In our meditations for these three hours this Good Friday, from 12 noon to 3 p.m., I am drawing on a portion of the Stabat Mater, the 12th century hymn of the Crucifixion (‘At the cross her station keeping’) attributed to the Franciscan poet Jacopone da Todi.
In the Eleventh Station, Christ is nailed to the cross. When I put in a search for ‘Nails’ on Google, trying any of the towns I have lived in, I get endless lists of nail bars offering glamorous treatments that I am never going to contemplate or need.
But there is nothing glamorous about the nails and hands in Station XI in the Stations of the Cross.
Two thieves will also be nailed to two more crosses on the hilltop. One will ask for mercy and forgiveness and he will receive the promise he seeks from Christ.
Now that Christ has been taken away, he is being crucified, and is taking away the sin of the world.
In Saint Luke’s Gospel alone, the Penitent Thief cries out: ‘Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom’ (Luke 23: 42).
When Christ dies on the Cross in Station XII, the group at the foot of the Cross are mainly women. The Gospel writers say many women were there (Matthew 27: 55; Luke 23: 55), and they name his mother Mary (John 19: 25-27), her sister Mary, the wife of Clopas (John 19: 25), Mary Magdalene (Matthew 27: 56; Mark 15: 40, 47; John 19: 25), Mary the mother of James and Joseph (Matthew 27: 56; Mark 15: 40, 47), Mary the mother of the sons of Zebedee (Matthew 27: 56), and Salome (Mark 15: 40).
The only man at the Cross on Good Friday, apart from those who condemned Christ and the two thieves, is Saint John the Beloved Disciple (John 19: 26).
Is Christ alone and abandoned on the Cross?
In Saint Matthew’s Gospel, when Christ breathes his last, ‘the centurion and those with him’ are terrified and say: ‘Truly this man was God’s Son!’ (Matthew 27: 54). In Saint Mark and Saint Luke, the centurion alone says, ‘Truly this man was God’s Son!’ (Mark 15: 39). In Saint Luke’s Gospel, the centurion declares: ‘Certainly this man was innocent’ (Luke 23: 47).
In Saint John’s Gospel, when the soldiers are checking whether those who have been crucified have died, they break their legs, but when they come to Jesus one of them instead ‘pierced his side with a spear, and at once blood and water came out’ (John 19: 32-34).
In the Synoptic Gospels, Matthew, Mark and Luke say Joseph of Arimathea, a member of the council, asked Pilate for the body of Jesus, took the body, and wrapped it a clean linen cloth (Matthew 27: 28; Mark 15: 43, 46; Luke 23: 50-53); Saint John’s Gospel adds that Nicodemus helped Joseph with the preparation of the body for burial.
None of the Gospels says that the Virgin Mary held the body of her son when he was taken down from the Cross and before he was buried. But this has become a popular image in Passion scenes, from Michelangelo’s Pieta to the statues that dominate Good Friday processions today in Italy, Spain and Portugal.
The Mother who once cradled the Infant Child on her lap, now holds her dead son on her lap. The hands once raised in adoration and in love, are now raised in horror and in anguish. Had she known that this was the end, would she have said yes to the Angel Gabriel at the Annunciation when he greeted her with those words, ‘Ave Maria, Hail Mary’?
Does she remember now how she once cradled the Christ Child on her lap?
Are the grave clothes he is to be wrapped in as he is laid in the grave a reminder to her of the swaddling clothes she wrapped him in as she laid him down to sleep in his crib in Bethlehem?
A sword of grief pierces her soul.
Women surround her, but none can comfort her.
Crucified Saviour, you are resurrection and life and in your death and resurrection we who mourn find the peace and comfort your own mother lacked as your body came down from the cross. Help us to bring the hope of the resurrection to all who mourn. This we pray in the name of Jesus, our crucified Lord, the King of Glory, the King of Peace. Amen.
When Christ is laid in the tomb at the Fourteenth Station, the Virgin Mary, hands crossed as if she is about to approach the Altar at the Eucharist to receive the Body of Christ, watches as Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus gently lay Christ’s body in the grave.
The simplicity of this station often found in northern Europe is in contrast to the elaborate tableaux of this scene found in cathedrals and churches throughout Continental Europe.
The Deposition of Christ by Vincenzo Onofri, dating from the early 16th century, is in a niche in the Basilica of San Petronio in Bologna. There are seven terracotta figures in this work. The group gathered around Christ in the tomb includes Nicodemus and Saint John the Beloved Disciple on one side, and the Virgin Mary and the three other Marys who are witnesses to the Crucifixion in the centre and to the left, with an expression of horror on the face of Saint Mary Magdalene.
A very different, though equally elaborate, sculpted terracotta tableau from the early 16th century by Alfonso Lombardi (1497-1537) is in the Cathedral of San Pietro in Bologna.
Saint John the Evangelist stands to the left, while Nicodemus kneels with his arms crossed. He has asked for the Body of Christ, now he kneels as though he has just received the Body of Christ in the Holy Communion.
Nicodemus who came to see Christ under the cover of darkness, now prepares to bury his body before darkness falls.
Nicodemus who had questions and doubts, now holds the Body of Christ in his hands.
Nicodemus has become a full communicant member of the Church.
In death he knows what is meant by new birth.
There are seven days of creation. God’s work is complete and God rests on the seventh day; now Christ is to rest in the grave on the seventh day, his work is complete.
Early on Sunday morning, before dawn on the first day of the week, the women come to the tomb with spices they have prepared. But they find the stone has been rolled away from the tomb, there is no body, and two men in dazzling clothes ask them ‘Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here, but has risen’ (Luke 24: 5). There is a similar greeting in the other two Synoptic Gospels: ‘He is not here; for he has been raised’ (Matthew 28: 6); ‘He has been raised; he is not here’ (Mark 16: 6).
The Cross is empty. The Grave is empty. We have Good News to proclaim.
(Revd Canon Professor) Patrick Comerford is Priest-in-Charge, the Rathkeale and Kilnaughtin Group of Parishes. This is the third and final part of reflections prepared for Good Friday, 30 March 2018, in Saint Mary’s Church, Askeaton.
In my meditations for these three hours this Good Friday, from 12 noon to 3 p.m., I am drawing on a portion of the Stabat Mater, the 12th century hymn of the Crucifixion (‘At the cross her station keeping’) attributed to the Franciscan poet Jacopone da Todi.
Station 6 illustrates a story that is not told in any of the four Gospel accounts of Christ’s journey to Calvary, although there are some parallels with the story of the woman who was healed miraculously by touching the hem Christ’s garment (Luke 8: 43-48).
In popular illustrations of this station, Veronica is often seen on her knees, offering her veil with both hands. Christ stretches out to receive the veil, while Simon of Cyrene continues to prop up the Cross.
According to tradition, Veronica is moved with sympathy when she sees Christ carrying his cross and gives him her veil to wipe his forehead. When he hands back the veil, it is marked with the image of his face.
In the Middle Ages, there was a mistaken idea that the name Veronica was derived from the Latin vera (true) and Greek eikon (image). But, in fact, Veronica is a Latin transliteration of the Greek name Berenice (Βερενίκη). This, in turn, was the Macedonian form of the Athenian Φερενίκη (Phereníkē) or Φερονίκη (Pheroníkē), meaning ‘she who brings victory.’ It became popular because of its use by the Ptolemies, the Seleucids and other dynasties in the east Mediterranean.
The first record of the Veil of Veronica being displayed in Rome only dates from 1199, when two pilgrims, Giraldus Cambrensis, the early historian of Ireland, and Gervase of Tilbury, make direct references to the existence of the Veil of Veronica.
A few years later, in 1207, the cloth was publicly paraded for the first time and displayed by Pope Innocent III. This procession, between Saint Peter’s and the Santo Spirito Hospital, became an annual event and the procession inspired Pope Boniface VIII to proclaim the first Jubilee in 1300. For the next 200 years, the ‘Veronica’ was regarded as one of the most precious Christian relics.
Some accounts say the veil was stolen or destroyed after the Sack of Rome in 1527, others say it survived, but it disappears almost entirely from public view after 1629, when the Pope prohibited making reproductions.
But that association of the image of Jesus with Santo Spirito brings back memories of another image of Christ I saw on the steps of Santo Spirito in Rome last year.
The hospital was built for paupers and abandoned children by Pope Innocent III, who began this procession. Two years ago [March 2016], the Canadian sculptor Timothy Schmalz donated a bronze statue on the steps of the hospital showing ‘Christ the Beggar’, sitting on the steps, with the words beside him: ‘Ha avuto fame e mi avete dato da mangiare, ho avuto sete e mi avete dato da bere. I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink’ (Matthew 25: 35).
A second statue at Santo Spirito shows Christ as an impoverished patient lying on a makeshift bed on the steps of the hospital. The words beneath him read: ‘Ero malato e mi avete visitato. I was ill and you visited me’ (Matthew 25: 36).
Station 7 also illustrates a story that is not told any of the four Gospel accounts of Christ’s journey to Calvary, although the popular numbering of three falls may have a Trinitarian intention.
In this station, Christ falls to his knees beneath the weight of his cross. As children, we used to say: ‘Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names shall never hurt me.’ Do those who force Christ to carry his cross beat him as he falls with sticks and stones? Do they berate him verbally and call him names?
The Prophet Isaiah says: ‘But he was wounded for our transgressions, crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the punishment that made us whole, and by his bruises we are healed’ (Isaiah 53: 5). Saint Peter, in his first epistle, writes: ‘He himself bore our sins in his body on the cross, so that, free from sins, we might live for righteousness; by his wounds you have been healed’ (I Peter 2: 24).
We are reached the half-way point as we follow the Stations of the Cross this afternoon. But there is no light touch or easy way out.
The Greek writer, historian and theologian Dimitrios Vernardakis (1833-1907), who was twice nominated for the Nobel Prize for Literature, once wrote that his father’s name was the profitless burden which he was condemned by irrevocable ill-fortune to bear on his shoulders throughout his life. What are the burdens you are forced to bear on your shoulders throughout life, perhaps even since childhood, that you feel are a burden you cannot shake off? Who can you share this with in life?
But the Church has also responded with both hands to people who have fallen to the bottom of the system because of economic and social policies. I pray this afternoon for people from the churches who are working together on the streets of Athens and on the Greek islands with refugees and asylum seekers.
A great number of the people followed him, and among them were women who were beating their breasts 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 the days are surely coming when they will say, “Blessed are the barren, and the wombs that never bore, 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 they do this when the wood is green, what will happen when it is dry?’ (Luke 23: 26-35).
The ‘Daughters of Jerusalem’ are mentioned several times in the Song of Solomon (see 1: 5, 2: 7, 3: 10-11, 5: 8, 5: 16). For example: ‘O daughters of Jerusalem, if you find my beloved, tell him this: I am faint with love’ (Song of Solomon 5: 8).
As the muse of the Beloved, the Daughters of Jerusalem help her choose rightly between the flashy wealth of the king and the ardent true love of the Shepherd. So we should expect the Daughters of Jerusalem in this scene to be filled with the love of God, to realise they have met their shepherd and their king.
In his response to these women, Christ alludes to three Biblical passages. There may be an echo of Jeremiah who cites Israel’s devastation to explain why he had no wife or children (Jeremiah 16: 1-4). He quotes an expression of despair by Hosea: ‘They shall say to the mountains, Cover us, and to the hills, Fall on us’ (Hosea 10: 8). This portrays people desperately crying for mountains and hills to provide shelter. And he refers to Ezekiel ‘Thus says the Lord God, I will kindle a fire in you, and it shall devour every green tree in you and every dry tree; the blazing flame shall not be quenched, and all faces from south to north shall be scorched by it’ (Ezekiel 20: 47).
But both Isaiah and the Book of Revelation also say: ‘he will swallow up death forever. Then the Lord God will wipe away the tears from all faces, and the disgrace of his people he will take away from all the earth’ (Isaiah 25: 8); ‘he will wipe every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more, for the first things have passed away’ (Revelation 21: 4).
I think of former President McAleese, who went ahead with her speech in Rome on International Women’s Day earlier this month [8 March 2018], despite Cardinal Kevin Farrell’s efforts to stop her speaking in the Vatican because of her support for the ordination of women. It is not just the Vatican, but all sections and traditions in the Church, that need to sit up and listen to her prophetic words.
Whose voices, which women, are you listening to today?
The Ninth Station is another of the traditional stations that does not recall an event in any of the passion narratives in the four Gospels.
He came out and went, as was his custom, to the Mount of Olives; and the disciples followed him. When he reached the place, he said to them, ‘Pray that you may not come into the time of trial.’ Then he withdrew from them about a stone’s throw, knelt down, and prayed, ‘Father, if you are willing, remove this cup from me; yet, not my will but yours be done.’ Then an angel from heaven appeared to him and gave him strength. In his anguish he prayed more earnestly, and his sweat became like great drops of blood falling down on the ground (Luke 22: 39-44).
The third fall, like the other two falls, is not mentioned in the Gospel accounts of the Passion, but the incident is part of traditional Christian piety and Station IX in the Stations of the Cross.
In the early 16th century, the third fall was located at the entrance courtyard to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem. Today, the ninth station is not actually located on the Via Dolorosa. Instead, it is at the entrance to the Ethiopian Orthodox Monastery and the Coptic Orthodox Monastery of Saint Anthony. Together they form the roof structure of the underground Chapel of Saint Helena in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre.
The Coptic and Ethiopian Orthodox churches split in 1959. Before that, these monastic buildings were considered a single monastery.
This Good Friday, the image of the Third Fall is a reminder to me of the divisions of the Church and our failures in ecumenism and efforts to bring about Church unity.
Now nearly on Calvary’s broad summit, Jesus collapses.
Poles long set into the ground are silhouetted against gray clouds.
Impatiently, Jesus is pulled up and shoved angrily toward his death.
Loving Lord, you fell that we might rise and taught us that unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit. Help us to die to ourselves so that we might live to you and bear much fruit for your Kingdom. This we pray in the name of Jesus, our crucified Lord, the King of Glory, the King of Peace. Amen.
And when they had crucified him, they divided his clothes among themselves by casting lots; then they sat down there and kept watch over him (Matthew 27: 35-36).
And they crucified him, and divided his clothes among them, casting lots to decide what each should take. (Mark 15: 24).
And they cast lots to divide his clothing (Luke 23: 34).
and for my clothing they cast lots’ (John 19: 23-24).
Clothes are often used to indicate a person’s social position, their place in society. This public stripping says that Jesus is being stripped of social standing, his place in society. He has become an outcast, despised by all.
At the foot of the Cross, the soldiers draw lots to divide his few remaining possessions. All four Gospel accounts speak of Christ’s clothes being divided by casing lots, but Saint John alone refers this to a passage in Psalm 22: 18.
Saint John too is alone is saying Christ’s tunic was ‘seamless, woven in one piece from the top’ (John 19:23). This may also refer to the High Priest’s robe, which was ‘woven from a single thread,’ without stitching. The naked Christ is the true High Priest.
Being stripped naked is one more step in the process of ultimate humiliation. Imagine the embarrassment of being so exposed.
Yet Saint Paul reminds us, ‘we brought nothing into the world, so that we can take nothing out of it’ (I Timothy 6: 7). Adam and Eve were expelled from Paradise, naked and ashamed. Once again, Christ shows that he is just like us, he is the new Adam.
Who in the world do we strip naked today, leaving them stand alone and isolated in humility? The women who are used to illustrate tabloid newspapers or decorate advertising? The women who are forced through diet to change their body shapes because of social pressures or peer pressures? The children who are the victims of abuse through manipulation on social media?
Do I consider those people who have no choice about the clothes they wear? Because of their financial circumstances? Because of poverty? Because of family control? Because of fashion? Because of the demands of others? Because they could take no clothes with them when they became refugees, asylum seekers or migrants?
Do I grimace, or do I grin?
Or, like Mary, do I stand at the foot of the cross and weep?
The soldiers notice you have something of value. They remove your cloak and throw dice for it. Your wounds are torn open once again. Some of the people in the crowd make fun of you. They tease you and challenge you to perform a miracle for them to see. They are not aware that you will perform the greatest miracle of all!
(Revd Canon Professor) Patrick Comerford is Priest-in-Charge, the Rathkeale and Kilnaughtin Group of Parishes. This is the second part of reflections prepared for Good Friday, 30 March 2018, in Saint Mary’s Church, Askeaton.
Today is Good Friday and we have come to the climax of Lent. Later today, at Noon, I am beginning to lead three hours of prayers cross in Saint Mary’s Church, Askeaton, Co Limerick (12 noon to 3 p.m.), on the theme of following Christ to the foot of the Cross at Calvary.
Throughout Lent, my meditations each morning are guided by three sets of Stations of the Cross that I have found either inspiring or unusual. These are the stations in Saint Mel’s Cathedral, Longford, at Saint John’s Well on a mountainside near Millstreet, Co Cork, and in the Chapel of Saint John’s Hospital, Lichfield.
The idea for this series of morning Lenten meditations came from reading about Peter Walker’s new exhibition, ‘Imagining the Crucifixion,’ inspired by the Stations of the Cross, which opened in Lichfield Cathedral last month and continues until the end of Lent.
For these final two weeks in Lent, I am looking at the 14 Stations of the Cross in the Chapel of Saint John’s Hospital, Lichfield. Since I was a 19-year-old, I have regarded this chapel as my spiritual home.
In this chapel, close to the Stations of the Cross, a small plaque worked in painted stucco on wood, shows the Virgin Mary kneeling in prayer before the Christ Child, who looks up into her face, his hands lifted up in a child’s loving gesture to his attentive mother.
Above, there are four angels crowning the inner garland, on each side are assorted painted flowers, and within the frame are two lilies, symbols of Easter and the Resurrection.
Below are the winged faces of two golden putti or cherubim, each on a cloud, perhaps symbolic of the two angels who later appear at the empty tomb announcing the Resurrection.
The inscription below the platform, in an inset on the outer frame, consists of two simple words, ‘Ave Maria’.
Now, in Station XII, the Mother who once cradled the Infant Child on her lap, now holds her dead son on her lap. The hands once raised in adoration and in love, are now clutching his shoulder and raised in horror and in anguish.
Had she known that this was the end, would she have said yes to the Angel Gabriel at the Annunciation when he greeted her with those words, ‘Ave Maria, Hail Mary’?
Tomorrow: Station 14: Jesus is laid in the tomb.
Tomorrow: ‘Entombed’ … Station 14 in the Chapel at Saint John’s Hospital, Lichfield, Jesus is placed in the tomb.