
to carry that light into a dark world,
to pass on the flame of your mercy and hope,
that out of the death you bore for us
in long, bitter pain,
you give us the hope of a God who loved us enough
to walk with us,
suffer with us,
die for us,
to bring us his light.

Amen.

Susan E. Stone, 2007

Labels: Jesus' Love, Need for God, Passion of Christ

How red the blood,
red,
dark,
offered up drop by drop
to the soldier's whip,
to the thorn's bite,
to the executioner's nail,
to the long wait on the cross.

Trickling down his arms,
across his feet,
down his forehead,
red blood,
sticky,
mark of death,
fluid of life,
blood of sacrifice,
redemption.

O Sacrifice of Love,
O Victim Conqueror,
O Lamb of God
who takes away the sins of the world,
have mercy on us,
heal us by the blood you so willingly shed,
give us hearts of love.

Amen.

Labels: Jesus' Love, Passion of Christ

Between the midnight rationales of those who reach out in hate
Shedding blood on the streets in God's holy name,
And those who count religion as the source of pain and disgrace
And see life on this Earth as just a meaningless game,
There is a place between, a balance point, a shelter Heaven touched,
Sanctified by Love and death, the reason why You came.
Let me stand here beneath Your cross, O Lord,
And know that Your ways are Yours, and the worlds' ways are not the same.

Between the easy answer that self is the measure of all,
And the anger that lets uninvolved and innocent persons die
As offerings to hate that say "I'm stronger than you,"
Self and self-righteous indignation the echoing battlecry,
The unborn, sacrificed for convenience, the inconvenient killed on the way,
The unwanted dying in isolation, unmourned wherever they lie
Let me stand here beneath Your cross, Lord,
And see in Your light the reasons why you chose to die.

Let me stand here beneath Your cross, Lord,
A sanctuary made in such a hard and painful way
God walking as man beneath the Sun He made,
God dying, tortured and abused, to take our sins away
The one saving point in the realm of darkness,
The one sure dawning of Heaven's perfect day
Let me stand here beneath Your cross, Lord,
Be it ever in my sight, my hope, my life, O Lord I pray.

Susan E. Stone, 2007

Labels: Need for God, Passion of Christ

O my Jesus,
when the darkness touches our lives with screaming reality,
shattering the moment of comfort that you let us wrap ourselves in,
the spun-sugar illusions of our own strength,
and we realize how fragile,
how delicate
how precious
that which you give us really is,
help us remember to run into your arms,
so you can carry us like the children we are.

O Lord,
After the wounding happens,
and our heart aches with the need to strike out at that which hurt us,
Man or tool,
Wind, or sea or fire or flood,
even when there is nothing left to hurt except our own wounded hearts,
teach us to accept what you have given us,
the way you accepted the Father's will so long ago,
forgiving even as they killed you,
saving us,
showing us the way.

O Lord,
wrap yourself around us then,
when the darkness is too deep
and the anger too red for us to see,
and the pain blinds us even to your rocking us in our grief,
and bring us at last back into your light.

Amen

Labels: Need for God, Passion of Christ, Suffering

It was no clean thing, this --
no easy walk into that dark night,
no staged and calm event
filled with memorable sound bites
and photo op moments,
soldiers in their dress uniforms
and dignitaries in their solemn regalia.

No clean thing, this --
filled instead with the sweat of pain
and the taste of blood,
the dust of the road,
the tears of grief,
the reality of betrayal,
the weight of sin.

No calm thing, this,
filled instead with noise:
the noise of mockery, bitter and undeserved,
punctuated with spittle and blows.
the noise of pain:
the slap of the flagellum against bare skin,
the sound of hammers driving spikes into wood
through human flesh,
cries ripped unbidden from the depths of the gut,
as flesh protested the hot sudden agony
that would not go away.
The noise of expediency: "Crucify him yourselves."

No easy walk this,
rushed through the crowded streets
beneath a crushing weight,
stripped of everything that matters most to man,
standing naked in the light of day
bruised and bloody and battered,
with nothing left to give
except the acceptance of pain,
except the final acts of love,
surrender
death.

Help me see, O Jesus,
beyond the pretty pictures
and sound bites
and images
to the reality of how God descended to death,
the dirty, miserable realness of it,
of man's willingness to be inhuman,
and you did this knowing how dark we can be,
and how unloving we can be,
and how we cling to the dark in spite of your light,
and you still chose to go.

Susan E. Stone, 2007

Labels: Jesus' Love, Passion of Christ

Step by painful step You chose the way
from Gethsemane's dark shadows
To Golgotha's bleak hard day,
You the eternal Passover offering
Your blood stained cross the door
To save those who would shelter there,
God With Us ever more.

O Lord, you bore upon your shoulders
the blood guilt of all our sin,
the stain of each and every wrong
destroying us within,
You, perfect in your innocence,
freely bearing all our night
redeeming us by your hard death
to robe us in your light.

Stripe by stripe, and nail by nail
Blood drop by drop, you gave it all,
Hot and gasping breath by breath
Answering the Father's call.
until carrying your burden down
into the halls of death,
you gave birth to hope where hope was not,
And gave our life new breath.

Susan E. Stone, 2007

Labels: Passion of Christ

Dear Jesus, bring to mind often that sad, holy, day
When You changed the world for sinners like me
As You carried that horrendous burden of sin all the way
On Your sinless, torn and battered back to set us free.
The unrighteousness of others rested upon Your head
On You, the Son of righteousness, the Father's gift from above,
The dark sin of mankind wanted You dead
To put out your light,You who are all love.
And yet, by carrying all that darkness to the grave
You opened that path that would reach out and save.

O Lord, my light and my hope, let me think of the crowd,
And know it was my sins joining the cry
Of angry men in the courtyard screaming so loud
Demanding the cross, that You had to die.
Let me think of the whip slapping hard as it flails --
How my sin was there in the stripes that it left,
Let me know that my hand hammered the nails,
My sins caused pain for your Mother, bereft.
Through all the times I have chosen sin over right,
I was there with the crowd there to darken your light.

O Lord my salvation, all the days of my life
Let me never take for granted the gift that you give,
the pain and the sorrow, the mocking, the strife
that you bore for me so that my soul might live.
Instead let me offer you at the foot of your cross
the tears of my remorse, bitter as gall,
Repentance of heart for the hard cruel loss
You gave to save me, to redeem one and all.
I offer the sighs of my heart, O Bridegroom divine,
For the love that you have for this poor heart of mine.

Amen.

Susan E. Stone, 2007

Labels: Jesus' Love, Passion of Christ, Penitence

Suspended in that heartbreaking place
where Heaven and earth meet in a crashing line,
Cruciform, an intersection of time and space
an unheard of mingling of mortal and the Divine,
in one man's flesh.

Hanging there in plain sight
You are an offering of love unimaginable,
burning with a never-ending light
dying, You give hope unfathomable
God giving up to God in sacrifice.


You wait there, Bridegroom of light
feeling the life you offer ebb away
throb by painful throb, in Heaven's sight
Your life extinguished, your death will be the ray
of an unfading lamp to lead the lost.

O Light to lead the lost, remember me,
Here in the darkness of this wayward land.
Light my every step so that I might see
The loving touch of your blessed hand
That reaches out to take me home.

Susan E. Stone, 2007

Labels: Passion of Christ

Let me never forget how you gave yourself, O Lord, to the soldier's whip,
three thongs of leather braided together, each thong capped with a biting tip.
How they gathered together,the soldiers there, with blows of anger and mocking,
Twisted together the wreath of thorns in jest for a brutal crowning.
How unfairly condemned you were that day with two thieves at your side --
Yet by all of this, the blood you shed, and the hard death that you died,
you wrought our salvation.


Still today we hold the soldier's whip so tightly in our grasp,
Hearing the leather hit your back and your breath's quick choking gasp,
the flagellum with its biting teeth flailing through the air
The blood from the crown we weave anew dripping down in your hair
each time we choose to hurt, to have the final say,
each time we chose to have by force, intent on just our way,
each time we ignore the need, and choose to gloat instead,
each time that we laugh at good, and wish another dead
instead of longing for your salvation.

Have mercy, Lord, on the hardness of our heart,
The many many sins and darknesses that tear this world apart,
Warm us in spite of our coldness, so that we might heal instead of harm,
to bless instead of curse with your strength in our strong arm,
to love instead of hate, when anger fills our life,
to be your word of peace instead of tools of strife,
to be the the tools of your salvation.

Instead of the whip, O Lord of life, give us hands of peace,
Give us true repentance to make that harsh whip cease.
Forgive us all our hardness that beats you more and more,
O with your grace, O Lord of Love, may we may go and sin no more,
rescued by your salvation.

Susan E. Stone

Labels: Man's Sinfulness, Passion of Christ, Penitence

When you prayed in the garden, Lord,
and the heaviness pressed all around you
from the weight of all we had had done and would do
echoing in the quiet night,
and you knelt there while the full moon's light
peaked through the olive trees,
Silent witness alone that sees
how you were sweating blood in the depths of your grief.

How heavy did today weigh on your shoulders, Lord,
How this war-torn world of anger and tears
mad with lust, demands and fears
Despising you for what you said about right --
Choosing the darkness and calling it light,
Twisting your words, despising your peace,
hot with hatred and selfishness that never does cease -
Sometimes done for God, sometimes done for gain
Intense the cry, but an ancient refrain--
How careless we are of what you taught.

When they tied you to the pillar, Lord,
and scourged you in the Roman way, cutting like a knife,
a beating so severe that it alone could take a life,
as the weights at the ends of the whips gouged your skin
and the heavy slap of the leather tore you within,
did you see babies ripped from their mother's womb as inconvenient,
the innocents blown up to make a political statement,
the slaughtered millions killed by machete, bomb and gas
because they belonged to the wrong class,
just happened to be the wrong culture or faith or bloodline,
put down for gain or as a warning sign.
Which gave you the most pain the cruel leather across your back
or the way we would hate and strike and attack,
the knowlege how we would reject you?

When you walked that long walk to your death, Lord
with the heavy crossbeam tied across your shoulders
as the proud and hard Romans paraded you and the others
the soldiers hating the noise and the crowd and the foreignness of it all,
and took out their spite by tugging your bonds and watching you fall,
And as they lifeted you back to your feet you saw your Mother there,
and the aching pain passed between you, her grief and motherly care
did you see all the other mothers aching in their pain for their children, too -
The evil to their sons and daughters that others would do,
mothers who watch their children die for others' gain,
mothers weeping in the night in inconsolable pain,
mothers who would cry to you for help.


When they nailed you to the cross, Lord,
and hung you up to die the slow hard death reserved for theives and slaves
in pain and shame and suffocation, until exhaustion takes them to their graves
did our evil make the pain that much sharper to feel?
Did our lack of mercy and love, our evil zeal
echo down the centuries like a pressing weight of lead,
sin upon sin laying on your head
making your sacrifice all the more painful?

And yet, still you managed to love us, and gave us all you had left,
Hanging on the cross, beneath a darkened sky, naked and bereft -
your mother, your forgiveness, your heart's blood.

Dear Lord,
Have mercy on us.

Susan E. Stone, 2007

Labels: current evils, Jesus' Love, Passion of Christ

Like the beat of a heart,
pounding, pounding,
like the beat of a drum
as an army moves out,
like the pain of a wound
throbbing, throbbing,
The whole weight of sin
on the wood of one cross.

How high we pile it,
higher and higher,
the guilt load, the sorrow
on the weight of His head,
Each act of darkness,
blacker and blacker,
The whole weight of sin
on the wood of one cross.

Each wrong against brother,
the anger, the anger,
The coldhearted choosing
the wrong over right,
Each trust we've betrayed,
how bitter, how bitter,
The whole weight of sin
on the wood of one cross.

He carried it all,
Each wrongness, each wrongness
He bore it for us,
God With Us, for love,
Each black-hearted deed,
To save us, to save us,
The whole weight of sin
on the wood of one cross.

O help us to love,
O Jesus, O Jesus,
To end the great weight
we pour on your head,
To see the great love
Poured on us, poured on us,
From the gift that you gave
on the wood of one cross.

Susan E. Stone, 2007

Labels: Man's Sinfulness, Need for God, Passion of Christ

See them walking to the hill,
Soldiers, priests and prisoners all,
A time to weep, a time to kill --
God With Us answers mercy's call.

Wood and hammer,
nail and rope,
tools of hard death,
tools of hope,
washed in blood,
crowned by thorn,
as He dies,
new life is born.

See them nail him to the cross,
Beaten, bloody, forgiving all,
They glory at His mother's loss --
God With Us answers mercy's call.

Wood and hammer,
nail and rope,
tools of hard death,
tools of hope,
washed in blood,
crowned by thorn,
as He dies,
new life is born.

The sky grows dark as death grows near,
This day more different than them all,
The Son gives all while the wicked cheer --
God With Us answers mercy's call.

Wood and hammer,
nail and rope,
tools of hard death,
tools of hope,
washed in blood,
crowned by thorn,
as He dies,
new life is born.

O Pascal Lamb, O Bridegroom bright,
Who dies for love of one and all!
The earth itself quaked at the sight --
How God With us answered mercy's call.

Wood and hammer,
nail and rope,
tools of hard death,
tools of hope,
washed in blood,
crowned by thorn,
as He dies,
new life is born.

Susan E. Stone, 2007

Labels: Divine Mercy, Jesus' Love, Passion of Christ, Song

No day like this, ever.

Did you sit there, Mother,
When they laid Him in your lap
And remember the angel with his words of promise,
And remember the words of Simeon with his words of warning,
And remember your Son nestled in your lap,
Small and warm and new,
Smiling in the sun?

As you brushed the blood soaked hair off His forehead,
And washed his face, one last time,
Counting every bruise, mark, wound,
Did you think of all the times of danger,
Fleeing with Him next to your breast
On the road to Egypt?
Or how the villagers in Nazareth
Tried to cast Him off a cliff,
All those other moments where his very presence
Showed that He was, indeed,
A sign of contention,
A sign of contradiction?

One last kiss,
One last giving of your yes to the Father
As you embraced fully the sword buried in your heart
As they buried your heart in the tomb
For the long midnight ahead.

Susan E. Stone, 2007

Labels: Mary, Mother of Sorrows, Passion of Christ

Let me fly unto you, O Lord of my life
When the darkness is heavy with sorrow and strife,
Your light will cut through the dark like a knife,
O Lord, let me fly to your cross!

Let me hear your soft voice in my heart in the night,
O Lord, let it buoy me on the the light
Wherever I go, let me keep you in sight,
O Lord, keep me close to your cross!

A tool made for torture becomes love's bright shield
Transforming the weak into God's own ripe field,
Redeeming my soul if I answer and yield,
O Lord, through the gift of your cross!

Let me think of you often by night or by day,
Of that horrid hard Friday where Love had its way,
O fill my heart ever so that I long to say,
O Lord, keep me here at your cross!

Susan E. Stone, 2007

Labels: Loving God, Need for God, Passion of Christ, Praise and Thanksgiving

Theotokos, Mother of God,
You who knew the blessedness of living with Him,
Our Light, our Peace, our Salvation
Theotokos, O Mother of Sorrows,
You who knew the darkness of watching Him die
Scorned, abused, in pain and misery.

Theotokos, O Mother of Tears,
thank you for saying yes
when Simeon told you
how the sword would pierce your heart,
Theotokos, O Mother of our Hope,
thank you for saying yes
when it was time to flee to Egypt,
Theotokos, O Mother most faithful,
for saying yes, and knowing how it feels
to lose the light of your Son,
as you searched for Him, three days, finding Him in the temple.
Theotokos, O Mother acquainted with grief,
for saying yes
when seeing your son
burdened, falling, beaten, bleeding, on the way to Golgotha.
Theotokos, O Mother of Martyrs,
for saying yes
as you waited with him at the foot of the cross,
Theotokos, O Mother most bereft,
thank you for saying yes
when you held his cold and bloodstained body,
Theotokos, O Mother whose heart felt the full length of the sword,
thank you for saying yes
as you left the tomb as its stone rolled into place.

Theotokos, Mother Most Afflicted,
O Mother of my Lord, who knows the depths of sorrow,
Help me, by remembering your grief,
your Yes,
to come closer to your Son, each and every day.

O Mater Dolorosa,
Pray for us now, and the hour of our deaths, Amen.

Susan E. Stone, 2007

Labels: Mary, Mother of Sorrows, Passion of Christ

The hours pass too slowly
while you stand and watch , O Lady of Tears,
The pain and agony of death
His misery, the struggle for breath,
Giving up so slowly the death that nears
This moment so painful, so holy.

The hours pass too fast
while you stand and watch, O Lady of Tears,
Seeing the child you bore soon to be gone
Leaving you behind to live on with John
Ahead the long stretch of years
Until you breathe your last.

So much to give, O Mother of Tears,
So deep your heart, with its hopes and fears
Centered on giving God your all.
When I stumble, when I fall,
Remind me of that long hard day.
When my heart begins to stray,
Pray that I hear my Savior's call.

Susan E. Stone, 2007

Labels: Mary, Mother of Sorrows, Passion of Christ

So much hope heaped on his shoulders,
this one lone carpenter turned rabbi from the north --
look at those who followed him, coming forth
out of a night of terror and day of grief.
Political assassination in the courts
scattered most who ran away.
A few stood solid that hard day,
Mother, aunt, a single thief,
one young friend beneath his bloody cross,
women who cared wailing their loss
Two politicians who chose to believe.
How white the shroud they provided, how dark the tomb.
And then they went with heavy hearts back to that upper room
Nowhere else to go when Sabbath evening fell,
Nowhere else to grieve.

Look at those who followed him coming forth
with whispered words of hope after the dark of Sabbath night
Whispered words of hope about an angel standing very white,
a cast off shroud upon the ground, an empty tomb.
"Did you talk to her?" they asked. "Did you see Peter's face?"
Another described how John and Peter ran into that place,
Hope breathed in the midst of them to breathe out across the world
As He stood there in the room.
So many years later, hope is heaped across His shoulders still --
Lord Jesus, if you will,
Fill me with your light
Against the hopelessness of endless night.

Labels: Hope, Passion of Christ

See the Bridegroom coming,
Coming with shouts and noise,
Soldiers marching in fine array,
Heading to His betrothal.

See the Bridegroom standing,
Standing there before the crowd,
Dressed in the finery of love
Heading to His betrothal.

His garland is a bloody crown
of twisted thorn thrust on his head,
Finery than the lillies of spring,
Arrayed for His betrothal,

His robe a bloodstained rag of red,
Mockery of royal garb,
Richer than any silk woven,
Fine clothes for His betrothal.

His body anointed with his own blood,
A perfume from Heaven for his bride
And spittle from the mocking men
Rich unguent for His betrothal.

His betrothal gift boxed all in wood,
A cross of heavy weight and pain,
Embossed with nails for feet and hands,
Precious treasure for His betrothal.

All for love he gives these things,
All for love to win his bride,
All for love to woo her heart,
Giving all for His betrothal.

Susan E. Stone, 2007

Labels: Jesus' Love, Passion of Christ

But far be it from me to glory except in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ
- Galatians 6:14 RSV

The world does not understand this, Lord,
why I should want to bring to mind that sad but holy day,
when You became the curse for us,
when You carried that horrendous burden
far heavier than the wood of Your cross,
the sin of the world on Your sinless, torn and battered back.
Such is the scandal of God in the eyes of the world,
That out of disgrace and misery and pain,
Hope is born.

How heavy the weight of the unrighteousness of others on You,
the Son of righteousness,
hatred and the selfish lack of love piled high on You,
You who are all love,
all that darkness
on the shoulders of You who are always the Light,
as You brought the redemption that a loving God offered --
by Your stripes we are healed.

O Lord, let me think of the crowd that gathered in front of the Roman judge,
pressing close and noisy that Friday morning,
thinking they were upholding the honor of the Father,
but caught up by the world who would not see You for who you are,
and know my sins were there as they screamed for Your blood.
Let me think of the whip and know that my sins were there,
driving the lead tipped leather to cut Your skin,
as You took the punishment that I deserved.
Let me remember how that my sinful hand joined the executioner hammering the nails
through all the times I have chosen to do wrong,
not counting the cost that you so willingly bore to the depths of death.

The world does not understand,
does not want to understand,
chooses not to believe this foolishness of God,
the one thing truly to glory in,
a cursed death that is a marvelous victory,
yet for us who love You,
the scandal of the cross is our one hope and salvation.

Lord,
Let me never take for granted what You have wrought,
and contemplating that day with remorse and with gladness,
remember with a thankful heart how much I am loved,
now and forever.

Amen.


Susan E. Stone, 2007

Labels: Passion of Christ

Friday morning in spring, full moon time,
Was the weather mild or cool that day
While the judge sat there, contemplating a crime
As the crowd swelled the city, making their way
At Passover time?

Did the whisper pass from ear to ear
That morning about the trial,
While those in the know crowded in to hear
What others said with a certain bile
At Passover time?

How big was the crowd in the courtyard that day?
An unexpected spectacle to prove their worth
As Abraham's sons, their cries for death part of the way
To give a new covenant a birth
At Passover time.

How frail you must have seemed when he presented you
Bloody and beaten, crowned with thorn
to the angry crowd with their cries and their hue,
Looking not like a king, but a person to mourn
At Passover time.

As the sentence was passed and the verdict he gave,
They led you away to die by cross and by nail
A new passage of blood on life's lintel to save
By your sacrifice there as the women did wail
At Passover time.

Susan E. Stone, 2007

Labels: Friday Meditations, Passion of Christ

Each step that day, as the crowd pressed in,
How hard it was for You, burdened with a dark world's sin,
that last, painful walk through Jerusalem's dust,
beneath a burden incredibly hard to bear, but bear it You must -
step by aching step, one foot following another
a countdown You were born for, while others thought to smother
Your light, Heaven's light, beneath a rebel's death
Each step that day a struggle of muscle and breath
each step one less to the time when you would walk no more
before tasting the depths of darkness that would open hope's door.

Watching you in mind's eye, O my Jesus, what you did so long ago,
the reality of that moment doubted by so many who think they know,
in my heart, seeing your blood streaked face marred beneath your thorny crown,
Your mother's tears, the bored soldiers, the impatient centurion's frown,
I contemplate your words, "Come to me, you who are heavy burdened," and know
that as I watch you walk that short but hard march, each shove and blow
from the place of condemnation to the place of execution,
That your death was a gift, the choice was God's solution.


O my Jesus, may I, in my remembering that day, that gift,
learn to follow in your footsteps in gratitude, and let you heal sin's rift,
walking beside you on the road from death to life beneath the cross you give me;
teach me to bear its burden well, as a treasure, graciously
with as much love and willingness as my wavering heart can muster,
And forgive me this day, if I forget and stand and whine and bluster
Because I love you for the loving walk you took -
Bring it to my mind daily - help me stand and look!

Amen.

Susan E. Stone, 2007

Labels: Jesus' Love, Passion of Christ

O Lord, on the days when the darkness seems so deep
When I feel the splinters from the wood of my own cross,
Sometimes I get a flash of insight, a sudden leap
Of that suffering, of that pain, of that loss --

Separated from the pretty pictures of my books,
The smell of death hanging in the air, the jeers, the flies,
The weeping women, the soldiers' learing looks,
The eyes of your Mother as she cries --

Real moments fraught with blood and grief and pain --
From this you wrought the answer to Adam's sin,
How we want to pretty it up, build walls, contain
The reality of God touching us, lock it in.

Clever as we are at building the boxes to hide that fire,
The burning love of creator for creation stained,
You find ways to bring home that truth, inspire -
Yours is a love that will not stay contained.

Open my heart, O Lord, and let me see today
The reality of a God who burns away the night
Holding nothing back to open up the way
To lead his bride at last into the light.

Susan E. Stone, 2007

Labels: Jesus' Love, Passion of Christ

O my Jesus,
remember the hands raised against you in anger
as you stood there accused before the high priest,
and remember all of us here
hate-filled and angry,
victims of of that same hate.
Have mercy on us, O Lord.

O my Jesus,
remember the hardness of injustice
when unjustly accused,
you stood before those who wished you dead,
and remember those of us here,
those accused unfairly,
those who do wrong and call it justice.
Have mercy on us, O Lord.

O my Jesus,
remember the tears of those who wept,
seeing you so injured,
forced to march to the place of your death,
and remember those of us here,
weeping over our lost ones,
weeping over those we cannot help,
weeping over the victims of all this evil.
Have mercy on us, O Lord.

O my Jesus,
remember the looks of the bored guards,
who doing what they were instructed to do,
had no idea of the immensity of their actions.
Remember those of us here,
who think we are just doing our jobs,
allowing wrongs to be committed
and evil to flourish.
Have mercy on us, O Lord.

O my Jesus,
remember the eyes of your Mother as you neared death,
she who shared your birth,
she who shared your death with such pain and grief,
and remember the breaking hearts of mothers everywhere,
who see the grief in their children's lives,
who mourn their beloved, dead, injured, lost, without hope.
Have mercy on us, O Lord.

O my Jesus,
remember the gathering darkness as you sank down into death,
your life given because of the wickedness of man,
and remember all of us who will die this day
because of sin,
theirs or another,
in pain and fear and anguish,
entering into life's final darkness.
Have mercy on us, O Lord.

Lord, you who worked so hard to show us the way, to bring us into light, remember us,
and kindle into the hearts of all who will open to you the flame of your mercy, so that we, doing your work, may spread your mercy across this dark and troubled world, this day, and always.
Amen.

Labels: Mercy on Mankind, Passion of Christ, Prayer for Mercy

The night seems heavy, and long and so deep,
And I lay there just restless, unable to sleep,
And I lay there in darkness and watch the moonlight
It reminds me, in some way, of another dark night.

Moonlight that night among dark olive trees,
And one lonely Man praying hard, on His knees,
The sin of a world resting hard on His head,
Looking into the darkness that would soon see Him dead.

God With Us, He knelt, feeling the stones on His knees,
And the longing to be somewhere else, if you please,
And the chill of the air as He struggled and prayed,
Feeling so very alone, tired and troubled, afraid.

God With Us, He prays, giving the Father His all,
Working hard that long night there to answer the call,
Just how hard it can be -- O He knows how it feels,
Fast beating heart, taste of bile, head that reels.

God With Us, our Jesus, He tasted our night,
How heavy the dark with the midnight in sight.
But He made the path there that will open the way,
As He steps from the tomb on that glorious day.

God With Us still, Jesus, O Lord of my life,
You walk me through each and all sickness and strife,
Remind me that when the dark feels so deep,
That You are there with me, Your love does not sleep.

Susan E. Stone, 2007

Labels: Emmanuel, Passion of Christ

Sing how the Son emptied himself entering into creation,
Creator of all, choosing this lowly station,
Carried nine months near his mother's heart.
He became poor and humble, not rich and grand,
But as one of the lowly, working by hand,
Knowing how to earn his bread by muscle and art.

In love, He preached the way to live for light,
Healing and leading us out of the night,
Misunderstood by many who would turn away.
He suffered agony in the garden, burdened with our sin,
Obeying the Father, grief stricken within,
Knowing full well the evil of man to this day.

For love, He let himself be betrayed and denied,
Alone he stood before the judges, deserted, decried
Like a sheep to the slaughter, silent and mild.
He allowed himself to be mocked and abused,
Slapped, punched, lied about, unfairly accused
Of nothing but truth, a truth they defiled.

He stood there and took the stripes we deserve,
To heal wounded souls without any reserve,
Each mark, each wound, a sign of his love.
He accepted the crown of thorns, woven in spite,
A mockery of who he was, king of all light,
Perversion of his crown in heaven above.

For love, He bore his cross willingly,
Condemned with the wicked, a gift offered free,
To the Father above who would heal us this way.
He was nailed to the cross to bleed and to die
The new passover, as his mother did cry,
Entering death's night, he brought a shining new day.

Susan E. Stone, 2007

Labels: Jesus' Love, Passion of Christ

That Friday morning the city saw a sight,
Swollen with the crowd,
Chattering and loud,
Witness to a miracle of light,
An amazing thing they would not understand.

That Friday as an angry group cried out,
Yelling in the streets
As the hard whips beats
His back for them even while they shout,
Offering his all into the Father's hand.

The bored and angry soldiers marched along,
Dragging three three to die
Crossbeams held up high
Followed by a sad and angry throng
Stopping only when he falls onto the sand.

They reached the place of death by city gate
A place for all to see
The dying infamy.
Those coming for the feast arriving late,
Had to pass the noisy execution band.

An amazing thing was wrought for all to see,
Although they did not know
There as his blood did flow
A new sacrifice was made to set men free,
A gift of love to heal the heart's demand.

Lord bring me back in mind to see that day
When burdened by man's sin,
You died to let us in
Into the light of heaven's golden way,
Love's triumph that the dark could not withstand.

Susan E. Stone, 2007

Labels: Friday Meditations, Passion of Christ

How do we walk, O Lord, when we see the darkness falling?
How do we stand, O Lord, when the winds are blowing long?
How do we pray, O Lord, when shouts are growing louder?
How do we love, O Lord, when the evil seems so strong?

Let me recall that night You prayed there in the garden,
All alone with grief, of knowing what would be,
How heavy was the weight of sin upon your shoulders,
How your heart longed to leave, but you chose to set us free.
You let them take you there, you chose to walk the darkness,
You let them take you there, and let the Father be your light
You let Him guide your steps, in pain and blood and sorrow,
You stepped out in the dark, and let the Father be your sight.

O teach me Lord, to trust, when darkness is around me,
O help me walk in faith when I cannot see my way,
O let me know that You will guide me where You want me
O help me trust You, Lord, to lead me into day.


O let me remember, Lord, how you stood there next to Pilate,
Marked there with blood and dirt, a crown of twisted thorn,
Marked with the harsh whip's stripes you bore to heal the broken,
Prepared to bear your cross, our salvation being born.
You let them mock you there, as you listened to their howlings,
You let them call you fool to bring us through Death's night.
You took their blows and words, an offering to the Father,
In grief and pain and blood, you brought the world to light.

O teach me Lord, to give when others seek to stop me,
O help me stand in faith when they try to block my way,
O let me know that You will guide me where You want me
O help me trust You, Lord, to lead me into day.

Let me remember how they nailed you to the crossbeam,
And raised your body up between the earth and sky
And then you looked at those who chose to take your life there,
And prayed forgiveness on the ones who made you die.
You let them take your life, you gave it to the Father,
A sacrifice in love, to open up the way
No cursing passed your lips as your blood dripped out in offering,
But words of blessing there were what you had to say.

O teach me Lord your words when others try to harm me,
O help me stand in faith and remember how to pray,
O let me know that You will guide me where You want me
O help me trust You, Lord, to lead me into day.

You were the sacrifice that opened wide God's mercy,
The weight of sin you bore to free us from our plight
Emmanuel, you came, Creator to creation
And went down into death to lead us into light.
The face of love is yours, no other is as perfect,
You put your hand in ours to show us how to be,
And if we take your hand, you will guide us to tomorrow,
Refined, transformed and white, in loving purity.

O teach me Lord, to love, when loving is not easy,
O help me stand in faith when death draws near to stay,
O let me know that You will guide me where You want me
O help me trust You, Lord, to lead me into day.


Susan E. Stone, 2007

Labels: Discipleship, Passion of Christ, Trust

You stand there, Lord, looking small, forlorn
Before the haughty Roman judge,
Beneath the twisted crown of thorn
Bloody and beaten, Your face a smudge

Ecce Homo!

Looking at the gathered crowd
As You lift your bloodied head
You see them crying, hungry, loud
longing to see You dead.

Ecce Homo!

No self-pity touches you there,
Standing beaten, carrier of sin,
But love and grief at what you bear,
To save their souls within.

Ecce Homo!

What depth of care under bloody crown
Shows softly in your eyes,
Not cry or blow or anger's frown
Can hide the love that within you lies.

Ecce Homo!

Lord, I am not worthy to meet your eyes,
The love that lingers there for me
Have I not, like Peter, told my lies,
Then longed to hide where you could not see?

Ecce Homo!

Or like Judas, have I not betrayed you?
Reached out my hand for some fool's gold
In the dark of my heart, by what I chose to do,
With love grown empty, life grown cold.

Ecce Homo!

And yet here you stand with loving heart
pouring yourself out like a drink offering,
letting the cup be drained, your death the start
of an undeserved rebirth, a unexpected spring.

Ecce Homo!

Help me to know the truth you show,
The ways of love deeper than the sea,
God's gift of life that I might grow
Into the child you want me to be.

Ecce Homo!

Susan E. Stone, 2007

Labels: Discipleship, Need for God, Passion of Christ

Each step, that day, O my Jesus, how hard it was,
that last, painful walk through the crowded holiday streets
beneath a burden incredibly hard to bear,
one foot following another,
a countdown you were born for,
each step one less to the time when you would walk no more
before tasting the depths of death.

Watching you in mind's eye, O my Jesus,
so many years after,
when the reality of this moment is doubted by so many in the world,
in my heart, seeing your blood and sweat streaked face marred beneath your thorny crown,
I contemplate your words, "Come to me, you who are heavy burdened," and know,
that as I watch you walk that short but o so long march
from the place of condemnation to the place of execution,
what weighs more on your shoulders than the hundred pounds of wood strapped to your arms
is the weight of so many sins,
my sins,
the griefs of a sin-drenched world
the darkness gnawing at the center of untold hearts,
a load you carried willingly
so that we might find rest.

O my Jesus,
may I, in my remembering,
learn to follow in your footsteps,
walking the road beneath the cross you give me
with as much love and willingness as my wavering heart can muster
for the love of the walk you took,
this day and always.

Amen.

Susan E. Stone, 2006

Labels: Carrying My Cross, Loving God, Passion of Christ

O Mother of Sorrows, well acquainted with tears,
Who knows what a grief it is when one soul dies
because of the violence of another,
to thee we cry, O Mother of mercy,
who feels the sorrow of the loss when one life is twisted
for the gain of another,
when the word that leads a soul to sin
is spoken by another,
when one life is taken in expdiency for the comfort of another.

To Thee to we send up our sighs, mourning and weeping,
O Mater Dolorosa,
You who stood at the foot of the cross
and watched what your Son was willing to suffer
for each of these hurt and broken and cast-off lives,
lives betrayed,
lives wrecke by the wages of sin.

O Sorrowful Mother, Help of Christians,
Teach us to join our tears with yours,
here at the foot of the cross,
our heartache with yours,
our compassion and our prayers with yours,
learning as you taught, "to do whatever He tells you to,"
to say with you, "Be it done to me according to Your word,"
until we may learn to see the world as your Son would have us see it,
to see each soul as a child of the Father,
to become the tool in His hand open to the call of mercy.
and may we spread his message by our lives, ours hearts, and our lips,
for the glory of His name.

O Mother of the Word Incarnate,
Pray for us sinners now, and at the hour of our deaths, Amen.

Susan E. Stone, 2006

Labels: Help, Mary, Mother of Sorrows, Passion of Christ

Who looking would have expected hope to be born
that night of agonizing prayer under the olives,
sweat like blood falling in the spring moon light,
and a will that said not mine but yours.

Hope seemed to flee
when asking for the the price of a cheap slave
one of his own offered to make fellowship's kiss
turn into a betrayal,
backed by guards and swords and hate.

Did His followers hope against hope
that morning during an unjust trial,
where He stood, whipped and bloody,
a sacrifice of one for the many,
while a cynical judge gave Him up to prevent a riot
and a bad report back home.

Did any know that hope, while He in the grip of torture,
gave His back to the scourge,
His hands to the nails,
His body to the scorn,
hung high for all who came into the city to see,
He who gave up all, a perfect sacrifice,
as the temple veil was torn.

Hope glimmered in fear and amazement, though
as women crept out at dawn
to find a rolled-away stone
an empty tomb,
a discarded shroud,
a rolled-up napkin,
a missing body.

Hope spilled into concrete reality
as a weeping woman looked up
at the person who spoke her name.

Hope
coming down from Heaven,
the unexpected gift
to an undeserving world.

Susan E. Stone, 2006

Labels: Hope, Jesus' Love, Passion of Christ

Once they mocked Him with a crown of twisted thorns,
the soldiers there,
a game to amuse themselves
while they passed the time,
to prove how secure they were in this foreign land
how much stronger,
how much in control.
No threat, He,
beaten, bloody, bound,
an interesting toy
to play with in the morning.

Now they mock Him
with a crown of twisted words,
those who choose to despise Him,
soliders in a different war,
yet still in need of games to amuse themselves with,
to prove how much wiser, stronger, smarter they are,
how they can turn their back on his open hand,
They look for ways to push the crown in deeper,
to add their spittle to His face,
other rags for Him to wear
so they can rip them off in mockery,
using Him as an interesting toy
to prove their independence.

And yet, despite of all their lies,
the tomb is still empty,
and the witness of God's mercy still lives,
passing from heart to heart,
life to life,
believer to believer.

Maranatha!

Susan E. Stone, 2006

Labels: Jesus' Love, Passion of Christ

O Lord,
You who gave so much in care and pain and sorrow,
emptying yourself out to come walk along the paths
of the world you created,
who looked at us with compassion in our pain, our fear, and our need,
who accepted the Father's will, and drank that bitter cup of hard, painful death
so that we might taste your mercy,
forgive us Lord, for all the times we spurn your mercy
and choose, like at the beginning of things to go our own way
in spite of what you offer.

O Lord,
As the current darkness descends,
and we are more interested in chasing after comforts than to give comfort,
and are more interested in spiting our brother
than to join hands to work to stop the calamities growing ever closer,
Open our eyes.

Although we demand the right to tell you what is good and what is bad,
Open our hearts to the truth.

Although we twist your truth
to justify the meanspiritedness or avarice or lust that motivates us today,
Fill us with the reality of the darkness we do.

Although we would grind you into insignificance,
Awaken us to the reality of your power.

Even though we stand proud against the universe
in what we think is our power,
Drop us to our knees.

Even though in our anger and our determination,
We use you as a tool to attack our enemies,
Teach us what you really want us to be.

O Lord, you are the fount of all mercy,
pull the scales from our eyes
that we see that dark is dark,
light is light,
truth is truth,
and that in that moment of reality,
we will be pulled into your loving arms,
never to depart again.

Lord have mercy,
Christ have mercy,
Lord have mercy.

Amen.

Susan E. Stone, 2006

Labels: Divine Mercy, Passion of Christ, Prayer for Mercy

O Lord of my life,
Your gift still amazes me,
How you walked the earth
To teach us the way to be,
Then suffered and died
So you might then set us free,
Peace of my heart,
let me come to thee now.

Those women who watched you
In sorrow and agony,
Amazed are their hearts
When they come in search of thee,
An empty tomb echoes
Instead of a cold body,
You have shattered death's chains,
All praise to you now!

O Peter, whose heart
Was a stone since the loss of thee
Ran with John like the wind
When Mary could not find thee,
Hope for the hopeless
The shroud and the towel they see,
But you are not there,
For you've shattered death's chains.

O Lord of my life,
O Master and King of me,
Your love is a call
That beckons me home to thee,
Your truth is a fire
That tranforms the dark of me
Peace of my heart,
Let me come to thee now.

Susan E. Stone, 2006

Labels: Jesus' Love, Passion of Christ, Song

The grieving mother stands beside
A blood-stained cross of wood
Where hangs her one and only son,
So innocent and good,
O see the tears that touch her cheek,
Each one a shining jewel,
Witness to to the cost of sin,
So heavy, dark and cruel.

Her son was given as a gift
to heal this world of woe,
And she was warned of sorrow's sword
so many years ago.
O see the tears that touch her cheek,
Each one a shining jewel,
Witness to to the cost of sin,
So heavy, dark and cruel.

She feels the blade pass in her heart
much sharper than her fears,
But what she has, she offers up,
Her joy, her love, her tears.
O see the tears that touch her cheek,
Each one a shining jewel,
Witness to to the cost of sin,
So heavy, dark and cruel.

O grieving mother, wondrous Son,
O pain and agony,
All suffered there in willing love
To set our spirits free.
O see the tears that touch her cheek,
Each one a shining jewel
Witness to the cost of sin,
So heavy, dark and cruel.

O Mother, let me stand with you
beneath my Master's cross,
And witness what my Lord has done
Through suffering and loss.
O may my eyes well up with tears,
at what my Lord has wrought,
in grief, and joy, and endless thanks
for what his blood has bought.

Susan E. Stone, 2006

Labels: Mary, Mother of Sorrows, Passion of Christ

1. Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane

Then Jesus went out and made his way, as he customarily did, to the Mount of Olives, and the disciples followed him. When he came to the place, he said to them, “Pray that you will not fall into temptation.”

He went away from them about a stone’s throw, knelt down, and prayed, “Father, if you are willing, take this cup away from me. Yet not my will but yours be done.”

Then an angel from heaven appeared to him and strengthened him. And in his anguish he prayed more earnestly, and his sweat was like drops of blood falling to the ground. When he got up from prayer, he came to the disciples and found them sleeping, exhausted from grief. So he said to them, “Why are you sleeping? Get up and pray that you will not fall into temptation!”

While he was still speaking, suddenly a crowd appeared, and the man named Judas, one of the twelve, was leading them. He walked up to Jesus to kiss him. But Jesus said to him, “Judas, would you betray the Son of Man with a kiss?”

When those who were around him saw what was about to happen, they said, “Lord, should we use our swords?” Then one of them struck the high priest’s slave, cutting off his right ear.

But Jesus said, “Enough of this!” And he touched the man’s ear and healed him.

Then Jesus said to the chief priests, the officers of the temple guard, and the elders who had come out to get him, “Have you come out with swords and clubs like you would against an outlaw? Day after day when I was with you in the temple courts, you did not arrest me. But this is your hour, and that of the power of darkness!”
Luke 22:39-53 (NET Bible Translation)



O Lord,
how the garden was filled
with moonlight peaking through the shadows
that last night.

How you suffered -
your desire to escape,
your grief,
your sure knowledge was in store,
the weight of sin,
all shadows trying to wrap themselves around you,
and yet you stayed,
obeyed the Father's will,
and saved us all.

O Lord,
how today my life is filled
with dark shadow trying to cloak the light
you give me,
my garden experience.

O Lord,
I offer you up my sorrow,
my pain,
my grief at sin, and failure, and weakness,
my groaning under loads I don't know how to bear,
my forgetfulness of your kindness,
my longing for escape.

O my Lord,
I am such a weak person.
Hold my hand each step of the way
as I walk through this valley of the shadow of death,
and though I sorrow,
I will fear no evil
for in the end, I know the light,
your light,
will lead me home to you at last.


2. Jesus Is Scourged

So Pilate went back into the governor’s residence, summoned Jesus, and asked him, “Are you the king of the Jews?”

Jesus replied, “Are you saying this on your own initiative, or have others told you about me?”

Pilate answered, “I am not a Jew, am I? Your own people and your chief priests handed you over to me. What have you done?”

Jesus replied, “My kingdom is not from this world. If my kingdom were from this world, my servants would be fighting to keep me from being handed over to the Jewish authorities. But as it is, my kingdom is not from here.”

Then Pilate said, “So you are a king!”

Jesus replied, “You say that I am a king. For this reason I was born, and for this reason I came into the world – to testify to the truth. Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice.”

Pilate asked, “What is truth?”

Then Pilate took Jesus and had him flogged severely.

John 18:33-38, 19:1 (NET Bible Translation)






The First Blow

The whip travels in a descending arc,
three thongs carrying weights of lead
double headed cargo
to increase the impact.

The hand that wields is
the rough and calloused hand
of a soldier doing a duty,
unknowing,
uncaring
of whose back it was in front of him.

Perhaps as he swings,
he thinks of all the looks of disdain,
the women who turn away,
the men who spit when he passes
and they think he does not see,
this strange people
with their strange hates
and strange language
and strange god,
and in retalliation,
he swings harder.

Yet his hand is not alone
on the braided leather of the handle,
his hand,
shadowed by every hand,
my hand,
my arm swinging the leather,
my sin adding to the agony
of that blow,
my darkness slapping against his skin,
causing him to gasp for breath
as it bites
my weakness the lead gouges digging.

Mea culpa,
mea culpa,
mea maxima culpa.

3. Jesus Is Mocked and Crowned with Thorns

Then the governor’s soldiers took Jesus into the governor’s residence and gathered the whole cohort around him. They stripped him and put a scarlet robe around him, and after braiding a crown of thorns, they put it on his head.

They put a staff in his right hand, and kneeling down before him, they mocked him: “Hail, king of the Jews!” They spat on him and took the staff and struck him repeatedly on the head.

When they had mocked him, they stripped him of the robe and put his own clothes back on him. Then they led him away to crucify him.

Matthew 27:34-52 (NET Bible Translation)









O my Jesus,
I contemplate your poor battered face
after the soldiers had had their way with you,
Your hair sticky and wet from the blood beneath your crown,
your cheeks bruised and bloodstreaked,
your nose swollen.

I behold you, my King on his way to his betrothal,
in just those garments that show
the depth of your love,
how far you are willing to go
in pursuit of you bride,
what a bride price you are willing to pay
to dress her in the dazzling white you promised.

Let me contemplate this gift,
and not forget the pain throbbing through your body
because of me, and all like me,
brother and sister in our lack of holiness,
pain you bear willingly,
pain rooted in our lack of perfection,
and our turning away from your light,
pain rooted in our hunger for good twisted into things we should not want,
all braided together like the thorns you wear around your head.

How heavy this burden you carry
on that abused but precious head, O Lord,
and I, with all of mankind, heaped that burden on you,
hammered the thorns into your flesh,
mocked you for who you are,
King and Bridegroom for an unfaithful world.

What reparations could I make
that would make this reality go away?
Nothing.
But, pricked to the heart,
I offer you my tears,
and grief at the necessity,
and bowing before you,
offer you the little love I have,
my heart,
my abject sorrow,
and eternal gratefulness at your willingness to love.

Amen.

4. Jesus Carries His Cross

Pilate addressed them once again because he wanted to release Jesus. But they kept on shouting, “Crucify, crucify him!”

A third time he said to them, “Why? What wrong has he done? I have found him guilty of no crime deserving death. I will therefore flog him and release him.” But they were insistent, demanding with loud shouts that he be crucified. And their shouts prevailed.

So Pilate decided that their demand should be granted. He released the man they asked for, who had been thrown in prison for insurrection and murder. But he handed Jesus over to their will.

As they led him away, they seized Simon of Cyrene, who was coming in from the country.They placed the cross on his back and made him carry it behind Jesus.

A great number of the people followed him, among them women who were mourning and wailing for him.

But Jesus turned to them and said, “Daughters of Jerusalem, do not weep for me, but weep for yourselves and for your children. For this is certain: The days are coming when they will say, ‘Blessed are the barren, the wombs that never bore children, and the breasts that never nursed Then they will begin to say to the mountains, ‘Fall on us!’ and to the hills, ‘Cover us!’ For if such things are done when the wood is green, what will happen when it is dry?”

Luke 23: 20-75 (Net Bible Translation)

Each step, each breath, each beat of your heart - pain.
The weight of the cross so heavy,
each step a small miracle of your perseverance,
the determination to pay that price,
no matter how shaky the legs,
how short the breath,
how much it costs to make each step.

Glorified.
This is how the Father does it,
the way he did not ask Abraham to take,
no sacrifice of the firstborn for his chosen people,
sacrificed by blood and fire.
No.

But through you, his only-begotten,
laboring there beneath the crossbeam,
Your hair and face streaked with blood beneath the thorny crown,
face beneath the smears ashen with pain,
and the gathering doom in your chest,
already making you hungry for breath,
Scapegoat,
bearing the sins of the world,
each bruise, each welt merely a token of what they deserve.

Glorified as you walk,
the smell of blood and fear and sweat and death and pain
swirling around you,
our deaths, our pains, our griefs
on your one set of shoulders,
each movement crying out its pain,
only a foretaste of the pains ahead,
until, fulfilled,
you slip away,
glorified indeed by the hands of your loving Father,
and in that new dawning,
hope born in the birthpangs we can only imagine,
you will stand glorified,
our Lord
world without end,
Amen.


5. Jesus Is Crucified and Dies on the Cross

They came to a place called Golgotha (which means “Place of the Skull”)and offered Jesus wine mixed with gall to drink. But after tasting it, he would not drink it. When they had crucified him, they divided his clothes by throwing dice Then they sat down and kept guard over him there. (Matt 27:33-36)

Pilate also had a notice written and fastened to the cross, which read: “Jesus the Nazarene, the king of the Jews.” Thus many of the Jewish residents of Jerusalem read this notice, because the place where Jesus was crucified was near the city, and the notice was written in Aramaic, Latin, and Greek. Then the chief priests of the Jews said to Pilate, “Do not write, ‘The king of the Jews,’ but rather, ‘This man said, I am king of the Jews.’” Pilate answered, “What I have written, I have written.” John 19:20-22

But Jesus said, “Father, forgive them, for they don’t know what they are doing." The people also stood there watching, but the rulers ridiculed him, saying, “He saved others. Let him save himself if he is the Christ of God, his chosen one!” (Luke 23:34a,35)

One of the criminals who was hanging there railed at him, saying, “Aren’t you the Christ? Save yourself and us!” But the other rebuked him, saying, “Don’t you fear God, since you are under the same sentence of condemnation? And we rightly so, for we are getting what we deserve for what we did, but this man has done nothing wrong.” Then he said, “Jesus, remember me when you come in your kingdom.” And Jesus said to him, “I tell you the truth, today you will be with me in paradise.”

It was now about noon, and darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon, because the sun’s light failed.(Luke 23: 39-44)

Now standing beside Jesus’ cross were his mother, his mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene. So when Jesus saw his mother and the disciple whom he loved standing there, he said to his mother, “Woman, look, here is your son!” He then said to his disciple, “Look, here is your mother!” From that very time the disciple took her into his own home.
(John 19:25-27)

At about three o’clock Jesus shouted with a loud voice, “Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?” that is, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Matt. 27:46)

After this Jesus, realizing that by this time everything was completed, said (in order to fulfill the scripture), “I am thirsty!” A jar full of sour wine was there, so they put a sponge soaked in sour wine on a branch of hyssop and lifted it to his mouth. When he had received the sour wine, Jesus said, “It is completed!” (John 19:28-30a)

Then Jesus, calling out with a loud voice, said, “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit!” And after he said this he breathed his last. Luke 23:46

Just then the temple curtain was torn in two, from top to bottom. The earth shook and the rocks were split apart. (Matthew 27:51)

Now when the centurion and those with him who were guarding Jesus saw the earthquake and what took place, they were extremely terrified and said, “Truly this one was God’s Son!” (Matthew 27:54)

Now when the centurion saw what had happened, he praised God and said, “Certainly this man was innocent!” And all the crowds that had assembled for this spectacle, when they saw what had taken place, returned home beating their breasts. And all those who knew Jesus stood at a distance, and the women who had followed him from Galilee saw these things. Luke 23:47-49
(all verses from the NET Bible Translation)

I kneel here,
pebbles and sand grinding into my knees,
at this place dedicated to death,
and ignore the flies,
the smells of blood
and fear
and dying,
longing to shield my eyes
from the reality of what we have wrought
with our anger
and greed
and pride
and hate,
and yet,
as you call my name
and I look up into those eyes
in spite of myself,
in spite of my guilt,
in spite of my remorse,
"It's really about love, you know," you whisper,
and I collapse
and watch you die,
knowing never
can I deserve this gift
so freely offered
in pain,
in knowlege,
in love.

Deo gratias.

Amen.

Labels: Passion of Christ, Rosary Meditation

O my Jesus,
I contemplate your poor battered face this evening,
Your hair sticky and wet from the blood beneath your crown,
your cheeks bruised and bloodstreaked,
your nose swollen.

I behold the King on his way to his betrothal,
in just those garments that show
the depth of your love,
how far you are willing to go
in pursuit of you bride,
what a bride price you are willing to pay
to dress her in the dazzling white you promised.

Let me contemplate this gift,
and not forget the pain throbbing through your body
because of me, and all like me,
brother and sister in our lack of holiness,
pain you bear willingly,
pain rooted in our lack of perfection,
and our turning away from your light,
pain rooted in our hunger for good twisted into things we should not want,
all braided together like the thorns you wear around your head.

How heavy this burden you carry
on that abused but precious head, O Lord,
and I, with all of mankind, heaped that burden on you,
hammered the thorns into your flesh,
mocked you for who you are,
King and Bridegroom for an unfaithful world.

What reparations could I make
that would make this reality go away?
Nothing.
But, pricked to the heart,
I offer you my tears,
and grief at the necessity,
and bowing before you,
offer you the little love I have,
my heart,
my abject sorrow,
and eternal gratefulness at your willingness to love.

Amen.

Susan E. Stone, 2006

Labels: Jesus' Love, Passion of Christ, Penitence

I

You stand there Lord,
before the haughty Roman judge,
bloody,
beaten,
abandoned.

Behold, says Pilate.

So frail you seem,
as you lift your bloodied head
and look upon this gathered crowd,
hungry as jackals.

Bruised and battered, the face
that looks out over the assembly
gazes not with hot hatred
or numb resignation of the broken,
nor self-pity,
but with love
and grief
and an unfathomable caring
that yearns to heal each of us.

Lord, I am not worthy to meet your gaze.
Have I not, like Peter,
denied you?
Or like Judas, betrayed you;
Time after time, have I not
added to your stripes,
pierced your head
with the hard thorns of an unloving heart?

And yet here you stand,
pouring yourself out like a drink offering,
letting the cup be drained
until nothing is left.

Lord, you said the word to heal me -
let me never forget the price you paid.


II

Behold the Man! say Pilate,
wishing to make you look small,
frail,
worthless,
nothing for the authorities to worry about.

Behold the Man, say the nonbeliever,
wishing to strip you of the power of God,
to make you safe,
ignorable,
worthless,
nothing to worry about.

Behold the Man, say some,
wishing you were the person they want you to be,
ascended master,
apostle of hate,
elder brother,
letting your message be nothing to worry about.

Behold the Man, say I,
Wishing to follow you with all my heart,
True God and true man,
who lovingly laid down his life
to bring us all home.

III

Such a king as this:
look at him,
bloodstained,
crowned with thorns,
mocked.
See how he ascends to his throne,
outstretched arms,
pierced hands,
bleeding side.
Yet just by this act
he saved us all
who choose to follow,
and at his name
every knee shall bend.

Hosanna!

Susan E. Stone, 2006

Labels: Jesus' Love, Passion of Christ

Each step, each breath, each beat of your heart - pain.
The weight of the cross so heavy,
each step a small miracle of your perseverance,
the determination to pay that price,
no matter how shaky the legs,
how short the breath,
how much it cost to make each step.

Glorified.
This is how the Father does it,
the way he did not ask Abraham to take,
no sacrifice of the firstborn for his chosen people,
a gifting consumed by blood and fire.
No.
But through you, his only-begotten,
laboring there beneath the crossbeam,
Your hair and face streaked with blood beneath the thorny crown,
face beneath the smears ashen with pain,
and the gathering doom in your chest,
already making you hungry for breath,
scapegoat,
bearing the sins of the world,
each bruise, each welt merely a token of what they deserve.
Glorified
as you walk,
the smell of blood and fear and sweat and death and pain
swirling around you,
our deaths, our pains, our griefs
on your one set of shoulders,
each movement crying out its pain,
only a foretaste of the pains ahead,
until, fulfilled,
you slip away,
glorified indeed by the hands of your loving Father,
and in that new dawning,
hope born in the birthpangs we can only imagine,
you will stand glorified,
our Lord
world without end,
amen.

Susan E. Stone, 2006

Labels: Jesus' Love, Passion of Christ, Rosary Meditation

For God so loved the world,
the Son emptied himself and became man.
For God so loved the world.
he became poor and humble.
For God so loved the world,
he preached and healed and loved and prayed
even as people misunderstood him and often turned away.
For God so loved the world,
he let himself suffer agony in the garden,
knowing full well the sinfulness of man.
For God so loved the world,
he let himself be betrayed and denied and deserted
by those closest to him.
For God so loved the world,
he allowed himself to be abused and mocked
by those who should have given justice.
For God so loved the world,
he allowed himself to be scourged dreadfully,
for our sakes.
For God so loved the world,
he accepted the crown of thorns.
For God so loved the world,
he bore his cross willingly.
For God so loved the world,
he was nailed to the cross as a sacrifice for our sins.
For God so loved the world
he suffered and died in agony that we might live.
For God so loved the world
He arose on the third day, breaking the chains of death,
for our salvation.

Alleluia!

Susan E. Stone, 2006

Labels: Jesus' Love, Passion of Christ

It was no clean thing, this,
no easy walk into that dark night
filled with memorable soundbites
and photo op moments,
soldiers in their dress uniforms
and dignitaries in their solemn regalia.

No clean thing, this,
filled with the sweat of pain
and the taste of blood,
the dust of the road,
the tears of grief,
the reality of betrayal,
the weight of sin.

No calm thing, this,
filled instead with noise:
the noise of mockery, bitter and undeserved,
punctuated with spittle and blows.
the noise of pain:
the slap of the flagellum against bare skin,
the sound of hammers driving spikes into wood
through human flesh,
cries ripped unbidden from the depths of the gut,
as flesh protested the hot sudden agony
that would not go away.
The noise of expediency: "Crucify him yourselves."

No easy walk this,
rushed through the crowded streets
beneath a crushing weight,
stripped of everything that matters most to man,
standing naked in the light of day
bruised and bloody and battered,
with nothing left to give
except the acceptance of pain,
except the final acts of love,
surrender
death.

Help me see, O Jesus,
beyond the pretty pictures
and soundbites
and images
of how God descended to death
in the dirty, miserable realness of it,
of man's willingness to be inhuman,
and you did this knowing how dark we can be,
and how unloving we can be,
and how we cling to the dark in spite of your light,
and you still chose to go.

Alleluia!


Susan E. Stone 2006

Labels: Jesus' Love, Passion of Christ

O Victim of Love


Tune:
http://www.contemplator.com/sea/sladies.html

O Victim of Love, sent here by the Father,
O Victim of Love, who chose to give all,
O Thou Saving Victim who purchased our freedom,
Who calls me to follow - may I answer your call.

O Jesus I watched in the Garden of Olives,
As you wrestled with grief so hard and so deep,
You cried out in anguish your yes to the Father,
You sweat tears of blood while your men were asleep.

Was any night darker than the night in the Garden
As you cried out and waited for what was to be?
And yet though you prayed in your grief and in anguish,
You stayed out of love and thus set us all free.

O Victim of Love, sent here by the Father,
O Victim of Love, who chose to give all,
O Thou Saving Victim who purchased our freedom,
Who calls me to follow - may I answer your call.

And when they came and took you on that last road,
And when they beat you and mocked you and lied,
Your love was a torch that shone out in the darkness
A beacon of hope as you suffered and died.

Beneath the cross where they thought they could kill you
You gave your best gift to the world full of sin,
The wellspring of heaven broke through in your last cry,
The waters of life through your death flooded in.

O Victim of Love, sent here by the Father,
O Victim of Love, who chose to give all,
O Thou Saving Victim who purchased our freedom,
Who calls me to follow - may I answer your call

Your yes has unlocked all the glories of Heaven,
Your yes has undone our first parent's no
In blood you have broken the shackles they wrought us
In death you have triumphed and defeated the foe.

O Victim of Love, sent here by the Father,
O Victim of Love, who chose to give all,
O Thou Saving Victim who purchased our freedom,
Who calls me to follow - may I answer your call.

Susan E. Stone, 2006

Labels: Passion of Christ

The moon was bright above the trees
The shadows dark beneath the leaves,
The night you fell down on your knees
To pray in grief alone.

refrain:
Jesus, Lamb of God
Jesus, Lamb of God
Jesus, Lamb of God
Jesus, Lamb of God

The night was dark like lost man's sin,
The grief you bore, their pain within,
You cried out "Not my will, " and then
Salvation's time was born.

The time had come to walk that way
Of sorrow, pain and and sad dismay
And in your death to take away
Man's destiny to die.

They nailed you bloody to the tree,
And you forgave in agony,
And by your death, you set us free,
My Savior and my God.

My Light, my Lord, my God on high,
Amazed at Heaven's love, I sigh,
That you for me would choose to die
To bring me home at last.


to the tune of the Christ Child Lullaby - tune and original song here:
http://www.nigelgatherer.com/tunes/tab/tab1/ccl1.html

Labels: Passion of Christ, Song

The Road to Jerusalem


And taking the twelve, he said to them, "Behold, we are going up to Jerusalem, and everything that is written of the Son of man by the prophets will be accomplished. For he will be delivered to the Gentiles, and will be mocked and shamefully treated and spit upon; they will scourge him and kill him, and on the third day he will rise."

But they understood none of these things; this saying was hid from them, and they did not grasp what was said.

Luke 18:31-34 RSV


It was a perilous road, sometimes,
the road to Jerusalem,
winding through rough country.

But you were not alone.
About you were your followers,
who warmed themselves next to your holiness,
who thought they knew you after all the miles travelled,
who had heard you speak, learned your message,
and shaping it into what their hearts desired,
they built you into their image of the holy one of God.

How what was to come would shatter this mold they were casting you in,
and give them something more they could not yet comprehend.

They bickered sometimes,
and jockeyed for favor and position,
as humans are always wont to do,
ignoring those deeper truths you told them,
yet patiently you repeated the same lessons over and over.

And now, it was time, the last time you would walk this road,
the last time you would come to this feast,
the beginning.

Did you look at them fondly
as you walked the road to Jerusalem,
this motley crew of friends and followers,
weighing each of their strengths and faults,
how much they had grown,
how much more they would grow.
In the darkness that was to come,
you knew that they would be like steel
heated in the fire of your agony,
plunged into the waters of your death,
and polished by your resurrection.
Forged by God, they would be the blade
to cut through the darkness
to spread your message.

Some would think it folly to expect the world to be changed by such a handful -
Folly, yes - the folly of God, stronger than the wisdom of men..


Susan E. Stone, 2006

Labels: Passion of Christ

Waiting

The smell of blood was in the air, the smell of fear, the smell of death
as the slow process of the execution continued,
long after those who came to taunt got bored
and wandered off back into the city, the day's excitement over.
It takes time to die from pain and exposure and the need to breathe,
a tedious process.

The soldiers made themselves as comfortable as possible,
looking up at their charges from time to time, settling down for the long wait.
Dice passed the time, some, and the same stale jokes,
and daydreams about what to do once they left this crazed country,

Some onlookers stayed behind, women mostly.
The soldiers glanced their way from time to time,
occasionally exchanging a comment about this one or that.
These were not the type of women that looked at soldiers, though,
but instead, their eyes and hearts stayed focused on the man from Gallilee.

They held each other close, this knot of women
Chaperoned by a young man, almost a boy, sad and determined,
all bound by love and fear and shock and grief,
the need to pray, the need to mourn, the need to witness.

Swatting a fly, the centurion looked away from the women,
and thought about his mother, and his father's farm,
and wondered, not for the first time, why he became a soldier


Susan E. Stone, 2006

Labels: Passion of Christ

(a meditation on the Salutaris Hostia)

Saving victim,
victim by choice,
victim of will,
victim,
hanging there,
adorned in the red blossoms of your own blood,
sacrifice
that opens wide the gates of heaven,
the gates of mercy,
salvation's way,
calling to we poor humans
calling us to the banquet
calling us to the wedding feast
even as our enemies gather forces,
in spite of the war the darkness wages.

Your own heart lights up the way,
your own feet have tread out the path,
your own love made clear the way.

O King,
O Lord,
O Bridegroom!
May we joyfully walk each step of the way
that you have shown us,
this day and always,
Amen.

Susan E. Stone, 2006

Labels: Jesus' Love, Passion of Christ

After the earthquake
and you got up off your knees, Centurion,
as your men remembered who they were --
soldiers, and not frightened children, and took their places back --
did you look long and hard
on that limp, empty body hanging there on the cross,
battered and beaten at the hands of your men,
and think about the stories about him you had heard?

Had it bothered you as the day wore on,
the impassioned politics of this day screaming for blood,
winding about their strange God in this strange land,
in ways you didn't quite understand?
But you had seen the amount of hate he had generated
in the shallow, grasping power plays
by men who would spit on you if they thought you weren't looking.

Jerusalem,
a city smoldering with tension
as the festival peaked,
threatening to blow up in a conflagration -
and as he hung there like a blood sacrifice designed to appease something unseeable,
did it dawn on you that you and your men were the tools
in the hand of forces beyond your vision,
that painful march from palace to execution site
a dark lustral procession
with you as master of ceremonies?

Such a day.
Standing there, transfixed by his dead gaze,
the blood-streaked face,
the blood-wetted hair
as you looked up into a face touched with no anger, no hate,
but a weary bloodied acceptance,
and a certain, strange peace as in a job well done.

After it all,
after the mockery and the forgiveness,
after the darkness,
after the last drawn out cry,
after the earthquake,
you no longer questioned -
you knew that you had been touched by the hand of Heaven.

"Surely this man,
this righteous man
was the son of God."
you said loud enough to be heard.

Would you have been amazed to know
how long those words have been remembered?

Susan E. Stone, 2006
.

Labels: Passion of Christ

Gethsemane moments -
moments when I confront
the realities that I must do,
when sitting in the shadows
I wrestle with a heart
that longs to run away,
that longs to cry
"Why me, Lord?"
that longs to scream into the darkness
"No no no no no!"
yet to do so would be to betray
my Hope, my Love, my Truth, my God,
and under the moonlit shadows,
I join Jesus praying in the darkness,
confronting the conflict between what the will wants to do
and what the will ought to do,
and with him, I pray
"Not my will but Yours."

There are moments of heavy burden,
when I walk the Via Dolorosa,
the way of Sorrow, bearing my cross,
and the burden seems so heavy,
and my arms so exhausted,
and my knees so bruised from tripping,
and my back so scraped by the wood,
and my mouth so dry with the taste of the road's dust
and the sweat of the labor,
and the blood from where I battered my face falling.
And then I see you Lord
walking ahead of me,
so wounded for love of me,
so beaten for sin of me
so valiant,
so loving,
so burdened,
that the tears roll down my face
for what I have done,
and somehow, this cross seems so much smaller,
and I stand up and carry on.

There are moments You plunge me into the reality
of Calvary,
Golgotha,
of the Place of the Skull,
the place of your death,
the place of our renewing.
Here I kneel in the bloodstained earth
and look up into your eyes
and see how far Love will go for love,
and see how far Light will travel into darkness,
and learn how very far the Shepherd will go
to call his sheep home.
Blood sacrifice,
drop by slow drop,
each drop a lover's kiss,
each drop a promise of hope,
and in the miasma of pain,
shock,
confusion,
where you abandon each thing left to you,
your dignity,
your mother,
your life,
your awareness of the Father
until it is only you
and pain
and struggle
and at last,
even that is released
into the maw of death.
And I kneel there amazed
at such a self emptying
at such a sacrifice,
the Maker giving all for the made,
that I am breathless.
And my tears fall,
in remorse for the need,
in sorrow for the pain
in wonderous gratitude at the love.

Labels: Need for God, Passion of Christ

Standing in the garden,
beneath the olive tree,
Look at him praying,
alone as he could be
He asked them to watch with him,
He asked them to pray
But the sleep stole over them
As he drew away,

Standing in the garden,
He fell down to his knees,
"Abba, Father, Abba,"
He cried beneath the trees.
He asked them to watch with him,
He asked them to pray
But the sleep stole over them
As he drew away,

"Take this cup away from me,
I do not want its wine,"
He prayed in the midnight,
"Not my will, but thine."
He asked them to watch with him,
He asked them to pray
But the sleep stole over them
As he drew away,

Then standing in the garden,
He knew just what to do,
and woke the sleeping men up
So they would know it too.
No time left to watch with him,
no time left to pray.
The soldiers take him to the priest,
now time to run away,

Forgive us Lord for standing there
when we should be with thee,
forgive us Lord for failing to
come with you and see.
Help us to follow you,
help us to pray
And keep us always close to you
lest we should draw away.

Susan E. Stone, 2006

Labels: Passion of Christ, Song

Perfect little baby,
Mary's little son,
lying in her loving arms
While Joseph looks on,
The joy of his mother,
God's only son,
and the heavens sing out their song
while shepherds look on.

Wondrous young man,
Mary's little son,
sitting in the temple
while the teachers looked on.
Frightened was his mother
for God's only son,
Feeling how the sword would feel
As she searched on.

Battered was his body,
Mary's precious son
as they pulled him off the cross
as soldiers looked on.
The sorrow of his mother
for God's only son
when they laid him in her lap
so hard to look on.

Empty was the tomb
Gone was Mary's son
when the stone was rolled away
as soldiers ran on.
The joy of his mother
for God's only son
Still echos in that empty tomb
As Heaven sings on.


Susan E. Stone, 2005

Labels: Gospel, Jesus' Love, Passion of Christ

Behold the Lamb of God,
Behold him to takes away the sins of the world.

O Lord,
at that moment,
we are taken back,
standing in the dust,
touched with the smell of blood,
and fear,
and grief,
and pain,
and looking up,
both to you in the white host,
broken in the priest's hands,
to you on the cross of calvary,
to you, at that last supper,
holding the bread that was you,
that would feed your followers
and all the followers who followed them.

Behold,
him who is Love Incarnate,
him, who to whom every knee will bow,
him, who was wounded for our transgressions,
him, who brings us back,
a re-presentation of that moment in time,
where he who was master,
bled for we who are slave,
on a slave's cross,
in a slave's death
so that we might live.

Blessed are we,
because he called us,
the undeserving,
the lost,
the ungrateful,
the cruel,
the lusting,
the sin-sick,
all called to be healed,

Lord, I will never be worthy to receive you under the roof of my soul,
but only say the word,
the word that heals,
the word that lifts me out of the dust of my deserved death,
and my soul,
so stained, aching and lost,
shall truly be healed.

Amen.

Susan E. Stone, 2005

Labels: Eucharist, Passion of Christ

Then Jesus told his disciples, "If any man would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. For whoever would save his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake will find it. Matthew 16:24-25


O Lord,
here, where the wood of my own cross
rubs agains my shoulders,
I begin to realize
that redemption had a real price,
that the blood flowing down your arms
was not theater decoration,
But you, Lamb of God
our pascal offering
slain,
the blood of atonement,
offered drop by drop
with each beat of your heart.

O Lord,
in my sorrow,
in my pain,
in the yielding up
of "not my will, but yours,"
I learn that true love
has real cost,
and grow more amazed
at the reality
of the price you were willing to pay.

Lamb of God,
who takes away the sins of the world,
have mercy on us
in our blindness
in our willingness to turn away,
in our willingness to disguise the reality
of what you gave,
what you wrought
what you suffered.

Lamb of God
who takes away the sins of the world,
have mercy on us
and give us the true sight
that will let us see
the reality of your love.

Amen.


Susan E. Stone, 2005

Labels: Carrying My Cross, Lamb of God, Passion of Christ, scripture

In the darkness
I grope,
stumbling across the rocks and shards
that cannot give me meaning,
broken long ago
by a single act,
an irrevocable choice.

And yet
you chose to puncture that darkness
with the depths of your love,
bright,
shining like a beacon.
cross-shaped,
carried in the hearts and souls
of those who love you.

Make me a lantern, too,
let me be one who carries that light
until all my dross is burned away,
and all that remains
has been fully transformed.

Susan E. Stone, 2005

Labels: Need for God, Passion of Christ

Passion of my Lord,
strengthen me,
so weak and ready to sin,
may memory of each drop of blood spilled
pour into my heart
like a beacon of love
to pull me back
into the way
of my Lord.

O Jesus!
Bring to mind
each labored, pain-filled breath,
each step towards Golgotha,
each blow,
each word of mocking,
each glance at your loved ones,
each moment of darkness,
undertaken for love,
for hope,
for life.

In my weakness,
bring me here,
to the foot of your cross,
where I,
with the Magdeline,
will weep bitter tears,
where I,
with your Mother,
will watch with breaking heart,
where I,
with John,
shall stand witness to the wonder
Of God, emptying himself out for love,
dying,
that we might live.


When I feel so weak,
and mortal,
and lost,
and alone,
O Passion of Christ,
strengthen me,
that I might always know
the truth,
and in knowing,
be transformed,
safe,
in the heart of Christ.

Susan E. Stone, 2005

Labels: Passion of Christ

Lord,
the pain wraps around us,
throbbing,
throbbing,
like the rhythm
of the hammer fall
piercing,
deeper,
lodging in the wood.

The pain,
oh the pain,
a woman crying out
as her loved one is slain,
a child shocked
at the blood
falling from a beheaded parent,
the armwrenching agony
as they hauled you,
nailed to the crossbeam
up up to the drop,
white pain electric
through your arms
as the beam found the mortise,
like the pain of the tortured
screaming beneath their captor's hands,
screaming as the electricity
screams through their bodies,
throbbing,
screaming,
the pain of being stripped
of everything but the paim
and the stares
as they gambled,
waiting for the blood to fall
for the breath to end
like guards at a starvation ward
waiting for thirst to end his praying,
like nurses piling blankets high
in the name of mercy killing,
the pain,
throbbing,
with each beat of your heart,
each hard sought breath,
like the pain of the deserted,
lost in the wilderness,
aching,
bereft,
afraid of the hand of man,
victim of terror,
victim of rape,
victim of starvation,
scurrying by night
seeing her child die,
like your mother,
watching each last breath,
dying inside
watching your death.

O Lord,
the pain,
you wrapped yourself around it,
accepted it,
tasted it,
drank it
down to the bitter dregs,
and bore all the burden
of man's evil,
of man's inhumanity
down to the pit of death,
walking each step with us,
walking each step along with us,
and accepting that last, lone breath,
shattered the chain.

Lord, in our grief,
hold us,
and tell us
as we unite with you,
as we live for you
you live for us,
and when the pain,
the last ache,
the last throb
is over and done,
you will take us
to where
pain is banished.

Amen.

Susan E. Stone
2005

Labels: Jesus' Love, Man's Sinfulness, Passion of Christ

Meditation on the Fourth Station of the Cross

Did you feel your heart
beating in your throat
as the crowd closed in,
the swolen passover crowd,
some jeering,
some just strangers trying to see
what was happening,
blocking your access,
blocking your view,
blocking you.

Did you struggle through the backways
to catch up,
the need to be there
like panic
burning in your heart,
pulling you and the others
like a magnet,
your son,
your light
your life.

And when you finally caught up,
and saw him,
sprawled out on the road,
rough hands trying
to yank him upright,
bloody,
beaten,
exhausted,
muscles trembling in their fatigue,
and your hands were unable
to soothe the wounds,
and ease the pain,
did your voice dry up
in your grief
and shock
and longing to do
what you knew you couldn't,
to stop it all -
this thing God asked for
this thing you knew your son wanted?

Birthpangs
bitterer than any childbirth
this sword piercing your heart
as in your silent, grieving yes,
you became mother to the church.

Susan E. Stone, 2oo5

Labels: Passion of Christ

Ecce Homo: Thoughts on the Solemnity of the Christ the King

Such a king as this:
look at him,
bloodstained,
crowned with thorns,
mocked.
See how he ascends
to his throne,
outstretched arms,
pierced hands,
bleeding side.
Yet
just by this act
he saved us all,
and at his name
every knee shall bend.

Hosanna!
Thank you, Lord.
Forgive me!
Transform me!
Make my heart like unto thine.

Susan E. Stone, 2004

Labels: Passion of Christ

This day, O Lord,
help us to forget our fears
as we respond to your invitation
to pray without ceasing,
to cast our cries to you,
to be transformed
into the tools
you use
to bring light,
peace,
hope
into the dark and aching world.

Teach us to know
that when we lift up our arms,
no matter how weary,
you will let us win the day
against the darkness,
just like you won the war
the day you stretched out your arms
on Golgotha
in an open embrace
to free the whole world.

Amen.

Susan E. Stone, 2004

Labels: Discipleship, Passion of Christ

O my Jesus,
when the darkness touches our lives
with screaming reality,
shattering
the moment of comfort
that you let us wrap ourselves in,
and we realize
how fragile,
how delicate
how precious
that which you give us really is,
help us remember
to run into your arms,
carry us like the children we are.

O Lord,
when after the wounding happens,
and our heart aches
with the need
to strike out
at that which hurt us,
even when there is nothing left to hurt
except our own wounded hearts,
teach us to accept what you have given us,
the way you accepted the Father's will
so long ago,
forgiving even as they killed you,
and Lord,
wrap yourself around us then,
when the darkness is too deep
and the anger to red
for us to see,
and bring us at last back
into your light.

Amen

Susan E. Stone, 2004

Labels: Need for God, Passion of Christ, Suffering

O Lady of Sorrow,
Mother of Consolation,
let me sit with you here
at the foot of the cross,
watching what your son
was so willing to give,
a gift of fathomless generosity,
drop by blood drop,
breath by breath,
minute by minute.

O Lady of Sorrow,
so often,
how I long to scream,
to rant,
to act on my anger
when given my cross,
yet help me, Mary,
to bear, like you,
the griefs,
the hurts,
the depth of pain,
as part of the sacrifice,
saying Yes to God,
and joining your Son's prayer,
Not my will, but God's.

O Mother of Sorrow,
Lady of Consolation,
bring me here to weep
when the moments are dark,
and what is real and lasting
gets confused
with the passing, temporary,
and I need to know what is true,
and what counts,
and what matters.
And what matters is this,
the look in my Savior's eyes,
as he gives all,
and asks me to give all,
good, bad, indifferent,
and waits for me
to let him transform me.

O Blessed Mother,
pray that I
will always have the strength
to meet those eyes
and say Yes.

Amen.

Susan E. Stone, 2004

Labels: Mary, Mother of Sorrows, Passion of Christ, Penitence

Friday morning in spring,
was the weather mild
or cool that day
as the passover crowds milled through the street,
in festive mood?

Did the whisper pass
from ear to ear that morning
about the trial,
letting the crowd gather at the courtyard
to witness another passover,
a spectacle unexpected, perhaps,
but which would shout through the centuries.

How frail you must have seemed
when he presented you
to the leaders
to the gathering group,
beaten, bloody,
so far removed from the prophet-king
of last Sunday,
no hosannas this time,
just calls for your blood.

Some merely curious,
some angry,
some caught up in the emotion of the moment,
calling out,
watching,
waiting
as the sentence was passed
and they led you away to be slaughtered,
the pascal lamb,
where your blood would be smeared on the lintel,
your arms stretched out to heaven
to set us free.

Susan E. Stone, 2004

Labels: Friday Meditations, Passion of Christ

Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi, miserere nobis.
Lamb of God,
you who chose the path,
step by painful step
from Gethsemani's dark shadows
up to Golgotha's stark hilltop,
the passover offering,
you who gave your blood
to mark the lintels of our lives,
and save us from the darkness,
have mercy on us.

Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi, miserere nobis.
Lamb of God,
you who bore upon your shoulders
the blood guilt of all of our sins,
the guilt, blacker than night,
each wrong word,
each blow,
each deceit,
from the fall to the end,
You, pure in your innocence,
freely bearing the darkness,
redeeming us
blood drop by blood drop
stripe by stripe,
nail by nail,
gasping breath by breath,
until carrying your burden
to the halls of death,
you gave birth to hope.
Thank you for having mercy on us.

Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi, dona nobis pacem.
Lamb of God,
You who gave up all,
friends, mother,
dignity, honor,
anger,
hate,
and left us life, hope,
truth, love,
and salvation in return,
May we,
who cling to your cross,
grow to have a heart like yours,
a love like yours,
filled always with your truth,
light,
and peace,
this day and always,
Amen.

Susan E. Stone, 2004

Labels: Jesus' Love, Passion of Christ

Your mouth tasted
of dust,
and blood,
and fear,
and pain.

Fear-
the knowledge of what was to come by sunset,
when you entered that darkness,
the pit that was awaiting you,
reward for your deeds.

Through the veil
of self-pity
and pain
and loathing,
you noticed the interplay
between the man in the middle
and those around him.

Jesus --
had you heard that name before,
heard of the healings,
the teachings,
the holiness?

How battered he was now,
scourged
and stripped
and wounded
and dying.

Jesus
healer of the blind,
promiser of hope,
now the victim.

Did you notice the women
who came to watch,
daring the mockery of the soldiers,
focused only on him?
No loved ones for you
to witness your last moments -
those who might have cared
long realizing
that you would only bring them grief.

Had you been moved
when the procession stopped
as he hit the ground,
and his mother found him,
gave him one last caress
before you were dragged off again?

Did you notice those who cared,
she who wiped his face,
those who wept?

When your gazes meet,
Jesus and yours,
Were you surprised to see the depths of love
that could love even in the wells of death,
the depths of pain,
even someone like you?
And in that moment did you see
the truth in the Roman's sign?


Susan E. Stone, 2004

Labels: Jesus' Love, Passion of Christ

Whenever anyone sighs toward Me with love in meditation on My passion, it is as though he gently touched My wounds with a fresh-budding rose, and I wound his heart in return with the arrows of My love. Moreover, if he shed tears of devotion over My passion, I will accept them as though he had suffered for Me. - Our Lord to St. Mechtilde


Dear Jesus,
Bring to mind often
that sad, holy, day,
when you carried that horrendous burden
sin of the world
on your sinless, torn and battered back,
the unrighteousness of others
on you, the Son of righteousness,
the hatred and evilness of selfish lack of love
on you who were all love,
all that darkness
on the shoulders of you who are always the Light.

O Lord,
let me think of the crowd,
and know it was my sins
that set them screaming for your blood.
let me think of the whip
that my sin drove to cut your skin,
let me know that my hand
hammered the nails
through all the times I have chosen
to do wrong, not counting the cost.

Lord,
Let me never take for granted
the pain, the grief, the sorrow
of what you did.
Instead let me offer you
the tears of my remorse,
the sighs of my heart,
and know how much I am loved,
now and forever.

Amen.

Susan E. Stone, 2004

Labels: Passion of Christ, Penitence

Dear Lord,
Here it is,
spring once again.
Interesting how you died in the spring,
when the weather was changing,
and the moon was full,
and like a seed,
planted in a tomb
to rise up,
our salvation
the first fruits
of God's love.

The soil beneath my hoe
is damp and dark
through much use,
fertilized and composted.
In a similar way,
you feed my soul
with prayer,
and fasting
and Eucharist
and your holy word.

May the garden of my heart,
the depths of my soul
bear the fruit you desire.

This day, and always,
Amen.

Susan E. Stone, 2004

Labels: Discipleship, Passion of Christ

O Mother of Sorrows,
how often I come here and kneel at your feet,
and see those sorrow-filled eyes
staring up
at the suffering and battered
face of your son,
and still,
you are able to take my hand,
and give it that little squeeze
that says, Have courage.

O Mother of Sorrows,
How often I come here,
and weep all my misery out on your shoulder,
filled with guilt and grief and remorse,
knowing full well the burden
that I have laid on your blessed Son's back,
and still you hold me close,
and comfort me.

O Mother of Sorrows,
How often I have come here,
wanting to comfort you
in your sorrow and your loss,
and found myself overcome with remorse and sadness
over what your son
chose to do that I might live,
and find myself comforted by the one I longed to aid.

O Mother of the Word Incarnate,
Thank you for despising not my petions,
but in your mercy,
hearing and answering me.


Amen.


Susan E. Stone, 2004

Labels: Mary, Mother of Sorrows, Passion of Christ, Penitence

In Praise of the Bridegroom

Who would have imagined
the bride price you were willing to pay,
drop by drop,
your own heart's blood,
spilled out,
a libation
spilled in pain,
sorrow,
triumph.

O Sacred Heart,
A lover's heart,
big enough to love the whole world,
with all its griefs,
and evils,
and sorrows,
and not turn away
in despair or disgust!

O Sacred Heart,
Source of all consolations,
you who would heal our every wound
through having been wounded for love of us,
and giving what we have no right to demand,
Bridegroom of a most unworthy bride
whom you clothe in dazzling white linen
woven from your own true love,
glory to you!

Susan E Stone 2004

Labels: Jesus' Love, Passion of Christ

Jesus On the Cross

How hard the wood rubbed against
your bruised and bleeding back,
how hard the iron
that made your arms
throb with excruciating pain,
how the thorns dug in when you held your head fully up,
a symphony of pain
whose depths I can only vaguely
imagine,
how hard it was to see
the Magdalene there,
weeping her heart out,
your aunt,
and especially,
your mother,
who watched every moment,
sharing your pain
as you moved into the darkness of death,
but could any of these compare
to the wall of separation
from your Father
that our sins,
the sins of the world
placed between you,
until, bereft of everything but pain
and the approach of death,
you cried out
like a child longing
for the parent
he couldn't see.

All this for love.



Susan E. Stone, 2004

Labels: Passion of Christ

I know not why you chose
this way
to show us your love,
to embrace a slave's death,
a death of public humilation,
torture and pain.
I know not why you chose
to carry the rough wood
that your hands knew so well
how to shape and form
into so many better things
than a tool of torture,
or why you let them
pierce you,
but this was your choice.

O Lord,
let me never forget
that you really walked those steps,
felt the blows,
the roughness of the wood,
the pain,
tasted the blood.
You were there,
and you did it for love,
abandoning all,
until you felt even abandoned by the Father,
nothing left
but our sins,
the pain,
and the darkness of death.

What greater love story ever
was composed upon this sad earth?

Susan E. Stone, 2004

Labels: Jesus' Love, Passion of Christ

Mother of Sorrow, Mother of Consolation

O Sorrowful Mother, Mother of Consolation,
in your sorrows,
you have become the queen of martyrs,
the queen of those who know suffering,
the mother we turn to when
our griefs,
and our sufferings,
and our pain
become more than we know how to deal with.

Be with me, Mother,
as I stand with you at the foot of your son's cross.
Remind me of the sorrow
as you held his lifeless body in your arms,
arms powerless to heal his hurts,
Remind me of your grief
at the closing of his tomb.

Be with me Mother,
as I deal with those griefs life gives me,
my cross to bear,
Be with me, Mother,
as the sorrow and pain grow heavy,
sometimes overwhelming.
Mother, then please hold me in your arms.
Remind me of the final joy
that awaits he who perseveres
at the end of his days -
help me, O Mother, by your love and prayers
to be that one!

Susan Stone, 2004

Labels: Passion of Christ

On Peter's Denial of Christ

Saint Peter,
how often I have felt sorry for you,
for how, conflicted with fear,
you denied Him
even why you tried to stay near.

But Saint Peter,
how often have I denied him, too,
by my life choices,
by when I turned my back,
by choosing wrong,
by choosing to forget.

Let my tears of remorse
join yours of that night,
how reality pierces the bubble
of how strong and certain
we dream we are,
but in reality,
how weak we are without Him.

Saint Peter,
pray for me,
that like you,
I too may see
the risen Christ.

Amen

Susan E. Stone, 2004

Labels: Passion of Christ

Each beam of moonlight
peaking through the leaves
in the garden of olives
highlighted your growing struggle.

O sinless one,
how heavy the weight
of uncountable sin
must have dragged upon you,

how the silent night
must have shrieked within you heart
with all the evil
man can do.

Thank you, Lord,
for telling the Father yes
when your human body
longed to run,
and you could feel the separation
that sin builds
between man and God
in a way no mere mortal
could ever bear.

Amen.

Susan E. Stone, 2004

Labels: Passion of Christ

Surely he has borne our griefs
and carried our sorrows;
yet we esteemed him stricken,
smitten by God, and afflicted.

Those coming into the city
may have wondered about the small group
on the hill,
wondered idly about who was being executed
so close to the sabbath,
and at the feast-time, too.

Perhaps they shuddered at the thought
of such a shameful death
coming to them or theirs.

Perhaps they felt pity
that anyone would die that way.

Perhaps they stopped a moment to taunt.

Did they notice
a knot of women
standing close,
oblivious to the soldiers,
or to the mockers,
lost in their grief,
waiting?

Did they notice
how the sky darkened,
as if even the heavens
longed to weep?


Susan Stone, 2004

Labels: Friday Meditations, Passion of Christ

The First Blow

The whip travels in a descending arc,
three thongs carrying weights of lead
double headed cargo
to increase the impact.

The hand that wields is
the rough and calloused hand
of a soldier doing a duty,
unknowing,
uncaring
of whose back it was in front of him.

Perhaps as he swings,
he thinks of all the looks of disdain,
the women who turn away,
the men who spit when he passes
and they think he does not see,
this strange people
with their strange hates
and strange language
and strange god,
and in retalliation,
he swings harder.

Yet his hand is not alone
on the braided leather of the handle,
his hand,
shadowed by every hand,
my hand,
my arm swinging the leather,
my sin adding to the agony
of that blow,
my darkness slapping against his skin,
causing him to gasp for breath
as it bites
my weakness the lead gouges digging.

Mea culpa,
mea culpa,
mea maxima culpa.

Susan Stone, 2004

Labels: Passion of Christ

On the Crucifixion

Suspended in that place
where heaven and earth meet,
an offering of
love unfathomable,
marked by the red liquid of life
given up in sacrifice.


You wait there,
feeling the life you give
ebb away drop by drop,
throb by throb,
swallowed up
by others' sin,
you,
both scapegoat
and sacrifice,
a poem of love,
a sign of contradition,
Lord.

Susan E. Stone, 2004

Labels: Passion of Christ

Mary on the Way to Golgotha

How thick the crowd must have seen,
O Lady of Sorrows,
as you threaded your way
in that numbing timelessness
that comes with crisis,
each second seeming to last minutes,
your son,
your son,
his beautiful face,
swollen,
bleeding, battered,
breaking your heart.

How much you must have wanted to scream
NONONONONO!
Don't let this be today,
now,
at this moment,
ever,
even though you knew he was given to you
for just this purpose,
and the sword you felt
had been fortold long ago.

How hard it must have been
not to throw yourself at the guards,
to some how get them to stop,
to let him rest,
to give him a chance
to change his mind
and make this all a nightmare.

And yet, you merely told God
Your will be done,
and continued on,
giving all you had
until the end
and darkness fell.

Susan E. Stone, 2004

Labels: Mary, Passion of Christ

At the Foot of Your Cross

Lord,
let me find refuge
always
at the foot of your cross,
where you bled and died
so that I might live.

Only here,
beneath the cross
where you shed your blood
can I find refuge
from the darkness.

Only here,
beneath the cross,
can I find refuge
from the wages of sin.

Here at the foot of your cross,
I pour out my tears
like the Magdalene,
tears of grief at what my sin has wrought,
tears of sorrow for what you chose to do,
tears of grief at the need.

Here at the foot of your cross,
I stand with your sorrowful mother,
she who I once wanted to comfort
for her pain,
her sorrow,
her loss,
but who sustains me as I collapse in grief.

Here at the foot of your cross,
I confront the reality of my self,
sinful,
weak,
undeserving,
and find not the condemnation or rejection I deserve,
but only love.

Susan E. Stone, 2004

Labels: Passion of Christ

Meditation on the Fourth Station of the Cross

How long ago you heard
the words of Simeon,
your dearest son
A sign of contradition,
a sword to pass through you,
and here it is,
that moment so long ago,
dreaded,
feared,
fulfilled.

It is not a long walk
from the judgement place
to the place of execution,
but the way is filled
with the passover crowd,
and the streets are narrow.
how you have to struggle,
trying to follow,
to get close,
to see.

The procession halts for a moment,
and soon you see why,
as he lies there,
bloody,
burdened,
tasting the dust of the street.
An exasperated soldier
begins a kick to motivate him,
but for some reason,
realizes the futility of it,
and begins to yank him up.
For a moment you touch him,
try to comfort him,
feel the sword go deeper into your heart.
How deep the sword must go before it is over.

Susan E. Stone, 2004

Labels: Mary, Passion of Christ

Some Brief Thoughts on the Passion

I sit here in my pain,
feeling isolated,
alone.

I think back to Gethsemani,
and the pain you were feeling,
isolated,
alone,
and my darkness
seems a little less heavy.

The pain in my hand
throbs
up to my elbow and shoulder,
but then,
I think of you hanging there,
nails through your wrists,
carrying the world's sins,
and this little arthritis
seems less a burden to carry.

Susan E. Stone

Labels: Passion of Christ

The Shroud

How white the linen
they laid out
at first.

How clean the water was
in its ewer,
waiting to be poured.

How fresh the towel.

Loving hands though,
soon turned the waters
ruby red
in a vain attempt
to erase some of the terrors of the day.

Sweet spice could not wholly
cover up the smell
of blood,
of pain,
of death,
of the cost of redemption.

Loving hands, though,
wrapped the linen snugly
over his prostrate form,
as if in final gesture,
a last farewell,
letting the whiteness of the sheet
turn what color it would,
Loving hands
never knowing
what image
their care
would leave behind.

Susan E Stone, 2004

Labels: Passion of Christ

Thoughts On Our Lady on the First Holy Saturday

O Sorrowful Mother,
How dark that day must have been,
When the light that was your son,
the light of heaven
who had been your life
who had been your light
lay
seemingly extinguished
in the cold, cold tomb.

O Mother of Sorrows,
did the little band of followers
come together that sabbath,
shocked,
exhausted,
frightened
in that numbing twilight of fresh grief?

How dark it must have seemed
without his light,
his soft voice,
his touch.
How much he had asked you to give,
your heart,
your body,
your love.

Thank you for saying yes.

Susan E. Stone, 2004

Labels: Passion of Christ

In one garden,
the lie was chosen
over the will of God,
and nature
groaned under the curse
and the grief
and the countless tears
of mankind
that followed.

In one garden,
quietly,
one full moon night
the will of God was chosen
over the lie
and nature knew
the promise of healing
that would free a woeful mankind
of its tears
had begun
in the unfathomable grief of
the one who said yes.

Susan E. Stone, 2004

Labels: Passion of Christ

Friday Morning Meditation

It is Friday, Lord.

On this day,
remind me of that Friday so long ago,
when you, presented to the people
beaten,
bloody,
shown off as a scandal
instead of a healer.

As you stood and watched the crowd
screaming for your blood,
you did not call heaven's fire
down upon their heads,
but gave them what they asked for,
your very blood
to wash all our souls clean.

Instead of wrath,
love.
Instead of retribution,
salvation.

Teach me,
unkind and unworthy as I am,
to walk in your steps,
this day,
tomorrow and forever,
that I might shed
some of that love
wherever you ask it.

Amen.

Susan E. Stone, 2004

Labels: Friday Meditations, Passion of Christ

O my Jesus,
tortured,
beaten,
bloody,
mocked,
and stripped of all,
who laid down your freedom
willingly,
knowing what we are,
what we have done
and are likely to do again.

Our hands are not clean, Lord,
never could we be worthy
to be given what you offer us,
your own dear self,
your own body and blood,
medicine beyond all others.
Yet you call us home
to wash us,
heal us,
renew us.

Teach us how to love!

Susan E Stone, 2004

Labels: Passion of Christ

Peter in the Courtyard: A Paschal meditation

A nightmare night,
a night of shadows,
he sat there by the fire,
cold,
alone,
afraid,
yet drawn to this place of danger
by a desperate desire to do something.

The darkness of his soul
how it matched the darkness of the night
as he sat by the fire
not listening to the jibes
of those who sat near him.
He stared into the fire
and waited.

His world falling apart,
he thought there was nothing left but fear.
"No, I don't know him," he said,
the words escaping his lips
in an unstoppable reflex
of self preservation.

Fear and anger and anguish,
the darkness of the night,
the pain of waiting,
"No, you are mistaken!"
he chokes on the words, perhaps,
torn in two.

The third time with curses,
and then he sees
the eyes that know,
the eyes so tired, so sad,
the eyes touch his
with loving forgivness
and his soul plunges into the final darkness
as the cock crows.

Susan E. Stone, 2003

Labels: Passion of Christ

To Our Lady of Sorrows

Blessed Mother,
when you saw your son walking down that crowed holiday
road
flanked by the Romans and marked by blood and blows and
the hatred of men,
And you saw with your own eyes
the lengths to which he would go down the road to reach
out to sinful man,
the pain he was willing to suffer,
the weight he was willing to bear
to make all things anew,
how hard was it to let him go,
to let him do the task he came to do,
to drink the bitter, bitter chalice
that was yours alone to taste.

Thank you for agreeing with your son
O Lady of Sorrows,
that the father's will be done.
O Queen of martyrs,
in that living martyrdom of witnessing
the pain and torture and death
of your perfect son,
you who plumbed the depths of sorrow
deeper than I can fathom,
thank you,
O Consoler of Afflictions
for loving enough to ease all our hurts.

Susan E. Stone, 2003

Labels: Mary, Passion of Christ

By His Stripes

Let me never forget, O Lord,
how you offered yourself for the soldier's whip,
the slapping and blows
of anger and mocking,
and by the blood you shed,
and the death you died,
you wrought our salvation.

And yet we hold the whip still in our hands,
the flagellum with it's biting teeth
flailing through the air
to land with its sickening slap
on your bloodied back
each time we choose to hurt,
to have the final word,
to force,
to gloat,
to ignore,
to deny.

Teach us, O Lord,
to heal instead of harm,
to bless instead of curse,
to love instead of hate,
to see you always in the face of the stranger,
the downcast,
the needy,
the empty.

Instead of the whip,
send us the tears of true repentence,
that with you help,
we may go and sin no more.

Susan E. Stone © 2003

Labels: Passion of Christ

Friday Morning Meditation

On this Friday morning, my Lord,
let me remember that sad Friday morning so long ago,
when Pilate presented you to the gathered mob,
bloody,
battered,
beaten,
a mockery of a king
crowned with thorns
meant to look small,
crushed,
contained.

Yet no mortal man could contain
the love that looked out over the crowd,
the love that heard the cries of hate,
and still forgave,
the love that waited patiently
as the executioners gathered
and sentence was passed,
the love that chose
this very path
to bring us life.

May I never forget
the gift you gave us
that sad Friday so long ago.

Susan E. Stone © 2003

Labels: Friday Meditations, Passion of Christ

May We Remember

Lord,
May we remember forever
the depth of your sacrifice,
the heart's blood you gave,
the pain you chose to bear.
all for love.

Lord,
when we see you
in the guise of bread and wine,
so vunerable,
you who are king,
let us always feel amazed
at what you are willing to do,
all for love

Susan E. Stone

Labels: Eucharist, Passion of Christ

Dear Lord,
I thank you this day
for having been willing to suffer for me,
I thank you this day
for having sanctified suffering,
the gift I can offer back to You,
in grateful love.

You who know the sorrow and suffering
of carrying the worlds sins,
thank you for my sorrows,
that let me know how real
the sacrifice you made was.
Thank you for the pain
that lets me know how hard it was
to carry that cross,
to take the beating,
the curses,
the mockery.

Lord, let me never forget the reality of
what you went through
for the likes of me.

Lord, thank you for letting me
link my sufferings to you,
to have something to sacrifice up,
to have this that lets me remember
never to take you for granted,
and may it bring me ever closer to you.

Labels: Emmanuel, Passion of Christ, Suffering

Did those who stood by you that awful day
tell you not to look,
O Lady of Sorrows,
As he was thrown to the ground,
naked, battered, bloody,
stretched out upon that dreadful crossbeam?
Did you cling to the Magdalene, O Sorrowful Mother,
as the Roman guards,
methodical and professional,
put those large square nails against his wrists,
hit hammer against nail?

Could anything prepare you
for the cries
ripped from his throat
as they finished their task?

Susan E. Stone © 2003

Labels: Mary, Mother of Sorrows, Passion of Christ

The last moment
when you stood upon the ground,
felt the dust beneath your feet,
and had the dignity of your clothes,
blood stained and dirty though they were,
did the women who offered you
wine and myrrh wonder at the gently look you gave them,
and the firm rejection
of the small mercy they offered?

Did the soldiers who prepared for your death,
hard men, they,
at your side since the procession began
wonder at how you were diferent,
as you calmly gave them the last of your wordly goods,
garment by garment.
Did they notice,
and did it make them angry,
that you,
who should have been cringing, cursing and crying
calmly waited for the next wave of pain.

Did those travelling into the city that day,
who could not help but see the executioners at work
call out in recognition,
in pity, or in scorn
as the soldiers
threw you to the ground and took out their hammer and nails?

Susan E. Stone © 2003

Labels: Passion of Christ

The Arrest

How hard was it then, to gather the mob?
Did not the law require
that those who accuse
to go forth and arrest
the one they accused?

But with time, they were gathered,
and there they went,
across the valley and up the hill,
with torches and swords,
some with fear,
some with envy,
some for the excitement.
Some no doubt believed they were right,
but he came, though,
because he had to,
having tested the truth of his Master,
then turned away
into the darkness.

What did they expect to find there
when they reached the garden,
besides an olive press
and trees
under the full moon?
Were they looking for outlaws,
armed with swords and knives,
plotters of inssurrection,
or theft, or
rebellion?

He thought he knew what they would find,
sleepy men, maybe,
or praying, keeping vigil in the night,
men who thought that he was their friend,
unaware of the moment of truth he was bringing,
sitting with their teacher.
Perhaps the thought of His face
gave him a twinge,
but he walked on.

How hard was it then, to enter that garden?
The gates were unlocked, and the crowd
pushed through with ease.
He came through first,
with a soldier behind him,
stepping around the sleepy forms of men he knew so well.
Andrew wiping the sleep from his eyes,
Matthew and James,
who started to call his name in greeting,
then noticed the crowd behind,
Thomas who became instantly alert,
Peter and John, standing in front of the man he had come to see.
Pushing them aside, then he found Jesus.

Was this the man he left, just a few hours ago?
His clothes were damp, like sweat, on this cool spring night,
but there was the smell of iron in the air,
a smell like blood.
So tired and haggard he had grown in just half an evening,
reddish rivulets had trickled across his face,
pale harbingers of what would come in the morning,
blood like sweat.

Looking at Him there,
Perhaps he wondered at his own audacity,
wondered why he had found it worth following Him,
wondered what he would think tomorrow,
wondered if he could change his mind.

With a sigh, Jesus looked up, and met his gaze.
No anger there, nor fear, but awareness of it all,
Love and a sad determination.

Perhaps it felt like a knife going through him.

"Master," said Judas, and moved forward to seal his fate.

Susan E. Stone © 2003

Labels: Passion of Christ

Station Four


Let us see it then,
That moment.
One tiny momement in time.

There he is,
the central person
of a sad procession,
the heavy crossbeam across his shoulders,
tied to his arms,
his head crowned with the ugly cap of thorns,
a trickle of blood down his forehead from their touch.
His face has started to swell from the bruising
homage the soldiers paid him,
blood seeps through the back of his robe
from the kiss of their whips.

She sees him then.
Their eyes meet,
He pauses,
stopping the sad procession.

No words pass between them.
No words need to be said.

She reaches out a hand,
Then the soldiers jerk his bonds forward to catch up with the rest.


Susan E. Stone © 2003

Labels: Mary, Passion of Christ

Meditation on Gethsemane Part 1

How slow the moments must have seemed,
there in the garden,
among the olive trees that moonlit night,
as the trees uplifted their branches
in the dappled light and shadow
like arms uplifted in prayer.

Only they managed to stay and watch with you.

The garden grew quiet as your followers fell asleep
one by one,
unable to keep vigil,
even though you asked,
you wanted,
you needed.
Their gentle snoring was almost the only sound.
Did you see Peter
struggling to keep his eyes open,
John nudging him to stay awake,
only to succumb himself?

Was this, then, how it was to begin,
the isolation of the sacrificial victim,
The Father requiring you to give up everything that comforted
as you gazed into the gathering darkness,
even your companions in this long journey,
the witnesses to a loving God's concern.

No crutches or helpers then,
just you and the night.

How quiet it all was.
Did you begin to strain your ears
listening for sounds
of the gathering mob?

Susan E. Stone © 2003

Labels: Passion of Christ

You stand there Lord,
before the haughty Roman judge,
bloody,
beaten,
abandoned.

Behold, says Pilate.

So frail you seem,
as you lift your bloodied head
and look upon this gathered crowd,
hungry as jackals.

Bruised and battered, the face
that looks out over the assembly
gazes not with hot hatred
or numb resignation of the broken,
nor self-pity,
but with love
and grief
and an unfathomable caring
that yearns to heal each of us.

Lord, I am not worthy to meet your gaze.
Have I not, like Peter,
denied you?
Or like Judas, betrayed you;
Time after time, have I not
added to your stripes,
pierced your head
with the hard thorns of an unloving heart?

And yet here you stand,
pouring yourself out like a drink offering,
letting the cup be drained
until nothing is left.

Lord, you said the word to heal me -
let me never forget the price you paid.

Susan E. Stone © 2003

Labels: Passion of Christ, Penitence