For this series of three Stations along The Way of the Cross I have chosen to deface several Bibles. I recognise that for some this may be emotionally hard to witness, perhaps even offensive; but my hope is that by doing so we might enter into what may be familiar, caught off guard and so open to a transforming encounter with Jesus.
Station
Four: Peter denies Jesus
Explanation
According to tradition, the Gospel According to Mark is Peter’s last will and testament,
dictated to Mark in Rome as Peter awaited his execution. In order to explore
Peter’s denial of Jesus, I have redacted Mark’s Gospel, blacking out any record
of Peter or of any episode by which he might be identified. This in itself erases
several others – Peter’s mother-in-law, for example, the only person whose
ministry towards Jesus is equated to that of the angels. And because the paper
is thin and the marker toxic, several other passages become regrettable
collateral damage.
There are two copies: one at the Station itself,
where you might like to kneel in turn; and one to pass around for those who are
less mobile. As in silence we turn the pages, and find memories we thought we
knew lost, we might reflect on how our own inevitable denials impact not only
Jesus but those in whose company we have followed him. But as we do so, ponder
this:
Reflection
Peter, the Rock on whom Jesus will build his
Church. And so Peter’s story is foundational for the ongoing story of the
Church. The Church is that body corporate who, by word and deed, repeatedly and
vehemently deny being associated with Christ … and yet it is this same body
corporate that is restored and re-commissioned by the risen Jesus, who takes
our failings and weaves them into God’s will.
At times we might look at the Church of which we
are a part and shake our heads in disbelief that it could speak and act in such
a way we think so clearly refuses to stand with Jesus and be counted. And yet
it is this very reality – however awkward, however painful to watch, however
painful to bear when our ears are opened – that evidences that we are the
Church at all.
Only those who have stood by the charcoal fire in
the courtyard of denial go on to sit by the charcoal fire on the beach of new
beginnings.
Station
Five: Jesus judged by Pilate
Explanation
Matthew’s Gospel tells us, “So when Pilate saw
that he prevailed nothing, but rather that a tumult was arising, he took water,
and washed his hands before the multitude, saying, I am innocent of the blood
of this righteous man; see ye to it.” (Matthew
27:24). In order to explore Pilate’s dilemma, I have set a Bible, open at this
page, in a basin, into which I now pour water.
You are invited to come forward and pour more
water into the basin, drenching, drowning the testimony, as we look on. And,
whether we step forward and pour or remain seated, we might reflect on those
times when we have done the right thing for the wrong reasons or the wrong
thing for the right reasons. But as we do so, ponder this:
Reflection
Jesus is judged by Pilate, and his judgement is:
‘this [is a] righteous man.’ Pilate distances himself from the opinions, the
underlying anxieties, and the resulting actions of others. He will not share in
their headlong pursuits. Indeed, not only will he do the right thing, but he will be
seen to do the right thing: others will have to admit that he does not
share in their guilt. And yet the irony that in rightly taking a stand against
injustice Pilate ensures that he will bear their blame, immortalised within the
Creed. Church, do we not face the same dilemma?
Pilate excuses himself in the face of a rising
tumult, presented with a multitude. Jesus stilled the wind and waves with a
word of true authority; and had compassion on the multitudes, healing their
sick, feeding the hungry. Pilate makes sure his hands are clean; Jesus gets his
dirty – bloody, if necessary. Yet in John’s Gospel we are shown that Jesus sees
this drowning man as exercising power given him by God.
Church, we are Pilate too. For we are chosen, we
are sent – out of our depth, beyond our ability to make a difference. Let us
openly pour out our inability to prevail. The very place we find we have
prevailed nothing, there God has room
to work to save.
Station
Six: Jesus scourged and crowned with thorns
Explanation
The base-level Roman punishment for criminals was
a scourging, stripped to the waist, tied to a post, and given thirty-nine
lashes of a whip of many leather tails, embedded with bone, stones, metal
pieces. Designed to rip a back raw, to sap a man’s spirit, to take a long time
to recover from – and even then, to leave deep scars as a reminder. In order to
explore this excruciating treatment, I invite you to count with me to
thirty-nine as I rip through thirty-nine pages of the Gospels. And then in the
silence that follows, you might take up a shred of paper and arrange them in a
circle on the floor, a crown of thorns.
As we watch, count, gather, weave, we might
reflect on those times when we have failed to understand why we have done what
we have done, or fought to keep the truth from ourselves. But as we do so,
ponder this:
Reflection
I wonder why Pilate has Jesus scourged? On the one
hand, he believes Jesus to be innocent, undeserving of any punishment. On the
other, he has already handed Jesus over to be crucified, a punishment far worse
than scourging. Perhaps he hopes that the blood loss will satisfy the crowd, or
shock them into stepping back from the brink. Perhaps he hopes the blood loss
will sufficiently weaken Jesus as to spare him an overly-prolonged agony on the
scaffold? Perhaps it is a message to the prisoner he is forced to release:
‘this is but a temporary reprise’? Perhaps it is a show of strength by a man
who has just been forced to do something very much against his will – a message
to the crowd suggesting that they might think twice before trying this trick
again, lest they find themselves in Jesus’ place?
The governor’s soldiers take things further,
adding humiliation to punishment. Perhaps they must caricature the prisoner in
their own eyes in order to bear what they must do: you have to laugh, or else
you’d cry. Perhaps the noblest soldier, in a cauldron of fear, in the heat of
the moment – or of enough charged moments - becomes a war criminal? Perhaps
they are just following orders. It is a mockery of worship, a self-mockery of
being human, created to represent and delight in God.
We are Peter. We are Pilate. We are this band of
brothers. And if at times we are hidden from ourselves by darkness, Jesus is
nonetheless in our midst, as king. Our falseness does not negate his identity. Of
all present, the one who is outwardly bound is most free. And by his wounds, we
are healed – if we allow the Wounded One to wound us, to expertly lay our soul
bare, in order that we might be made whole. In order that our false self should
die, and our true self might rise with him.
One. Two. Three. …
