Of all the liturgies we celebrate each year, this one today is possibly the most unsettling. We move from a celebratory mood, exalting Jesus as royalty as he makes his way into Jerusalem then, once there, we witness his agony, humiliation, and torturous death on Calvary. And for us it all happens in a matter of minutes. It can be disturbing and disorienting to undergo such a polarized shift of mood in so short a time.The first time I experienced this liturgical whiplash I wondered if the Church simply ran out of Sundays and had to double up on its rituals to make the timing come out right for Easter. That was a long time ago, but I reflect on that memory today and remember how confusing it was for me—and troubling. It wasn’t until years later that I finally realized why it bothered me! This liturgy mirrors life. It asks me to face and calmly accept the juxtaposition of highs and lows that occur over the years, and often in rapid succession. It encourages me to see the very fact of that ever-revolving cycle as God’s training wheels helping me connect with my core, learn to achieve balance, and finally move with steady grace over the bumps and through the curves ahead. It’s all about growing the soul and learning to love and to trust God, myself, the others I meet on the path and finally the world God made and keeps remaking throughout generations of time.
We learn and grow by way of trial and error, the errors being the most significant. Life provides the learning modules by which we grow—stumbling, falling, getting up to take a few more steps, try again. We keep moving as best we can until we simply can’t any longer. All the while our soul, our character, is growing. All the while we are challenged and tested in the fires of our experiences. Sometimes we are elated and overcome with joy, receiving praise from those around us. We’re on top of the world. At other times we are attacked, face humiliation, feel hopeless, terrified, abandoned. Always we are held and assisted by the spirit dwelling within us. That help comes from the inside—from ideas, images and insights that occur to us as we make our way through life. And help comes through spirit’s invitation to others—to encourage us, offer empathy, and walk with us when we need a reminder that we aren’t alone.
This is ‘the way of the cross.’ This liturgy that begins Holy Week with its palms and adulations then ends in torment, injustice and death is a reflection of life’s perennial journey. We watch Jesus at his highest moment of admiration and praise in the public square and see him unfazed by his popularity. He has learned the lessons of his own life, knows what the crowd wants, knows they have misplaced their yearning for a king, and knows this moment of hero worship will be fleeting.
In the next moment we watch him trying one last time to get through to his disciples. How disappointing that must have been for him. All those years trying and he has failed to make them understand. Then he’s in the garden, terrified by what’s coming, knowing he faces ridicule and torture, wondering if he can withstand the cruelty without giving in to his very human need to protect and defend himself against his abusers.
And now he’s walking down the road, stumbling, falling, getting up again. Bleary-eyed from exhaustion and excruciating pain he can barely see those around him but hears and feels the women weeping. Somehow he manages to turn and speak to them, offering a warning, a final teaching. It’s his ‘way of the cross’ – an example of how to walk the walk toward our own end, whatever that might look like in our own unique, individual life. These are HIS challenges. He shows us a grace filled way of bearing the joys and sorrows of life, and he does it with faith in the unseen hand of God, with internal dignity, and with love for others and the world.
Even in our darkest moments, even in death, we are held in the arms of love. We see this as Jesus hands over his spirit to the One in whom his spirit always has and ever will continue to dwell—just as ours do and will. This liturgy that begins Holy Week, with its palms and its Passion, displays the realities of life in a time capsule. The endpoint we won’t see until next Sunday, but it will always end in Easter.
Today we ask ourselves to reflect on the embedded lessons this disturbing ritual offers. Our own ‘way of the cross’ will look different from that of Jesus, but many of the features will be familiar enough. So here we take a moment to commend our spirit into the hands of God. Whatever comes, whatever we might be asked to endure physically or emotionally, God is within us and with us, walking alongside, holding us, our highest good and deepest yearning in those cradling hands. Guided into ever-greater Being through our many experiences, our own ‘way of the cross’ will be fruitful. Pondering Jesus’ final days, may his example boost our faith, inspire our courage and magnify our growth in love.
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