- Isaiah 50: 4-7
- Psalms 22: 8-9, 17-18, 19-20, 23-24
- Philippians 2: 6-11
- Luke 23: 1-49
- No silver tongue
- Prophets lead a rough life. The folks that they encourage tend to be the poor and oppressed, not the sort to use their influence to benefit the prophet. On the other hand, prophets often have words of warning and exhortation for those who are in power.
- Look over the things that you have said over the past few days. What of that would bring your hearers closer to God?
- Do you think that any of those conversations might have gone differently if you were committed to being a prophetic presence in their lives?
- What would you have said/done differently if you felt called to be a prophet?
- Why do you think that anyone would choose that life?
- Courage in the midst of darkness
- There are different reasons for trusting in God. We might feel as though we can count on God to rescue us in the end, no matter how dire things are now. Or, we might believe that what looks like shame and failure in the world's eyes, is really glory in God's eyes. Or, we might believe that God will vindicate His followers in the next life, if not this one.
- Why do you trust in God?
- How has that worked for you so far?
- If someone told you "I would be more likely to follow God if only I thought that He really cared" what would you say?
- Stepping into Eternity one day at a time
- It's easy to pity Peter for denying Jesus three times. But I look at it from the other side and marvel that Peter did not scatter like the rest of the disciples but continued in Jesus' company right into the heart of enemy territory. Deep down, Peter was a good friend to Jesus, and wanted to be with him, even though that was frightening.
- If Jesus were alive in our midst today, where might we find Him?
- What do you see Him doing in those places, those situations?
- Now imagine that you go to where you've been told Jesus frequents, and sure enough, there He is. And miraculously, He sees you, recognizes you, catches your eye, and invites you to be with Him.
- How do you respond?
- The bigger picture
- Pain can be isolating. Others, not in the same pain, often do not understand what you are going through, making it hard for them to relate. Yet the good thief, St. Dismas in Catholic tradition, managed to get beyond his own pain and reached out to Jesus.
- Think of a time of real need in your life when you felt alone, afraid, uncertain of your future.
- Did you pray about that at all?
- How did you get to a place of prayer?
- How did God answer you then?
- How did His answer change you?
- Preparation for Reconciliation
- Are my words bringing healing?
- Do I trust God on His terms, or mine?
- How is God readying me for Eternity today?
- Where is God calling me to reach out to others, to Him, in spite of, or even because of, some pain or stress that I am going through?
Splinters
I was minding my own business,
Looking for a way to avoid the inevitable traffic,
That always seems to accompany a riot.
Lord knows, I have had enough experience with riots these past years.
But I missed my chance to dodge this one,
Instead I blundered right in.
Found myself thrust right into the middle
Of a crucifixion of all things.
Mother would be so proud.
I didn't protest. There was no point.
When the soldiers press you into duty,
It's best to close your eyes, hold your nose, and do as you're told.
No one ever resists Roman soldiers more than once.
The angry crowd was throwing things at Him.
Rotting vegetables, the occasional stone, and worse.
I got some of the more poorly-aimed missiles.
And soon I looked about as ill-used as He did.
I hope none of my friends see me thus.
I watched Him fall.
He had no strength to break His fall.
No agility left.
He just went down like a sack of flour slumping off the shelf.
Everyone else was frustrated and angry with Him.
His exhaustion merely an annoyance to them.
The guards prodded Him like a slab of meat,
Trying to keep Him moving along towards His death.
I don't care who He is, no one should be treated with such indifference.
A peasant woman darts from the crowd,
Armed with nothing more than a flimsy veil.
The guards stop, dumbfounded.
As she mops His tortured face of caked blood.
It seemed a futile gesture at best.
Barely making a difference to His tortured state.
But He lifted His head, looked her in the eye.
And they both shared tears together.
I'm glad that I'm able to help this man of courage.
Finally we make it to the designated slaughter space.
Echoes of past executions haunting the rocks and scraggly bushes here.
I can almost hear the screams of agony
That have soaked into the sand along with the blood and tears.
They relieve me of my cross but not my burden.
I watch them assemble the instrument of torture with practiced ease.
The tools laid out neatly, the victim confined.
I watch the crucifixion, and I stay to keep watch, I know not why.
The horror of it all makes me look for comfort.
His mother and closest disciple each take my hand.
They must assume that I had been a follower of His.
I could not tell them that my presence was mere accident.
Maybe because I no longer believed that myself.
I did my best to comfort them in silence.
Any words would have failed their purpose.
I heard weeping, and I could not tell whether it was mine or someone else's.
And I marveled that it no longer mattered.
Mother would be so proud.
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