​As Jesus carried his cross through the city of Jerusalem to Golgotha, he was surrounded by people. But, obviously, he was also extremely isolated. The male disciples had betrayed or abandoned him. The crowd had turned against him. The religious authorities had condemned him. The Roman authorities had washed their hands of him. His executioners were mocking and torturing him.
 
But Jesus’ mother didn’t abandon him. The Bible records the fact that Mary was present at her son’s execution. And legend tells it that she met him along the route to Golgotha. The moment of their meeting has been imagined many times throughout history in art and in film. There is always a sense of intimacy and love drawing Jesus and Mary together and a sense of distance between them—they are being held apart and cannot embrace, cannot say all the words they want to say, cannot take the time they need.
 
This photograph was taken by Al Bello on May 24, 2020 in Wantagh, NY. It shows Michelle Grant hugging her mother Mary Grace Sileo through a sheet of plastic. It was the first time they had had physical contact of any kind with one another since the lockdown had begun there in February. They are being held apart by a lockdown, by a virus, by a plastic drop cloth. But despite it all their love has drawn them as close together as they can be.
 
Let us pray:
 
God of the just right, keep us far enough apart to keep us safe. Draw us close enough together to keep us together. Amen.   

​Sometimes Jesus seems like he’s a Marvel superhero. He battles and drowns demons. He heals the sick with a touch or with a word. He walks on water. He commands a storm to stop blowing. He never loses! He seems too big to fail. It’s surprising—no, shocking—it’s shocking to see him stumble, to see his vulnerability beneath all that power, to realize that he is not entirely invincible.
 
This photograph was taken in the House Chamber of the US Capitol by Tom Williams of CQ Roll Call on January 6, 2021. We see US Representative Susan Wild of Pennsylvania lying on her back in an aisle of the gallery as a mob of Trump supporters tried to break into the room. She looks terrified, one hand on her heart, another gripping the hand of her colleague, Jason Crow of Colorado. Maybe Congresswoman Wild in her fall to the floor is contemplating her own vulnerability.
 
We’ve all seen the images from the January 6 Capitol riot. They’ve been all over the news these last few months. We saw the barriers torn down; police overwhelmed and beaten; windows broken and doors demolished; senators, representatives, and the vice president rushed off to safety moments before being overtaken by the mob. We saw the US Capitol building under siege. We saw our democracy stumble.
 
There are times that it may seem to us that our institutions, our government, and our nation are simply too big to fail. But if our democracy can stumble, it can fall. If it can fall, it can fail—it is not entirely invincible.
 
Let us pray:
 
Jesus, you know what it is to be a great one who falls. Teach us that we are never too big to fail. Amen.

​During his ministry Jesus tells the crowds, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.” It’s a difficult teaching however you look at it. On the one hand, we know that personal sacrifice and the taming of the ego are an integral part of spiritual “maturity” for lack of a better word. On the other hand, how can Jesus’ crucifixion—this miscarriage of justice, this ugly mix of a state-sponsored execution and a mob-incited lynching of an innocent person be an appropriate metaphor for discipleship?
 
The difficulty is that the cross is both a symbol for discipleship and it is itself an injustice. And sometimes we get confused about which kind of cross people are carrying. Fasting during Lent is an act of discipleship. Being food insecure or being malnourished is not.  It is an injustice. A hunger strike to protest lack of government action on climate change is an act of personal sacrifice, moral courage, and spiritual discipline. But climate change itself is an injustice, a crisis, and a tragedy that Christians should not bear meekly.
 
This photograph was taken by John Moore for Getty Images on September 30, 2020 in Phoenix, Arizona. We see Maricopa County Constable Darlene Martinez escorting a family out of their apartment after serving an eviction order. The photo focuses on a girl—maybe around ten-years-old, clearly distressed—as she leaves her home. She’s carrying a laptop, a blanket, and a stuffed animal.
 
The CDC issued a moratorium on evictions in September of 2020, but a renter has to know about the protection and file paperwork to stop the eviction process in order to benefit from it. Unchallenged evictions still continue. And at the time of this recording the CDC’s eviction moratorium is scheduled to expire on March 31. Even with this protection, eviction filings this March have been up nearly 50% in some places over where they were last year. And if the protection is not renewed, there are (according to a recent census bureau survey) 8.3 million households behind on their rent in the US and vulnerable to eviction.
 
Let us pray:
 
God, grant us the strength to carry crosses and to tear crosses down. Jesus, you who had nowhere to lay your head, be with those who have nowhere to lay theris.
Amen.

WARNING: The image in this post shows an act of disturbing violence.

​The Stations of the Cross are a series of fourteen images or statues (along with accompanying prayers) that recreates the Via Dolorosa in Jerusalem. The Via Dolorosa is believed to be Jesus' processional route from his trial to his crucifixion.
 
For centuries, the Stations—which have been around in some form since at least the 400s—have provided faithful, home-bound pilgrims with an opportunity to visit Jerusalem and Jesus' Passion in their imaginations. The Stations can be visited anytime, but Holy Week provides us with a special opportunity to be with Jesus (and to not look away).
 
Good Friday, crucifixion, and death are not unique to Jesus. They are universal and can be found in many times and places. So, in the Stations as we’re presenting them, instead of reflecting on traditional images of Jesus, we'll be reflecting on "Good Friday" images from the news over the last year—images that relate to some crisis, some tragedy, some death that has been with us and on our hearts in this past year. 
 
Holy Week is Christianity’s most sacred time. Sacred doesn’t mean easy, sacred doesn’t mean pretty. Good Friday, especially, is the most difficult Christian Holy Day. Good Friday is God’s confrontation (and our confrontation) with the brutality and suffering in our world and in ourselves. But observing it, being with Jesus, and feeling the pain of the world is important spiritual work.
 
Let us pray:
 
God, may the images, reflections, and prayers of these Stations of the Cross draw us closer to the world's aching places, and may they embolden us to find the voice that will declare Good News to the world. Amen.

The Stations of the Cross are a series of fourteen images or statues (along with accompanying prayers) that recreates the Via Dolorosa in Jerusalem. The Via Dolorosa is believed to be Jesus' processional route from his trial to his crucifixion. You can find an example of what the Stations typically look like here.

The Stations, which have been around in some form since at least the 400s, have provided faithful, home-bound pilgrims with an opportunity to visit Jerusalem and Jesus' Passion in their imaginations for centuries. The Stations can be visited anytime, but Good Friday provides us with a special opportunity to be with Jesus (and to not look away).

Good Friday, crucifixion, and death are not unique to Jesus. They are universal and can be found in many times and places. So, in the Stations as they've been laid out below, instead of reflecting on traditional images of Jesus, we'll be reflecting on "Good Friday" images from the news over the last year or on images that relate to some crisis, some tragedy, some death that has been with us and on our hearts in this past year.  

As you scroll through the stations below, I suggest you take your time. Linger on the images. If you click on them, they'll open in a popup that fills the screen. Really see them. Feel them. Let the images and the emotions they contain draw you closer to the one who suffers with us. Pray the prayers. If you're not a pray-er, read them with as much conviction and hope as you can muster and see what happens.

Good Friday is the most difficult Christian Holy Day. But observing it, being with Jesus, and feeling the pain of the world is important spiritual work. I pray that the images, reflections, and prayers below draw you closer to the world's aching places and that they embolden you to find the voice that will let you declare Good News to the world.

Special thanks to Jim O'Brien who wrote many of the prayers below.