Kirkepiscatoid

The Seven Sorrows of Mary (Part 5)

("Jesus Dies on the Cross," from a set of Stations of the Cross painted by David O'Connell)

The Fifth Sorrow--Jesus Dies on the Cross

In the passion of my Maker,
be my sinful soul partaker,
may I bear with her my part;
of his passion bear the token,
in a spirit bowed and broken
bear his death within my heart.

Certainly the biggest heartbreak of all for Mary was the prolonged agony she had to witness as Jesus died. Crucifixion is a long, slow, painful form of death. It can take hours or days before hypovolemic shock, sepsis, or dehydration sets in. It was a death so horrible that it was usually not used in executing Roman citizens. To see her son humiliated in this way must have been emotional torture.

Each day, mothers all over the world watch their children die slowly of diseases such as malaria, malnutrition, and HIV. They see their children die from war, genocide, and land mines. They see their children tortured in front of their very eyes during interrogations and imprisonment. They watch the slow spiral of their children falling victim to addictions. Mary's grief at Jesus' death is repeated every day worldwide because of disease, famine, addiction, and political unrest.

Let us pray. (silence)

Faithful God, just as the Blessed Virgin Mary steadfastly remained at the feet of Jesus till the end, you abide with us through our tribulations and sorrows. Some of the greatest sorrows in our lives are not our own afflictions, but the wounds that are borne by those we love, and all we can do is watch helplessly. Reveal your presence to us to the dying as well as to us, as we keep vigil. Open our eyes to the plight of those dying from conditions or situations we cannot even imagine. We pray these things in the name of the One who had to suffer and die before he could be raised again in glory. Amen.

The Seven Sorrows of Mary (part 4)

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(Carving of 4th Station in Stations of the Cross, at Almondbury with Farnley Tyas Church, near West Yorkshire, UK)

The Fourth Sorrow--Mary Meets Jesus on the Way to Calvary

Who, on Christ's dear mother gazing,
in her trouble so amazing,
born of woman, would not weep?
Who, on Christ's dear Mother thinking,
such a cup of sorrow drinking,
would not share her sorrows deep?

Nothing could have consoled Mary when she saw her son on the way to Calvary--whipped and scourged, the crowds mocking, taunting and jeering. Perhaps they also scorned her for approaching him, mocking her cries and moans as she beheld the horror of what had been done to Jesus. But perhaps also in that crowd there were silent mothers whose stomach churned at the thought, "This could be my child. I could be that woman."

Each day, mothers travel long distances to see their children in prison and in police stations. Some behold the horror of their children beaten by authorities. In some countries, brutality at the hands of police and soldiers is typical and expected, rather than unusual and deplorable. Some of these mothers will discover that their daughters will have been raped by those who swore to uphold and protect the laws. Some mothers will see their children's limbs blown off by land mines and IED's, or visit them in the hospital following such events. Some mothers will weep at the side of their children dying on the battlefield.

Let us pray. (silence)

Liberator God, when we view the carnage of the world news through media sources, remind us that these could be our children, our parents, our siblings. Help us to see the pain of the Blessed Virgin Mary beholding her son at Calvary, rather than to pass judgment on the situation or the politics. Fill our eyes with her tears, our hearts with her sorrow, our stomachs with her aching love for her Son. Place your words in our mouths so we can find the voice to speak out on behalf of the oppressed; animate our hands and feet to work for justice and peace. We ask this in the name of your Son, the Prince of Peace. Amen.

The Seven Sorrows of Mary (part 3)

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("My Father's Business," by Harold Copping)

The Third Sorrow--The loss of the child Jesus in the Temple

With what pain and desolation,
With what grief and resignation,
Mary watched her dying son.
Deep the woe of her affliction,
when she saw the crucifixion
of the sole begotten one.

Imagine Mary's fear and apprehension when young Jesus was nowhere to be found. Even though no one can watch her child every minute of every day, Mary certainly must have blamed herself. Perhaps she had cross words with him just prior to his slipping away unnoticed, or she had disciplined him, and she regretted it. Perhaps she and Joseph blamed each other, or they were caught in the uneasy web of wanting to console each other, yet there was no time, because they needed to keep searching for their son.

Each day, thousands of sons and daughters go missing. Some have left home of their own accord. Others have been abducted. Families of missing children find each day, each hour, a torment. They have searched in vain for their children, trying the same avenues over and over, until they are so weary, they simply want to stop. Yet they cannot--to stop searching feels like resigning to their child's death. Their lives are hung in a state of suspended animation--is their child alive? Or dead? Some mothers will go to their grave never knowing. When the phone rings, does it bring relief? Or will it bring grief?

Let us pray. (silence)

Omniscient and omnipresent God, you call the stars by name and can count the number of raindrops in a thundercloud. No one is absent from your sight. Attend to the fears and grief of the families who mourn their separation from their missing children. Incline the ears of the runaway to hear your small still voice. Lend your aid and protection to the missing children who are in danger and cannot defend themselves. When the lost are found, when the absent become present, help us to ponder these things in our hearts in the same way the Blessed Virgin Mary did, upon discovering Jesus in the temple. In the name of Jesus, the Good Shepherd, finder of lost sheep, we pray. Amen.

The Seven Sorrows of Mary (part 2)

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("The Flight into Egypt," by He Qi)

The Second Sorrow--The Flight into Egypt

O, that blessed one, grief-laden,
blessed Mother, blessed Maiden,
Mother of the all-holy One;
O that silent, ceaseless mourning,
O those dim eyes, never turning
from that wondrous, suffering Son.

It must have been a tense time for the Holy Family as they prepared to leave Nazareth in light of the angel's instructions to abandon their home. How does one prepare to escape without attracting much attention? Knowing they had to leave the security of home and possessions carried its own stress and fear. As they fled, each person they represented on the road represented a potential hidden danger. It must have felt quite troublesome to seek refuge in the land where their ancestors found only bondage.

Each day, mothers and their children flee danger. Some flee to escape flooding, storms, hurricanes, typhoons. Some flee because of war and oppression. Some flee abusers within their own households--people they love. Others flee from economic bondage in the form of sweatshops and exploitative work arrangements. Just as Mary, Joseph, and Jesus fled to avoid a certain death for their son in the Slaughter of the Innocents, families all over the world pack their bags and seek a new home, a new country, for shelter and sanctuary. Some hope for a new life and new prosperity. Many only have the clothes on their backs and a few treasured possessions. Many risk being "illegal." Sometimes they suddenly find themselves in exile because governments dissolve or the ruling powers are overthrown, and situations dictate that they can no longer return home.

In times of natural disaster and war, families sometimes return home to find they no longer have one. Sometimes they return to find a physical shell of what they called home, but the rest of their family dead. Towns and villages can be wiped from a map, but the memory of those who once lived there can only be wiped off the map if we choose to forget them. Painful as it might be, may we remember.

Let us pray. (silence)

God of sanctuary, just as Mary and Joseph chose to flee in order to spare the life of young Jesus, families flee every day to save the lives of their children. They risk new and present dangers to escape the dangers of the world they already know. They choose to accept the ambiguities of the unknown rather than be swallowed up by the dangers in their immediate present moments. Illumine their path as they seek new homes, permanent and temporary. Comfort them when they mourn those who die in the whirlwind of violence; assuage them from the sense of guilt that sometimes comes with the mercy of survival. Give them the courage to start over. We ask these things in the name of your Son, Jesus. Amen.

The Seven Sorrows Of Mary (part 1)

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At the cross her vigil keeping,
stood the mournful mother weeping,
where he hung, the dying Lord
There she waited in her anguish,
seeing Christ in torment languish,
in her heart the piercing sword.

--from "At the cross her vigil keeping,"

#159 in The hymnal, 1982

One of the songs we so often sing on Holy Week actually became a link to my solo discipline of Lenten study this year. This song, also known at the Stabat Mater, is from a 13th century devotion called The Seven Sorrows of the Blessed Virgin Mary.

Also known as the Seven Dolors, the Seven Sorrows incorporate four of the Stations of the Cross and three other episodes in the lives of Jesus and Mary, namely:

The Prophecy of Simeon. (Luke 2:34-35)
The Flight into Egypt. (Matthew 2:13)
The Loss of the Child Jesus in the Temple. (Luke 2:43-45)
Mary Meets Jesus on the Way to Calvary.
Jesus Dies on the Cross. (John 19:25)
Mary Receives the Body of Jesus in Her Arms. (Matthew 27:57-59)
The Body of Jesus Is Placed in the Tomb. (John 19:40-42)

I ended up downloading some of the various translations of litanies, rosaries and stations to this devotion, and, as I studied them, I realized it has quite a bit of relevance in terms of using it much in the way people pray the Stations of the Cross, yet at the same time calling attention to issues related to women's empowerment and some of the Millennium Development Goals, particularly the ones involving women and children.

So, with that in mind, I created a set of stations for the Seven Sorrows. Each station opens with a stanza from a version of the Stabat Mater; I used stanzas from The Hymnal 1982, The Hymnal 1940, and the 1906 English Hymnal, so that the opening lines of each station can be either spoken or sung. I'll post a station a day until finished, and then post the work in its entirety at the end. Please feel free to share with attribution!

The First Sorrow--Simeon's Prophecy to Mary

At the cross her station keeping,
stood the mournful mother weeping,
close to Jesus at the last,
Through her soul, of joy bereavèd,
bowed with anguish, deeply grievèd,
now at length the sword had passed.

Simeon told Mary, "“This child is destined for the falling and the rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be opposed so that the inner thoughts of many will be revealed—and a sword will pierce your own soul too.""

Each day during school terms, mothers all over the world send their children off to school--some on buses or in cars, some on foot. Some wearing crisply ironed colorful uniforms, others toting the ubiquitous oversized backpack. On each of those days, a mother's hope is that her child learns not just the things that will make them happy and successful as adults, but will also make the world a better place. In the photos of first grade classes, we see dreams of future firefighters and doctors, farmers and merchants, teachers, nurses, veterinarians, merchants. None of those children at age six are dreaming of being a sex worker, a drug dealer, a petty thief, or a gun-runner. Yet, that is exactly who some of these sweet children will be when they grow up.

Each school day, mothers let their children leave the safety of home to be entrusted in the safety of school--but school is not always as safe as our hopes would like it to be. Every day, all over the world, the safety of school is violated somewhere--school shooters, bombings, wars, coups. Children are killed on the way to and from school by vehicles, land mines, drive-by shooters, and car bombings. Children are abducted. Children are molested. These crimes against children remind us daily that the world is far from being a safe place.

The Mother of Jesus knew the sorrow of Simeon's prophesy. Mothers throughout the world know the sorrows of the statistical probabilities in a dangerous and deadly world. Some mothers know this more deeply than others, in the places of the world with shortened life expectancy, high infant mortality, and high maternal childbirth-related deaths.

Let us pray. (silence)

Comforter God, the Blessed Mother of Jesus suffered the piercing sword of Simeon's prophecy; you know the swords that pierce our hearts also. You know our fears for our children, and the fears of mothers all over the world for their children. Hold our children and our fears in your loving embrace. When we want so badly to draw ourselves inward and pull our children closer, aid us in letting them go forth in the world to learn and grow, despite the risks. Help us to remember the mothers in the places where danger is more imminent. Especially be present with the families whose child does not come home; the families whose children are lost or abducted, missing, or killed. Help them to find hope and grace in the places that seem too full of hatred and grief. We pray all these things in the name of your son, Jesus. Amen.

The Lock

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This door seems a lot like Lent, doesn't it? A door that's partially open, but locked. Lent is a time we can see deeply into the mystery of God, but we are locked away from the totality of it. We can look through the crack and see shadows, glimmers of what is on the other side. We can hear voices from the other side, if there are voices. We can even move the door and strain at the chain.

But when I look at this picture, I keep asking, "Is this door locked from the OUTSIDE, or the INSIDE? If the answer is "inside," it begs the question, "does that mean the key is here somewhere on my side of the door?" If the answer is "outside," the question becomes, "is there someone out there I can call to and ask for the key?"

Either answer addresses a human shortcoming. How many times do our fears, doubts, and disbelief keep us "locked in" and away from the fullness of Christ's kingdom? How many times are we simply too stubborn or prideful to ask, "Does anyone out there have the key?"

That door, between God and us, is always partially open. Yes, it is locked, but the lock is not that hefty. I imagine Jesus either has the key or is capable of telling me, "It's right here with you."

Ash Wednesday

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One of my friends posted this on his Facebook page today:

It is always a little ironic on a day like today. For example, the parish we attend when we are in New York City - St Mary the Virgin - is open from 7am to 7pm everyday and pastorally will offer continuous imposition of ashes for the people around Times Square today. Over 3000 people will come today and receive ashes on their forehead. I don't think 3000 people have ever received the Eucharist there in one day - not even on Easter. My own Diocese of Chicago will administer the now trendy 'Ashes to Go' today throughout the streets of Chicago. Why is it that human beings are so easily satisfied with the ashes of death and not the Bread of Life?

I've thought about this one off and on today, and I seem to be of two minds regarding his question. One is to answer his question exactly as he posed it, and the other one is to ponder, "Is that really what people desiring ashes is all about?"

So let's start with his exact observation. People seem more willing (judging from the church traffic on Ash Wednesday and the popularity of Ashes to Go) to have ashes--a sign which some read as our sinfulness, others as simply a sign of our mortality--placed upon them more than they do in receiving the Eucharist. Why is that?

My theory? People wouldn't be as attracted because it's just way easier for people to get hung up that they're NOT worthy rather than think they're worthy. It's always fascinated me how people of little to no faith tradition visiting a church--even people who feel warm and fuzzy about the service or even seem desirous of the Sacraments--get all hesitant about Communion. "Oh, I shouldn't. I don't go to your church." Even when the bulletin has a very open and inclusive statement in big black letters.

I wonder sometimes if the stranger who accepts ashes on the street during Ash Wednesday is, deep down inside, hoping for transformation, but shies away from the Eucharist b/c that same deep down inside part KNOWS that the Sacraments are transformational...that their heart of hearts knows the stuff that crawls inside the bread and wine will change them...and we humans, to a great degree, fear change.

Which leads me to that second part. I wonder if my friend is selling folks short by jumping to the conclusion that people are satisfied with the ashes of death. Maybe it's deeper than that.

I've thought recently about how, in baptism, we have the sign of the cross placed on our forehead in chrism, and on Ash Wednesday, with dust. That God knew the essence of us before we were ever born, and will still know the essence of us when we physically cease to exist...that this life of ours, that we treasure so much, that we tend to see in extremes of our awful-ness and our joy, our sorrow and our elation...is just a neatly little book-ended snippet of the totality of who we are in God's Universe.

Could it be that people desire those ashes because they simply yearn to be in touch with that greater totality? I wonder.