Station Three on the Via Delorosa, Jerusalem
Friday is my Sabbath, and on this past Friday in preparation for Holy Week, I looked forward to a day to cease to work. It was a gorgeous spring day, and I spent a lot of time outside.
On one of my saunters across the patio, the toes of my shoes caught on a gap in the concrete, and I fell flat on my face. As I lay completely prone, I began to do an inventory of injuries. I laid there a little longer as I got over the shock of the fall.
It was quiet. The birds were singing. There was a soft breeze. I became aware that I was completely alone. No one knew I was lying on the ground in my back yard. Although hurting and jarred, I wasn’t anxious or afraid.
As I finally creaked to my feet, a little bruised, my face bleeding, I was very thankful for no broken teeth or bones.
Thanking God for only minor hurts, one of our St. Mary’s Stations of the Cross came to mind:
+ Jesus Falls the First Time +
This contemplation of a place along the way of Jesus’ walk to his crucifixion is not based on any Scripture, yet walking along uneven stone streets, carrying a heavy load, literally and metaphorically, it is highly likely that Jesus fell.
On this Tuesday in Holy Week I ponder Jesus’ falling.
What sounds did he hear?
What hurts did he feel?
Is this when the soldiers compelled Simon of Cyrene to help Jesus carry his cross?
Jesus, the Son of God, fell. Jesus, the Chosen One, fell.
What does it mean to love and follow and serve Jesus, who falls?