Category: Catholicism

Jesus is Laid in the Tomb

The earth, which shook as its Creator died, now opens to receive Your body. A dark and solitary cell for Your human flesh to lie until You take it up once more.

Hastily, your friends prepare Your body for burial. They hurry for the Sabbath draws nigh.

Little do they understand that You are the Lord of the Sabbath, the Rest of God; that for the souls who have gone before, You proclaim the Good News, smashing open the gates of hell.

I will wait beside Your tomb my Lord, keeping watch for Your return.

Jesus is Taken Down from the Cross

Limp and lifeless You lay in Your Mother’s arms. She holds You just like when You were small, and would climb on her lap to kiss her gently on the cheek. The Woman who gave You human flesh, now holds that battered flesh once more.

Beyond tears, beyond shock, the pain she feels is beyond all human understanding, and yet…

All Your life, she stored in her heart memories of You, her otherworldly child. Alone at night, she ponders them and knows that You are God, come to save His wayward children from eternal death. “But why must You die to accomplish it? Couldn’t You do more by living?” she wonders.

You whisper into her heart where only she can hear, “Before the world was, I AM. My Mother, and My child, how can I save them if I do not go where they are?”

Jesus Dies on the Cross

The end. It is finished.

Your throne in Heaven is now connected to earth by the rough-hewn wood of a cross. All around Your bloodstained body, stands a crowd of frightened, cowering people, suddenly engulfed in a strange, physical darkness that had but recently been only inside there souls. The Sun and stars hide themselves behind the glowering clouds, ashamed of the scene below them. The earth itself shudders violently in revulsion. No one dares to utter a word.

Your Mother stands beneath your cross, held in the arms of the disciple whom You love, gazing at Your now still body. The Romans think they have executed a criminal, a mere man. She begins to understand the words of the angel. She knows that You are much more than a man. Like the dawning of the day, the knowledge that You willed to die creeps across her consciousness.

No one can take Your life. You lay it down freely, and You will take it up again.

Jesus is Nailed to the Cross

Iron pierces Your flesh. Every blow of the hammer reverberates in waves of searing pain up Your arms and legs. The blood You’ve shed so far is not enough to fill chasm caused by my rebellion. Now You shed still more. It oozes from the wounds, runs down Your limbs, and pools on the dusty ground as if the earth were ashamed to drink it in.

But that is why You came to earth. Only Your perfect life and precious blood will heal dying creation, and my long dead soul. If I could only weep enough tears to wash the crimson stain away…

What were You thinking at that moment my Lord? What emotions filled Your heart as my forebears—and I—tortured You? Did You look down the centuries and see me; lost, frightened, and despairing?

I look back across the centuries but cannot watch, even now. Spare me Merciful Savior from the despair I feel at having so offended You.

Jesus is Stripped

The soldiers roughly pull your blood sodden clothes from Your back, sending new waves of searing pain to rack Your poor body. You stand naked in the sight of the remaining crowd—and all Your creation—silently waiting for the last insult: being nailed to a cross like a common criminal.

Cursed. Hateful. Forgotten. Haven’t You suffered enough for my sake?

Creator and everlasting King of the universe, You stand in front of us in broken flesh. A mere man like me—or so it seems. The Romans take your garments to divide amongst themselves. Your Crown they cannot take, nor would anyone dare, if they could only see You in Your glory.

But Your glory is in this torn and fleshly body, the same as that of Your children; those You deigned to set aside Your heavenly crown to save.

Lord Jesus, give me the robe of righteousness that You have woven for me through Your Passion. Never again let me soil so costly a garment.

Jesus Falls the Third Time

Three times You fall. Three times Your limbs fail as Your strength ebbs away.

Three times Your friend—the one who lived with You, ate with You, saw Your power and love displayed to everyone You met—vehemently denied even knowing You.

When I think of the many times I have denied You, driven You to Your knees under my blows, I wish the earth would open and swallow me up.

But You will not stop. You rise again. Faithful to me to the last, the one who is so faithless to You.

Oh Jesus, have mercy on me a sinner!