Meditation on the Passion

Various | 3/19/06 | Knitting a Conundrum

[Knitting A Conundrum]

Meditation on Christ's Passion



When you prayed in the garden, Lord,
and the heaviness pressed all around you
as the full moon's light peaked through the olive trees,
and your apostles snored in the shadows,
and you sweated blood in the depths of your grief,
how heavy did today weigh on your shoulders,
with a war-torn world,
mad with bloodlust,
despising your peace,
hot with hatred and selfish fulfilment
sometimes done in the name of God,
or done in the name of self,
careless with all you have taught?



When they tied you to the pillar, Lord,
and scourged you in the Roman way,
a beating so severe that it alone could take a life,
as the weights at the ends of the whips,
and the heavy slap of the leather tore your flesh,
did you see the babies ripped for profit,
the innocents blown up to make a political statement,
the slaughtered millions killed
because they belonged to the wrong class,
or bloodline,
or culture
or faith
or country?
Which gave you the most pain,
the cruel leather,
or the knowlege how we would reject you?


When you walked that long walk
with the heavy crossbeam tied to your hands
as they paraded you and the others
to the Place of the Skull
amid a phalanx of proud and hard Roman soldiers
who hated the noise and the crowd and the foreignness
of it all,
and took out their spite by tugging your bonds
and watching you fall with arms extended,
and when you saw your Mother there,
and the aching pain passed between you,
did you see all the other mothers
aching in their pain for what evildoers would do
to their sons and daughters in the days to come,
mothers of the disapeared,
mothers of political prisoners,
mothers of those slain by bombers,
mothers of the beaten and kidnapped,
mothers looking for children buried in mass graves,
mothers who watch their children starve for others'
gain?


When they nailed you to the cross,
and hung you up to die the slow death
reserved for slaves and foreign traitors,
gradual suffocation
in hot, aching, painful breaths,
did our evil make the pain that much harder?
Did our lack of mercy and love
echo down the centuries like a pressing weight
making your sacrifice all the more painful?

And yet, still you managed to love us,
and gave us all you had left,
your mother,
your compassion,
your heart's blood.

Dear Lord,
Forgive us!

[Knitting A Conundrum]

Mary Magdalene

Holding up her hands,
she did not know if she raised them
in prayer,
pleading,
or anger,
watching him die.

"O Lord, Master of the Universe,
let me wake up
and discover this is all a nightmare,"
she whispered.

His mother touched her shoulder.
Together, they wept silently,
tears rolling down their cheeks
as they watched
he who was the center of their life
slowly ebb,
blood drop by blood drop,
breath by breath,
moment by moment.

In all the frazzled weariness
that had made up so much of her life,
he had brought
the healing touch,
the acceptance and love
that had showed her the way to God,
those things she thought denied to her forever,
and here, her gentle master
hung unrecognizable,
yet without a word of anger
at those who misused him.

Ignoring the mockery of the soldiers,
she drew near as she could be,
collapsing in her tears,
her heartbreak,
her love.

How little she knew
how her tears and love would be rewarded
as her aching sorrow would turn to
amazing, bewildered joy
come Sunday morning.

KAC

[Knitting A Conundrum]

Yet it was the will of the LORD to bruise him;
he has put him to grief;
when he makes himself an offering for sin,
he shall see his offspring,
he shall prolong his days;
the will of the LORD shall prosper in his hand;
he shall see the fruit of the travail of his soul
and be satisfied;
by his knowledge shall the righteous one, my servant,
make many to be accounted righteous;
and he shall bear their iniquities.
Therefore I will divide him a portion with the great,
and he shall divide the spoil with the strong;
because he poured out his soul to death,
and was numbered with the transgressors;
yet he bore the sin of many,
and made intercession for the transgressors.

Isaiah 53:10-12

[Knitting A Conundrum]

[Knitting A Conundrum]

How hard the iron
of those nails were,
like the hearts of those
would would not listen
to your kind words,
offer of the Father's love.
grey and dark
like sin,
pointed
like the cruelty
of an unrepentant soul.

And yet,
you stretched out your bloodstained arm,
openned your hand,
as if eager for them,
as if accepting a kiss of love
as they penetrated your flesh
in an agony of pain,
an echo of the misery
of a lost soul.

KAC

[Knitting A Conundrum]

Litany of the Most Precious Blood of Jesus
For private recitation.

Lord, have mercy.
Christ, have mercy.
Lord, have mercy.
Christ, hear us.
Christ, graciously hear us.

God, the Father of Heaven,
have mercy on us.
God the Son, Redeemer of the world,
have mercy on us.
God, the Holy Spirit,
have mercy on us.
Holy Trinity, One God,
have mercy on us.

Blood of Christ, only-begotten Son of the Eternal Father,
save us.
Blood of Christ, Incarnate Word of God,
save us.
Blood of Christ, of the New and Eternal Testament,
save us.
Blood of Christ, falling upon the earth in the Agony,
save us.
Blood of Christ, shed profusely in the Scourging,
save us.
Blood of Christ, flowing forth in the Crowning with Thorns,
save us.
Blood of Christ, poured out on the Cross,
save us.
Blood of Christ, price of our salvation,
save us.
Blood of Christ, Without Which there is no forgiveness,
save us.
Blood of Christ, Eucharistic drink and refreshment of souls,
save us.
Blood of Christ, stream of mercy,
save us.
Blood of Christ, victor over demons,
save us.
Blood of Christ, courage of Martyrs,
save us.
Blood of Christ, strength of Confessors,
save us.
Blood of Christ, bringing forth Virgins,
save us.
Blood of Christ, help of those in peril,
save us.
Blood of Christ, relief of the burdened,
save us.
Blood of Christ, solace in sorrow,
save us.
Blood of Christ, hope of thepenitent,
save us.
Blood of Christ, consolationof the dying,
save us.
Blood of Christ, peace and tenderness of hearts,
save us.
Blood of Christ, pledge of eternal life,
save us.

Blood of Christ, freeing souls from purgatory,
save us.
Blood of Christ, most worthyof all glory and honor,
save us.

Lamb of God, Who take away the sins of the world,
spare us, O Lord!.
Lamb of God, Who take away the sins of the world,
graciously hear us, O Lord!.
Lamb of God, Who take away the sins of the world,
have mercy on us. .

V. Thou hast redeemed us, O Lord, in Thy Blood.
R. And made us, for our God, a Kingdom.

Let us pray.
Almighty and eternal God, Thou hastappointed Thine only-begotten Son the Redeemer of the world, and willed to be appeased by His Blood. Grant we beg ofThee, that we may worthily adore this price of our salvation, and through its power be safeguarded from the evils of the present life, so that we may rejoice in its fruits forever in Heaven. Through the same Christ our Lord. R. Amen.

[Knitting A Conundrum]

Meditation on the Precious Blood

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,
thank you for your mercy.

[Knitting A Conundrum]

[Knitting A Conundrum]

ETERNAL Father,
turn away Thine angry gaze from all guilty people whose faces have become unsightly in Thy eyes. Look instead upon the face of Thy Beloved Son, for this is the Face of Him in Whom Thou art well pleased. We now offer Thee this Holy face, covered with shame and disfigured by bloody bruises, in reparation for the crimes of our age, in order to appease Thee anger, justly provoked against us. Because Thy Divine Son, our Redeemer, has taken upon His head all the sins of His people that they might be spared, we now beg of Thee, Eternal Father, to grant us mercy. Amen.










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.

[Knitting A Conundrum]

And he came out, and went, as was his custom, to the Mount of Olives; and the disciples followed him. And when he came to the place he said to them, "Pray that you may not enter into temptation." And he withdrew from them about a stone's throw, and knelt down and prayed, "Father, if thou art willing, remove this cup from me; nevertheless not my will, but thine, be done." And there appeared to him an angel from heaven, strengthening him.

[Knitting A Conundrum]

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.

KAC

[Knitting A Conundrum]

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.

[Knitting A Conundrum]

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?

KAC

[Knitting A Conundrum]

How hard that final rise was,
Step by step up the hill,
how hard you had to cling to life,
how hard you had to cling to consciousness,
hard hard each breath,
each jarring step.
Even with Simeon carrying your cross,
the ground came swoop up,
and you tasted the dust,
felt the pavement one last time,
falling one last time
to panic the centurion
into thinking you would die
before they could kill you..

Only your burning love
burning like an eternal flame
echoing down the ages
stood you up that last time,
pushing away
the effects of shock,
and dehydration
and beating,
to crest the hill
for your final glorification.

[Knitting A Conundrum]

He [Jesus Christ] is the living one. He is the victor over sin and death. He is not one who ascended into heaven in order to disappear from world history as if He had never been in it. He ascended to heaven after He had descended into the last depths of sin, death, and the lost world, and came out of this abyss, which contains everything, alive. --FATHER KARL RAHNER, S. J., theologian

[Knitting A Conundrum]

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.

Yeshua...
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.

Yeshua,
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?

Did your gazes meet,
Yeshua's and yours,
did you 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?

KAC

[Knitting A Conundrum]

Agnus Dei

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.

KAC

[Knitting A Conundrum]

On a hill far away stood an old rugged cross,
The emblem of suffering and shame;
And I love that old cross where the dearest and best
For a world of lost sinners was slain.


So I’ll cherish the old rugged cross,
Till my trophies at last I lay down;
I will cling to the old rugged cross,
And exchange it some day for a crown.

O that old rugged cross, so despised by the world,
Has a wondrous attraction for me;
For the dear Lamb of God left His glory above
To bear it to dark Calvary.

So I’ll cherish the old rugged cross,
Till my trophies at last I lay down;
I will cling to the old rugged cross,
And exchange it some day for a crown.


In that old rugged cross, stained with blood so divine,
A wondrous beauty I see,
For ’twas on that old cross Jesus suffered and died,
To pardon and sanctify me.

So I’ll cherish the old rugged cross,
Till my trophies at last I lay down;
I will cling to the old rugged cross,
And exchange it some day for a crown.


To the old rugged cross I will ever be true;
Its shame and reproach gladly bear;
Then He’ll call me some day to my home far away,
Where His glory forever I’ll share.

So I’ll cherish the old rugged cross,
Till my trophies at last I lay down;
I will cling to the old rugged cross,
And exchange it some day for a crown.


http://www.cyberhymnal.org/htm/o/r/oruggedc.htm

[Knitting A Conundrum]

18: For the word of the cross is folly to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God.
19: For it is written, "I will destroy the wisdom of the wise, and the cleverness of the clever I will thwart."
20: Where is the wise man? Where is the scribe? Where is the debater of this age? Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world?
21: For since, in the wisdom of God, the world did not know God through wisdom, it pleased God through the folly of what we preach to save those who believe.
22: For Jews demand signs and Greeks seek wisdom,
23: but we preach Christ crucified, a stumbling block to Jews and folly to Gentiles,
24: but to those who are called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God.
25: For the foolishness of God is wiser than men, and the weakness of God is stronger than men.
26: For consider your call, brethren; not many of you were wise according to worldly standards, not many were powerful, not many were of noble birth;
27: but God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise, God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong,
28: God chose what is low and despised in the world, even things that are not, to bring to nothing things that are,
29: so that no human being might boast in the presence of God.
30: He is the source of your life in Christ Jesus, whom God made our wisdom, our righteousness and sanctification and redemption;
31: therefore, as it is written, "Let him who boasts, boast of the Lord."

1 Corinthians 1: 18-31 RSV

[Ciexyz]

Faith-sharing bump.

[Knitting A Conundrum]

Cross of Jesus, cross of sorrow,
Where the blood of Christ was shed,
Perfect Man on thee did suffer,
Perfect God on thee has bled!

Here the King of all the ages,
Throned in light ere worlds could be,
Robed in mortal flesh is dying,
Crucified by sin for me.

O mysterious condescending!
O abandonment sublime!
Very God Himself is bearing
All the sufferings of time!

Evermore for human failure
By His passion we can plead;
God has born all mortal anguish,
Surely He will know our need.

This—all human thought surpassing—
This is earth’s most awful hour,
God has taken mortal weakness!
God has laid aside His Power!

Once the Lord of brilliant seraphs,
Winged with love to do His will,
Now the scorn of all His creatures,
And the aim of every ill.

Up in Heaven, sublimest glory
Circled round Him from the first;
But the earth finds none to serve Him,
None to quench His raging thirst.

Who shall fathom that descending,
From the rainbow circled throne,
Down to earth’s most base profaning,
Dying desolate alone.

From the “Holy, Holy, Holy,
We adore Thee, O most High,”
Down to earth’s blaspheming voices
And the shout of “Crucify.”

Cross of Jesus, cross of sorrow,
Where the blood of Christ was shed,
Perfect Man on thee did suffer,
Perfect God on thee has bled!

http://www.cyberhymnal.org/htm/c/r/crossofj.htm