Exodus

You come now to the strand:
The sea before you crawls,
and though you cling to your homeland,
another kingdom calls.

Your feet, already wet,
inch toward the farther shore.
You are a creature of the depths
you've never known before.

You try to dig right in,
to grip the gritty sand,
but each wave slipping back again
pulls home out of your hands.

Let go; O love, let go.
This Egypt is not yours.
You stand now on the Red Sea road,
with only one way forward:

through sorrow and through pain.
They will not stand like walls,
but plunge you in the heaving main.
You cannot swim at all.

They only promise this,
that whispers in the tide:
Beyond the sea, beyond abyss,
there is another side.

Crossing of the Red Sea By Nicolas Poussin – http://www.1st-art-gallery.com/Nicolas-Poussin/The-Crossing-Of-The-Red-Sea,-C.1634.html, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=10289613

The 14th Station: Entombment

We adore you, O Christ, and we bless you,
because by your holy cross, you have redeemed the world.

Oh, but it was always thus:
Ash to ashes, dust to dust.
Wisdom knows our little day;
all who're born return to clay.

So it is since Adam's fall:
foul or guiltless, mortal all.
Ours the cross, the grave, the cold,
so you came, our death to hold.

When they laid you in the tomb,
what the light could pierce that gloom?
That's the shadow where we dwell:
Every grave our prison cell.

How could any dawn break through,
any glimmer less than you?
You alone could tear that veil,
so you did, by blood and nail.

Now you lie in Adam's grave,
chasing him you came to save
downward to the gates of hell,
mortal, like him, cold and still.

O you gates, lift up your heads.
Let him in, firstfruits of death.
He will take us from you, all.
Hail the day that saw him fall!

Holy God, Holy Mighty One, Holy Immortal One,
have mercy on us.

By Carl Bloch – http://www.1st-art-gallery.com/Carl-Heinrich-Bloch/The-Burial-Of-Christ.html, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=7984697

Mother

From Grace Hamman’s Jesus Through Medieval Eyes, the chapter on Christ as Mother. For Holy Week:

As Eve cried out in labor,
who bore the curse and Cain,
and wept again for Abel,
so you bear us in pain.

The body gaping open,
the wound of our first sin,
brings healing through the broken—
and new life enters in.

You walked the earth our brother,
formed with us of the dirt.
Now on the cross as mother,
your labor gives us birth

of water and the Spirit,
of holiness and blood.
The sin that we inherit
is drowned out in your flood.

Your body is out birthplace;
your sorrow is our hope.
O firstfruits of our dead race,
your life becomes our hope.

Your wounds O Lord, our shelter:
the shadow of your wings.
The cleft rock is our refuge,
O mother of all things!

The Birth of Ecclesia, fol. 2v (detail), ONB Han. Cod. 2554, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, Vienna. Made in Paris, 1225–49.

Have Mercy

Have mercy on the flock,
though from your hand they flee.
If there's no mercy for the lost,
then there is none for me.

On all who cannot seek
beyond the bars they see:
If there's no mercy for the weak,
then there is none for me.

And on all who have done
what they dare not reveal:
If there's no mercy for the wrong,
then there is none for me.

On all who will fall down,
tripped on what they can't see:
If there's no mercy for the proud,
then there is none for me.

Have mercy on us all,
far-fallen though we be.
If there's no grace for those who call,
there can be none for me.

O God, have mercy still—
this, my unending plea.
Let even Judas' hands be filled:
Have mercy, Lord, on me.

The Kiss of Judas by Giotto di Bondone (between 1304 and 1306) depicts Judas’ identifying kiss in the Garden of Gethsemane

Spy Wednesday

What will you give me for him,
this troubling, trusting man?
Your soldiers cower before him;
I have him by the hand.

But still my hands are empty,
though thousands he has fed.
The world was mine: I left it—
for morsels of his bread.

He leads, and I have followed—
to hunger and to thirst.
His promises are hollow
as broken shells in the dust.

We cry to him for saving,
for healing, for the poor—
Whole armies fell to David;
he's turning tables over.

He calls himself a shepherd
who seeks the scattered sheep.
Then I must be too well fettered;
he does not look for me.

Then let him taste how bitter
it is to be his lamb.
So say what you will give me
to put him in your hands.

Christ tells his mother of what is to come; Judas on his way to the chief priest; Judas bargaining with the chief priests and receiving his silver By Unknown author – This image is available from the National Library of WalesYou can view this image in its original context on the NLW Catalogue, CC0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=44920323

The 13th Station: Deposition

We adore you, O Christ, and we bless you,
because by your holy cross, you have redeemed the world.

Empty, the body, now,
gone beyond any harm.
Gently we lay him down,
safe in his mother's arms.

Now we are left behind,
we who would follow him.
Now we are deaf and blind,
lamed in our every limb.

Once we had seen his light
marking the way like stars,
breaking out from on high—
Now we dwell in the dark.

Gone is the mother hen:
No more beneath her wing
we flee the hawk again.
Vultures are circling.

Wash all the blood away,
soft as he laved our feet.
Care for his dust and clay,
now his care is complete.

Carry him, linen-bound,
spices tucked in the folds;
take him up in his shroud.
One last time, him we hold.

Holy God, Holy Mighty One, Holy Immortal One,
have mercy on us.

Rembrandt. The Descent from the Cross. 1633.

The 12th Station: Death

We adore you, O Christ, and we bless you,
because by your holy cross, you have redeemed the world.

Now does the word fall silent
that parted light from dark.
Body and soul divided,
night swallows up the spark.

As shadows douse the embers,
the bright sun hides its face.
The highest mountain trembles;
the earth's foundations shake.

For you, who came from heaven,
embraced creation's dust,
to dust itself are rendered—
are truly God with us.

As if the seas were solid,
as if the flame were ice,
salvation gives no solace.
Even its echo dies.

And all the graves crack open,
the bloodied stones cry out.
The first word ever spoken
is ashes in our mouths.

We join the earth's amazement
in keening out to you:
O Jesus, son of David,
have mercy on us, too!

Holy God, Holy Mighty One, Holy Immortal One,
have mercy on us.

Crucifixion sketch by St. John of the Cross, c. 1550, which inspired Dalí By St. John of the Cross – http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_MnfoBh8M_gA/TQac2nC1X4I/AAAAAAAAAqI/jnSbVDIPwW8/s1600/drawing-by-st-john-of-the-cross.jpg, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=16045100

Alabaster Jar

When he was in Bethany reclining at table
in the house of Simon the leper,
a woman came with an alabaster jar of perfumed oil,
costly genuine spikenard.
She broke the alabaster jar and poured it on his head.
Mark 14:1-15:47

The carven alabaster,
a jar of sweet perfume,
rains out upon the master
anointing for the groom.
But once the flask is open,
no more can it be shut.
The hollow must be broken,
entirely poured out.

So Christ the living chalice
that holds the love of God,
not only tipped but shattered,
pours water from the rock.
And we are rendered speechless
as all the house is filled
with wonder at the fragrance
when that perfume is spilled.

We weep when it runs empty,
the sweetness all poured out;
we mourn to see his ending,
and all our tears drop down.
Though broken in his body,
anointed for the tomb,
still Christ pours out like water
the flood that makes us new.

Gemäldegalerie, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin. Berlin. Berlin, Berlin. Germany. Schilderij, Christus in het huis van Simon de farizeër, Dierick Bouts, ca 1465-1470. Painting. Christ in the House of Simon the Pharisee. Dierick Bouts. Ca 1465-1470. . Dieric Bouts (ca 1410/1415-1475). pmrmaeyaert@gmail.com. © Paul M.R. Maeyaert. © Paul M.R. Maeyaert. Ref: PM_152261_D_Berlin. DO NOT CHANGE THE FILE NAME. NE PAS CHANGER LE NOM DE FICHIER. By PMRMaeyaert – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=144874337

The 11th Station: Jesus Is Nailed to the Cross

We adore you, O Christ, and we bless you,
because by your holy cross, you have redeemed the world.

Bent and bound,
pressed and held.
Hammer pounds:
Stretched and nailed.

Glaring noon,
roaring fierce.
Hammered through;
wholly pierced.

Then—again:
That hand next.
Worm, not man,
pinioned, fixed.

Pounded nails,
pounding heart.
All help fails:
“God, my God!”

Lifted up,
brazen sky.
Beaten, hung,
left to die.

Not dead yet,
more to give.
Gasp for breath:
“God, forgive.”

Holy God, Holy Mighty One, Holy Immortal One,
have mercy on us.

A depiction of the *Raising of the Cross*, by Sebastiano Mazzoni, 17th century, Ca’ Rezzonico Ca’ Rezzonico – Innalzamento della Croce (Inv.065) – Sebastiano Mazzoni, Photo By Didier Descouens – Own work, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=85004855

The 10th Station: Jesus Is Stripped

We adore you, O Christ, and we bless you,
because by your holy cross, you have redeemed the world.

Climbed the hill of Calvary,
laid your burden down;
so, to climb the deadly tree,
you are stripped and bound.

Robbed of every paltry thing,
stand alone, at bay.
Dicing for your dignity,
soldiers sit and play.

Naked came you to the world;
naked will you leave,
fragile as a leaf uncurled,
shameful as a thief.

They have taken all you had,
parcelled out your clothes—
payment for the work in hand.
Soon, they'll count your bones.

Yet your tunic is untouched,
seamless as the seas.
Would that they had left you thus,
left your skin unseamed.

No, you stand there thorned and lashed,
tattered as a sail,
opened as the sea was gashed,
tearing through the veil.

Holy God, Holy Mighty One, Holy Immortal One,
have mercy on us.