Prayer and Meditation: Ecce Homo - Meditations on the Passion of Christ

Who has believed what we have heard?
And to whom has the arm of the LORD been revealed?
For he grew up before him like a young plant,
and like a root out of dry ground;
he had no form or comeliness that we should look at him,
and no beauty that we should desire him.
He was despised and rejected by men;
a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief;
and as one from whom men hide their faces he was despised, and we esteemed him not.

Surely he has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows;
yet we esteemed him stricken,
smitten by God, and afflicted.
But he was wounded for our transgressions,
he was bruised for our iniquities;
upon him was the chastisement that made us whole,
and with his stripes we are healed.
All we like sheep have gone astray;
we have turned every one to his own way;
and the LORD has laid on him the iniquity of us all.
----Isaiah 53:1-5 RSV

This is a thread to remember, think, contemplate the last days of Jesus' life, his suffering, death and resurrection, through prayer, poem, prose and picture. Please join me in this Lenten memorial.

Behold the Man

Behold the Man! say Pilate,
wishing to make you look small,
frail,
worthless,
nothing for the authorities to worry about.

Behold the Man, say the nonbeliever,
wishing to strip you of the power of God,
to make you safe,
ignorable,
worthless,
nothing to worry about.

Behold the Man, say some,
wishing you were the person they want you to be,
ascended master,
apostle of hate,
elder brother,
letting your message be nothing to worry about.

Behold the Man, say I,
Wishing to follow you with all my heart,
True God and true man,
who lovingly laid down his life
to bring us all home,
let me proclaim clearly,
Jesus Christ is Lord!

This is a thread to remember, think, contemplate the last days of Jesus' life, his suffering, death and resurrection, through prayer, poem, prose and picture. Please join me in this Lenten memorial.

I give you glory, O Christ, because You, the Only-begotten, the Lord of all, underwent the death of the Cross to free my sinful soul from the bonds of sin. What shall I give to You, O Lord, in return for all this kindness?

Glory to You, O Lord, for Your love, for Your mercy, for Your patience.

Glory to You, for forgiving us all our sins, for coming to save our souls, for Your incarnation in the Virgin's womb.

Glory to You, for Your bonds, for receiving the cut of the lash, for accepting mockery.

Glory to You, for Your crucifixion, for Your burial, for Your resurrection.

Glory to You, for Your resurrection, for being preached to men, for being taken up to heaven.

Glory to You who sit at the Father's right hand and will return in glory.

Glory to You for willing that the sinner be saved through Your great mercy and compassion. Amen.

(author unknown)

When my love to Christ grows weak,
When for deeper faith I seek,
Then in thought I go to thee,
Garden of Gethsemane.

There I walk amid the shades
While the lingering twilight fades
See that suffering, friendless One,
Weeping, praying there alone.

When my love for man grows weak,
When for stronger faith I seek,
Hill of Calvary, I go
To thy scenes of fear and woe.

There behold His agony,
Suffered on the bitter tree;
See His anguish, see His faith,
Love triumphant still in death.

Then to life I turn again,
Learning all the worth of pain,
Learning all the might that lies
In a full self sacrifice.

John Wreford

Passion of my Lord,
strengthen me,
so weak and ready to sin,
may memory of each drop of blood spilled
pour into my heart
like a beacon of love
to pull me back
into the way
of my Lord.

O Jesus!
Bring to mind
each labored, pain-filled breath,
each step towards Golgotha,
each blow,
each word of mocking,
each glance at your loved ones,
each moment of darkness,
undertaken for love,
for hope,
for life.

In my weakness,
bring me here,
to the foot of your cross,
where I,
with the Magdeline,
will weep bitter tears,
where I,
with your Mother,
will watch with breaking heart,
where I,
with John,
shall stand witness to the wonder
Of God, emptying himself out for love,
dying,
that we might live.

When I feel so weak,
and mortal,
and lost,
and alone,
O Passion of Christ,
strengthen me,
that I might always know
the truth,
and in knowing,
be transformed,
safe,
in the heart of Christ.

KAC

When I survey the wondrous cross
On which the Prince of glory died,
My richest gain I count but loss,
And pour contempt on all my pride.

Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast,
Save in the death of Christ my God!
All the vain things that charm me most,
I sacrifice them to His blood.

See from His head, His hands, His feet,
Sorrow and love flow mingled down!
Did e’er such love and sorrow meet,
Or thorns compose so rich a crown?

His dying crimson, like a robe,
Spreads o’er His body on the tree;
Then I am dead to all the globe,
And all the globe is dead to me.

Were the whole realm of nature mine,
That were a present far too small;
Love so amazing, so divine,
Demands my soul, my life, my all.

Standing in the garden,
beneath the olive tree,
Look at him praying,
alone as he could be
He asked them to watch with him,
He asked them to pray
But the sleep stole over them
As he drew away,

Standing in the garden,
He fell down to his knees,
"Abba, Father, Abba,"
He cried beneath the trees.
He asked them to watch with him,
He asked them to pray
But the sleep stole over them
As he drew away,

"Take this cup away from me,
I do not want its wine,"
He prayed in the midnight,
"Not your will, but mine."
He asked them to watch with him,
He asked them to pray
But the sleep stole over them
As he drew away,

Then standing in the garden,
He knew just what to do,
and woke the sleeping men up
So they would know it too.
No time left to watch with him,
no time left to pray.
The soldiers take him to the priest,
now time to run away,

Forgive us Lord for standing there
when we should be with thee,
forgive us Lord for failing to
come with you and see.
Help us to follow you,
help us to pray
And keeps always close to you
lest we should draw away.

KAC

My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?
Why art thou so far from helping me,
from the words of my groaning?
O my God, I cry by day, but thou dost not answer;
and by night, but find no rest.
Yet thou art holy, enthroned on the praises of Israel.
In thee our fathers trusted;
they trusted, and thou didst deliver them.
To thee they cried, and were saved;
in thee they trusted, and were not disappointed.
But I am a worm, and no man;
scorned by men,
and despised by the people.
All who see me mock at me,
they make mouths at me,
they wag their heads;
"He committed his cause to the LORD;
let him deliver him, let him rescue him, for he delights in him!"
Yet thou art he who took me from the womb;
thou didst keep me safe upon my mother's breasts.
Upon thee was I cast from my birth,
and since my mother bore me thou hast been my God.
Be not far from me,
for trouble is near and there is none to help.
Many bulls encompass me,
strong bulls of Bashan surround me;
they open wide their mouths at me,
like a ravening and roaring lion.
I am poured out like water,
and all my bones are out of joint;
my heart is like wax,
it is melted within my breast;
my strength is dried up like a potsherd,
and my tongue cleaves to my jaws;
thou dost lay me in the dust of death.
Yea, dogs are round about me;
a company of evildoers encircle me;
they have pierced my hands and feet --
I can count all my bones --
they stare and gloat over me;
they divide my garments among them,
and for my raiment they cast lots.

But thou, O LORD, be not far off!
O thou my help, hasten to my aid!
Deliver my soul from the sword,
my life from the power of the dog!
Save me from the mouth of the lion,
my afflicted soul from the horns of the wild oxen!
I will tell of thy name to my brethren;
in the midst of the congregation I will praise thee:
You who fear the LORD, praise him!
all you sons of Jacob, glorify him,
and stand in awe of him, all you sons of Israel!
For he has not despised or abhorred the affliction of the afflicted;
and he has not hid his face from him,
but has heard, when he cried to him.

Psalm 22: 1-24 RSV

It was no clean thing, this,
no easy walk into that dark night
filled with memorable soundbites
and photo op moments,
soldiers in their dress uniforms
and dignitaries in their solemn regalia.

No clean thing, this,
filled with the sweat of pain
and the taste of blood,
the dust of the road,
the tears of grief,
the reality of betrayal,
the weight of sin.

No calm thing, this,
filled instead with noise:
the noise of mockery, bitter and undeserved,
punctuated with spittle and blows.
the noise of pain:
the slap of the flagellum against bare skin,
the sound of hammers driving spikes into wood
through human flesh,
cries ripped unbidden from the depths of the gut,
as flesh protested the hot sudden agony
that would not go away.
The noise of expediency: "Crucify him yourselves."

No easy walk this,
rushed through the crowded streets
beneath a crushing weight,
stripped of everything that matters most to man,
standing naked in the light of day
bruised and bloody and battered,
with nothing left to give
except the acceptance of pain,
except the final acts of love,
surrender
death.

Help me see, O Jesus,
beyond the pretty pictures
and soundbites
and images
of how God descended to death
in the dirty, miserable realness of it,
of man's willingness to be inhuman,
and you did this knowing how dark we can be,
and how unloving we can be,
and how we cling to the dark in spite of your light,
and you still chose to go.

Alleluia!

All ye that pass by,
To Jesus draw nigh:
To you is it nothing that Jesus should die?
Your ransom and peace,
Your surety He is:
Come, see if there ever was sorrow like His.

For what you have done
His blood must atone:
The Father hath punished for you His dear Son.
The Lord, in the day
Of His anger, did lay
Your sins on the Lamb, and He bore them away.

He answered for all:
O come at His call,
And low at His cross with astonishment fall!
But lift up your eyes
At Jesus’ cries:
Impassive, He suffers; immortal, He dies.

He dies to atone
For sins not His own;
Your debt He hath paid, and your work He hath done.
Ye all may receive
The peace He did leave,
Who made intercession, “My Father, forgive!”

For you and for me
He prayed on the tree:
The prayer is accepted, the sinner is free.
That sinner am I,
Who on Jesus rely,
And come for the pardon God cannot deny.

My pardon I claim;
For a sinner I am,
A sinner believing in Jesus’ Name.
He purchased the grace
Which now I embrace:
O Father, Thou know’st He hath died in my place.

His death is my plea;
My Advocate see,
And hear the blood speak that hath answered for me.
My ransom He was
When He bled on the cross;
And losing His life He hath carried my cause.

Charles Wesley

Moments

Gethsemane moments -
moments when I confront
the realities that I must do,
when sitting in the shadows
I wrestle with a heart
that longs to run away,
that longs to cry
"Why me, Lord?"
that longs to scream into the darkness
"No no no no no!"
yet to do so would be to betray
my Hope, my Love, my Truth, my God,
and under the moonlit shadows,
I join Jesus praying in the darkness,
confronting the conflict between what the will wants to do
and what the will ought to do,
and with him, I pray
"Not my will but Yours."

There are moments of heavy burden,
when I walk the Via Dolorosa,
the way of Sorrow, bearing my cross,
and the burden seems so heavy,
and my arms so exhausted,
and my knees so bruised from tripping,
and my back so scraped by the wood,
and my mouth so dry with the taste of the road's dust
and the sweat of the labor,
and the blood from where I battered my face falling.
And then I see you Lord
walking ahead of me,
so wounded for love of me,
so beaten for sin of me
so valiant,
so loving,
so burdened,
that the tears roll down my face
for what I have done,
and somehow, this cross seems so much smaller,
and I stand up and carry on.

There are moments You plunge me into the reality
of Calvary,
Golgotha,
of the Place of the Skull,
the place of your death,
the place of our renewing.
Here I kneel in the bloodstained earth
and look up into your eyes
and see how far Love will go for love,
and see how far Light will travel into darkness,
and learn how very far the Shepherd will go
to call his sheep home.
Blood sacrifice,
drop by slow drop,
each drop a lover's kiss,
each drop a promise of hope,
and in the miasma of pain,
shock,
confusion,
where you abandon each thing left to you,
your dignity,
your mother,
your life,
your awareness of the Father
until it is only you
and pain
and struggle
and at last,
even that is released
into the maw of death.
And I kneel there amazed
at such a self emptying
at such a sacrifice,
the Maker giving all for the made,
that I am breathless.
And my tears fall,
in remorse for the need,
in sorrow for the pain
in wonderous gratitude at the love.

KAC

At the cross, her station keeping,
Stood the mournful mother weeping,
Where He hung, the dying Lord;
For her soul of joy bereavèd,
Bowed with anguish, deeply grievèd,
Felt the sharp and piercing sword.

Oh, how sad and sore distressèd
Now was she, that mother blessèd
Of the sole begotten One;
Deep the woe of her affliction,
When she saw the crucifixion
Of her ever glorious Son.

Who, on Christ’s dear mother gazing
Pierced by anguish 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?

For His people’s sins chastisèd,
She beheld her Son despisèd,
Scourged, and crowned with thorns entwined;
Saw Him then from judgment taken,
And in death by all forsaken,
Till His Spirit He resigned.

Jesu, may her deep devotion
Stir in me the same emotion,
Fount of love, Redeemer kind,
That my heart fresh ardor gaining,
And a purer love attaining,
May with Thee acceptance find.

Translated by Edward Cassell.

O Mother of Sorrows,
how often I come here and kneel at your feet,
and see those sorrow-filled eyes
staring up
at the suffering and battered
face of your son,
and still,
you are able to take my hand,
and give it that little squeeze
that says, Have courage.

O Mother of Sorrows,
How often I come here,
and weep all my misery out on your shoulder,
filled with guilt and grief and remorse,
knowing full well the burden
that I have laid on your blessed Son's back,
and still you hold me close,
and comfort me.

O Mother of Sorrows,
How often I have come here,
wanting to comfort you
in your sorrow and your loss,
and found myself overcome with remorse and sadness
over what your son
chose to do that I might live,
and find myself comforted by the one I longed to aid.

O Mother of the Word Incarnate,
Thank you for despising not my petions,
but in your mercy,
hearing and answering me.

Amen.

See Him in raiment rent,
With His blood dyed:
Women walk sorrowing,
By His side.

Heavy that cross to Him,
Weary the weight:
One who will help Him stands
At the gate.

Multitudes hurrying
Pass on the road:
Simon is sharing with
Him the load.

Who is this traveling
With the curst tree—
This weary prisoner—
Who is He?

Follow to Calvary,
Tread where He rod:
This is the Lord of life—
Son of God.

Is there no loveliness—
You who pass by—
In that lone Figure which
Marks the sky?

You Who would love Him, stand,
Gaze at His face;
Tarry awhile in your
Worldly race.

As the swift moments fly
Through the blest week,
Jesus, in penitence,
Let us seek.

On the cross lifted up,
Thy face I scan,
Scarred by that agony—
Son of Man.

Thorns form Thy diadem,
Rough wood Thy throne,
To Thee Thy outstretched arms
Draw Thine own.

Nails hold Thy hands and feet,
While on Thy breast
Sinketh Thy bleeding head
Sore oppressed.

Loud is Thy bitter cry,
Rending the night,
As to Thy darkened eyes
Fails the light.

Shadows of midnight fall,
Though it is day;
Friends and disciples stand
Far away.

Loud scoffs the dying thief,
Mocking Thy woe;
Can this my Savior be
Brought so low?

Yes, see the title clear,
Written above,
“Jesus of Nazareth,”
Name of love!

What, O my Savior dear,
What didst Thou see,
That made Thee suffer and
Die for me?

Child of My grief and pain!
From realms above,
I came to lead thee to
Life and love.

For thee My blood I shed,
For thee I died;
Safe in thy faithfulness
Now abide.

I saw thee wandering,
Weak and at strife;
I am the Way for thee,
Truth and life.

Follow My path of pain,
Tread where I trod:
This is the way of peace
Up to God.

O I will follow Thee,
Star of my soul!
Through the great dark I press
To the goal.

Yes, let me know Thy grief,
Carry Thy cross,
Share in Thy sacrifice,
Gain Thy loss.

Daily I’ll prove my love,
Through joy and woe;
Where Thy hands point the way,
There I go.

Lead me on year by year,
Safe to the end,
Jesus, my Lord, my Life,
King and Friend.

Edward Monro and Mrs. M. Dearmer

In one garden,
the lie was chosen
over the will of God,
and nature
groaned under the curse
and the grief
and the countless tears
of mankind
that followed.

In one garden,
quietly,
one full moon night
the will of God was chosen
over the lie
and nature knew
the promise of healing
that would free a woeful mankind
of its tears
had begun
in the unfathomable grief of
the one who said yes.

KAC

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