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WAY OF THE CROSS AT THE COLOSSEUM
MEDITATIONS AND PRAYERS FOR THE VIA CRUCIS 2025
WRITTEN BY THE HOLY FATHER FRANCIS
Palatine Hill
Good Friday, 18 April 2025
Introduction
The road to Calvary passes through the streets
we tread each day. Usually, Lord, we are walking
in the other direction, and so it may just
happen that we encounter you, catch sight of
your face, meet your gaze. We are going about
our way as usual, and you are coming towards us.
Your eyes look into our hearts.
Then we find it hard to continue on, as
if nothing happened. We can turn around,
contemplate you and follow you. We can walk in
your footsteps and come to realize that it was
good for us to change direction.
From the Gospel according to Mark (10:21)
Jesus, looking at him, loved him and said, “You
lack one thing; go, sell what you own, and give
the money to the poor, and you will have
treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.”
Your name is Jesus, and truly in you “God
saves.” The God of Abraham who calls, the God of
Isaac who provides, the God of Jacob who
blesses, the God of Israel who liberates: in
your gaze, Lord, as you pass through Jerusalem,
an entire revelation is contained. The steps you
take as you leave the city can foreshadow our
own exodus to a new land. You came to change the
world: for us, that means changing direction,
seeing the goodness of your path, letting the
memory of your glance transform our hearts.
The Stations of the Cross is the prayer of
people on the move. It disrupts our usual
routine and enables us to pass from weariness
and apathy towards true joy.
Yes, following the path of Jesus has a
price: in this world that puts a price on
everything, gratuitousness proves costly. In
that gift, however, everything blossoms anew: a
city split into factions and torn by conflict
can move towards reconciliation; an arid piety
can rediscover the freshness of God’s promises;
and a heart of stone can turn into a heart of
flesh. We need only hear his invitation: “Come!
Follow me!” And trust in that gaze of love.
First Station
Jesus is condemned to death
From the Gospel according to Luke (23:13-16)
Pilate then called together the chief priests,
the leaders, and the people, and said to them,
“You brought me this man as one who was
perverting the people; and here I have examined
him in your presence and have not found this man
guilty of any of your charges against him.
Neither has Herod, for he sent him back to us.
Indeed, he has done nothing to deserve death. I
will therefore have him flogged and release
him.”
It did not work out that way. Pilate did not set
you free. Yet, it might have gone differently.
Such is the dramatic interplay of our individual
freedoms.
That was what you so greatly respected in
us, Lord. You trusted Herod, Pilate, your
friends and your enemies alike. You never take
back the trust with which you place yourself in
our hands. We can learn marvellous lessons from
this: how to free those unjustly accused, how to
acknowledge the complexity of situations, how to
protest lethal judgements. Even Herod could have
followed the holy restlessness that attracted
him to you: yet he chose not to, even when he
was finally in your presence. Pilate could have
freed you: he had already acquitted you. He
chose not to. The way of the cross, Jesus, is a
possibility that we have already too many times
failed to consider. Let us admit it: we have
been prisoners of the roles we choose to
continue playing, fearful of the challenge of a
change in the direction of our lives. Yet you
are always there, silently standing before us,
in every one of our sisters and brothers exposed
to judgement and bigotry. Religious disputes,
legal quibbles, the so-called common sense that
keeps us from getting involved in the fate of
others: a thousand reasons drag us to the side
of Herod, the priests, Pilate and the crowd.
Yet, it could be otherwise. You, Jesus, do not
wash your hands of all this. You continue to
love, in silence. You have made your choice, and
now it is our turn.
Let us pray, saying: Open my heart, Jesus!
When I see someone I have already judged,
Open my heart, Jesus!
When my certainties are simply prejudices,
Open my heart, Jesus!
When I am harsh and unbending,
Open my heart, Jesus!
When goodness quietly attracts me,
Open my heart, Jesus!
When I want to be strong, but fear my frailty,
Open my heart, Jesus!
Second Station
Jesus carries his cross
From the Gospel according to Luke (9:43-45)
While everyone was amazed at all that he was
doing, he said to his disciples, “Let these
words sink into your ears: The Son of Man is
going to be betrayed into human hands.” But they
did not understand this saying; its meaning was
concealed from them, so that they could not
perceive it. And they were afraid to ask him
about this saying.
For months, perhaps years, you bore that burden,
Jesus. When you spoke of it, no one listened to
you: there was invincible resistance even to
thinking about it. You did not ask for the
cross, yet you felt it, ever more clearly,
moving towards you. If you accepted it, it was
because you felt not only its burden, but also
its responsibility. The way of your cross,
Jesus, is not only uphill.
It is also your descent towards those
whom you loved, towards this world that God
loves. It is a response, an acceptance of
responsibility. The cross has its price, as do
all the deepest bonds, the greatest loves. The
burden you bear speaks of the Spirit that moves
you, the Holy Spirit “who is Lord, the giver of
life.” Why, really, are we afraid even to
question you about this? In truth, we are the
ones who gasp, out of breath, as a result of our
attempts to flee responsibility. All we need do
is to stop running away and to remain in the
company of those you have given us, in the
situations where you have placed us.
To bind ourselves to them, recognizing
that only in this way can we stop being
prisoners of ourselves. Selfishness burdens us
more than the cross.
Indifference burdens us more than
sharing. The prophet had foretold it: Even
youths will faint and be weary, and the young
will fall exhausted; but those who wait for the
Lord shall renew their strength, they shall
mount up with wings like eagles, they shall run
and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint
(Is 40:30-31).
Let us pray, saying: Deliver us from weariness,
Lord
If we feel burdened by life,
Deliver us from weariness, Lord!
If we lack the will to help others,
Deliver us from weariness, Lord!
If we seek excuses to shirk our duties,
Deliver us from weariness, Lord!
If we have talents and skills to share,
Deliver us from weariness, Lord!
If our hearts rebel against injustice,
Deliver us from weariness, Lord!
Third Station
Jesus falls the first time
From the Gospel according to Luke (10:13-15)
“Woe to you, Chorazin! Woe to you, Bethsaida!
For if the deeds of power done in you had been
done in Tyre and Sidon, they would have repented
long ago, sitting in sackcloth and ashes. But at
the judgement it will be more tolerable for Tyre
and Sidon than for you. And you, Capernaum, will
you be exalted to heaven? No, you will be
brought down to Hades.”
It was like hitting rock bottom, and you spoke
harsh words, Jesus, about those places that were
so dear to you. The seed of your word seemed to
have fallen into the abyss, as did all your acts
of deliverance. Every prophet felt himself
plunging into the abyss of failure, only then to
get up and keep walking in the ways of God. Your
life, Jesus, is a parable: on the soil of our
lives, you never fall in vain. Even at that
first fall, your disappointment was soon
interrupted by the joy of remembering the
disciples whom you had sent out: they returned
from their mission and told you of the signs of
the Kingdom of God. Then you rejoiced with a
spontaneous, overflowing joy that made you leap
to your feet with contagious energy. You blessed
the Father, who conceals his plans from the wise
and the learned in order to reveal them to the
little ones. Even the way of the cross is traced
close to the earth. The mighty withdraw from it;
they desire to grasp at heaven. Yet heaven is
here below; it hangs low, and we can encounter
it even when we fall flat on the ground. Today’s
builders of Babel tell us that there is no room
for losers, and that those who fall along the
way are losers. Theirs is the construction site
of Hell. God’s economy, on the other hand, does
not kill, discard or crush. It is lowly,
faithful to the earth. Your way, Jesus, is the
way of the Beatitudes. It does not crush, but
cultivates, repairs and protects.
Let us pray, saying: May your kingdom come!
For those who think they have failed,
May your kingdom come!
To challenge an economy that kills,
May your kingdom come!
To restore strength to those who have fallen,
May your kingdom come!
In a world of competition and competitors,
May your kingdom come!
For those left behind, lacking hope for the
future,
May your kingdom come!
Fourth Station
Jesus meets his Mother
From the Gospel according to Luke (8:19-21)
Then his mother and his brothers came to him,
but they could not reach him because of the
crowd. And he was told, “Your mother and your
brothers are standing outside, wanting to see
you.” But he said to them, “My mother and my
brothers are those who hear the word of God and
do it.”
Your Mother is there, on the way to the cross:
she was your first disciple.
With quiet determination, with the wisdom
born of pondering all these things in her heart,
your Mother is present. From the moment she was
asked to welcome you in her womb, she turned to
you. She bent her ways to yours. This was not a
sacrifice but a continuous discovery, all the
way to Calvary. To follow you is to let you go;
to possess you is to make room for your newness.
As every mother knows, children constantly
surprise us. Beloved Son, you realize that your
mother and your brothers and sisters are all
those who hear your words and let themselves be
changed, those who do not speak, but act. In
God, words are deeds, promises are realities. On
the way to the cross, O Mother, you are among
the few who remember this. Now it is your Son
who needs you: he knows that you do not despair.
He senses that you continue to give birth to the
Word in your heart. We too, Jesus, can follow
you because we were begotten by your followers.
We too can live in the world due to the faith of
your Mother and of the countless witnesses who
generate life even in those places where
everything speaks of death. That time, in
Galilee, it was they who wanted to see you.
Now, as you ascend to Calvary, you seek
the gaze of those who listen and act.
An ineffable understanding. An
unbreakable covenant.
Let us pray, saying: Behold my Mother!
Mary listens, then speaks:
Behold my Mother!
Mary asks and reflects:
Behold my Mother!
Mary sets out with determination:
Behold my Mother!
Mary rejoices and consoles:
Behold my Mother!
Mary welcomes and cares:
Behold my Mother!
Mary risks and protects:
Behold my Mother!
Mary has no fear of judgements and insinuations:
Behold my Mother!
Mary stays and waits:
Behold my Mother!
Mary guides and accompanies:
Behold my Mother!
Mary concedes nothing to death:
Behold my Mother!
Fifth Station
Jesus is helped by Simon of Cyrene to carry the
cross
From the Gospel according to Luke (23:26)
As they led him away, they seized a man, Simon
of Cyrene, who was coming from the country, and
they laid the cross on him, and made him carry
it behind Jesus.
He did not volunteer; they stopped him. Simon
was returning from his work and they made him
carry the cross of a condemned man. He may have
had the right physique, but surely he had
something else in mind, another set of things to
do. Yet we can encounter God like that. Lord,
who knows why that name — Simon of Cyrene — was
never forgotten by your disciples. On the way to
the cross they were not there, nor were we, but
Simon was. It is true to this day: when someone
offers himself completely, we can be elsewhere,
even on the run, or we can choose to get
involved. We believe, Lord, that the reason we
remember Simon’s name was because that
unexpected event changed him forever. After
that, he never stopped thinking of you. He
became part of your body, a first-hand witness
of how you were unlike any other condemned man.
Simon of Cyrene found himself, without having
asked, bearing your cross, like the yoke of
which you once said: “My yoke is easy, and my
burden is light” (Mt 11:30). Even beasts plough
better when they move forward together. You,
Jesus, love to involve us in your work, which
ploughs the earth so that it may be sown anew.
We need the surprising lightness of your
yoke. We need people who can stop us at times
and put some burden on our shoulders, one that
we have no choice but to bear. We can work all
day long, but without you, it is in vain. Vain
is the toil of the builders, in vain does the
watchman keep watch over a city that God does
not build (cf. Ps 127). On the way of the cross,
the new Jerusalem is rising. May we, like Simon
of Cyrene, alter our course and work with you.
Let us pray saying: Alter our course, Lord!
When we go our own way, eyes averted:
Alter our course, Lord!
When news reports do not disturb us:
Alter our course, Lord!
When faces become statistics:
Alter our course, Lord!
When we never find time to listen:
Alter our course, Lord!
When we make decisions in haste:
Alter our course, Lord!
When we refuse to break out of our routine:
Alter our course, Lord!
Sixth Station
Veronica wipes the face of Jesus
From the Gospel according to Luke (9:29-31)
While he was praying, the appearance of his face
changed, and his clothes became dazzling white.
Suddenly they saw two men, Moses and Elijah,
talking to him.
They appeared in glory and were speaking
of his departure, which he was about to
accomplish at Jerusalem.
From Psalm 27
“Come,” my heart says, “seek his face!”
Your face, Lord, do I seek. Do not hide your
face from me.
Contemplating your face, Jesus, we see into your
heart. In your eyes, we see your determination;
it is etched into your face, which manifests
your clear resolve. You see Veronica, as you do
me. I too see your face, which tells of your
decision to love us to your last breath and even
beyond, for love is strong as death (cf. Song
8:6). Our hearts are changed by the sight of
your face, which I long to contemplate and
cherish. You deliver yourself into our hands,
day by day, in the face of every man and woman
we meet, a living reminder of your Incarnation.
Whenever we turn to the least of our brothers
and sisters, we see you, your flesh and your
presence among us. In this way, you brighten our
hearts and our facial expressions. Instead of
rejecting others, we now accept them. On the way
of the cross, our faces, like yours, can at last
become radiant and a source of blessing. You
have impressed the memory of your face in our
hearts as a pledge of your return, when you will
recognize each of us at first glance. Then,
perhaps, we will come to be like you. Then we
shall be — face to face, in eternal dialogue, in
joyful intimacy — the family of God.
Let us pray, saying: Jesus, impress your memory
upon us!
If our faces are expressionless:
Jesus, impress your memory upon us!
If our hearts are indifferent:
Jesus, impress your memory upon us!
If our actions are divisive:
Jesus, impress your memory upon us!
If our choices cause hurt:
Jesus, impress your memory upon us!
If our plans exclude others:
Jesus, impress your memory upon us!
Seventh Station
Jesus falls the second time
From the Gospel according to Luke (15: 2-6)
And the Pharisees and the scribes were grumbling
and saying, “This fellow welcomes sinners and
eats with them.” So he told them this parable:
“Which one of you, having a hundred sheep and
losing one of them, does not leave the
ninety-nine in the wilderness and go after the
one that is lost until he finds it? When he has
found it, he lays it on his shoulders and
rejoices. And when he comes home, he calls
together his friends and neighbours, saying to
them, ‘Rejoice with me, for I have found my
sheep that was lost.’”
Fall and get up again; fall and get up again.
That is how you taught us, Jesus, to approach
the adventure of human life. A life that is
human because it is open to the future. We do
not permit machines to make mistakes: we expect
them to be perfect. People, on the other hand,
get confused, distracted, lost. Yet they also
know joy: the joy of new beginnings, the joy of
rebirth. Humans are not mass-produced but
handcrafted: we are unique treasures, a blend of
grace and responsibility. Lord Jesus, you made
yourself one of us; you were not afraid to
stumble and fall. All those who are embarrassed
by this, those who want to appear infallible,
who hide their own falls yet refuse to pardon
those of others, reject the path that you chose.
You, Jesus, are the Lord of joy. In you, all of
us were found and brought home, like the one
sheep that had gone astray. An economy in which
the ninety-nine are more important than the one
is inhumane. Yet we have built a world that
works like that: a world of calculation and
algorithms, of cold logic and implacable
interests. The law of your home, the divine
economy, is different, Lord. When we turn our
hearts to you, who fall and rise again, we
experience a change of course and a change of
pace. A conversion that restores our joy and
brings us safely home.
Let us pray, saying: Raise us up, God, our
salvation!
We are children who cry at times:
Raise us up, God our salvation!
We are adolescents who feel insecure:
Raise us up, God our salvation!
We are young people dismissed by many adults
Raise us up, God our salvation!
We are adults who have made mistakes:
Raise us up, God our salvation!
We are elderly people who still want to dream:
Raise us up, God our salvation!
Eighth Station
Jesus meets the women of Jerusalem
From the Gospel according to Luke (23:27-31)
A great number of the people followed him, and
among them were women who were beating their
breasts and wailing for him. But Jesus turned to
them and said, “Daughters of Jerusalem, do not
weep for me, but weep for yourselves and for
your children. For the days are surely coming
when they will say, ‘Blessed are the barren, and
the wombs that never bore, and the breasts that
never nursed.’ Then they will begin to say to
the mountains, ‘Fall on us;’ and to the hills,
‘Cover us.’ For if they do this when the wood is
green, what will happen when it is dry?”
In women, Lord, you always saw a special
likeness to the heart of God. That is why, amid
the great crowd of people who turned around and
followed you that day, you immediately caught
sight of the women and once again felt their
closeness.
A city is a different place when women
care for those around them, when we see mothers
holding their children and nursing them; then we
look beyond power and profit, and sense the
things that really matter. The wailing women
find their hearts moved at the sight of your
suffering. For the heart is where things
connect, and thoughts and decisions are born.
“Do not weep for me.” God’s heart throbs with
love for his people; he creates a new city:
“Weep for yourselves and for your children.”
There is a kind of weeping, indeed, which can
bring forth a new birth. It brings forth tears
of regret, unabashed and unrestrained. Lord, our
broken world, and the hurts and offences that
tear our human family apart, call for tears that
are heartfelt and not merely perfunctory.
Otherwise, the apocalyptic visions will all come
true: we will no longer generate life, and
everything around us will collapse. Faith, on
the other hand, can move mountains. The
mountains and the hills will not crash down upon
us, but a path will open up in their midst. It
is your path, Jesus: an uphill path, a path on
which the apostles abandoned you, while the
faithful women — the mothers of the Church —
continued to follow you.
Let us pray, saying: Jesus, grant us a maternal
heart!
You filled the Church’s history with holy women:
Jesus, grant us a maternal heart!
You disdained arrogance and domination:
Jesus, grant us a maternal heart!
You embraced and consoled the tears of mothers:
Jesus, grant us a maternal heart!
You made women the messengers of the
resurrection:
Jesus, grant us a maternal heart!
You inspire new charisms and missions in the
Church:
Jesus, grant us a maternal heart!
Ninth Station
Jesus falls the third time
From the Gospel according to Luke (7:44-49)
[Jesus] said to Simon, “Do you see this woman? I
entered your house; you gave me no water for my
feet, but she has bathed my feet with her tears
and dried them with her hair. You gave me no
kiss, but from the time I came in she has not
stopped kissing my feet. You did not anoint my
head with oil, but she has anointed my feet with
ointment. Therefore, I tell you, her sins, which
were many, have been forgiven; hence she has
shown great love. But the one to whom little is
forgiven, loves little.” Then he said to her,
“Your sins are forgiven.” But those who were at
the table with him began to say among
themselves, “Who is this who even forgives
sins?”
Not just once or twice, Jesus: you fall yet
another time. When you were a child, like every
child, you knew what it was to fall. In this
way, you came to understand and embrace our
humanity, which falls constantly. Sin distances
us from one another, yet your sinless existence
brings you close to every sinner, even amid
their falls. And this invites them to
conversion. That is a scandal for all those who
keep their distance from others and even from
themselves. It is a scandal for those who lead a
double life, between what they should be and
what they really are. Before your mercy, Jesus,
all hypocrisy falls away. Our masks, our elegant
veneers, are of no use. God sees into the heart.
He loves the heart. He warms the heart. And so
it is that you lift me up and set me on my way
once more on paths yet untrodden, paths of
boldness and generosity. Who are you, Jesus, who
forgives even sins? Fallen to the ground on the
way of the cross, you are the Saviour of this
earth that we tread, this earth from which we
were made. Here, on this earth, you continue to
shape us, like a skillful potter.
Let us pray, saying: We are clay in your hands
When it seems that nothing can change, remind
us:
We are clay in your hands.
When conflicts seem interminable, remind us:
We are clay in your hands.
When technology tempts us to feel all-powerful,
remind us:
We are clay in your hands.
When prosperity estranges us from the earth,
remind us:
We are clay in your hands.
When we are more concerned about appearances
than the heart, remind us:
We are clay in your hands.
Tenth Station
Jesus is stripped of his garments
From the Book of Job (1:20-22)
Then Job arose, tore his robe, shaved his head,
and fell on the ground and worshiped. He said,
“Naked I came from my mother’s womb, and naked
shall I return there; the Lord gave, and the
Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the
Lord.” In all this Job did not sin or charge God
with wrongdoing.
You do not remove your robe, it is stripped from
you. The difference is clear to all of us,
Jesus. Only one who loves us can see our
nakedness and make it his own. We, on the other
hand, are fearful of the eyes of those who do
not know us, who are concerned only to possess
us. Stripped naked, exposed to the view of all,
you change even humiliation into intimacy. You
want to reveal yourself completely even to those
who kill you; you look upon those who strip you
of everything as loved ones given to you by the
Father. There is something greater here than the
patience of Job, greater even than his faith.
You are the Bridegroom who lets himself be taken
and touched, who turns everything to good.
You leave us your garments, like relics
of a consummated love. They are now in our
hands, a sign that you were with us, in our
midst. We have kept your garments and now we
cast lots for them, but the winner, here, is not
just one, but all. You know each of us singly,
so as to save us together: all of us, each and
every one. And if the Church may appear today as
a torn garment, teach us how to weave anew the
fabric of our fraternity, grounded in your gift.
We are your body, your seamless robe, your
Bride. For so we are, all together. For our lots
have fallen on goodly places; we have a splendid
heritage (cf. Ps 16:6).
Let us pray, saying: Grant peace and unity to
your Church
Lord Jesus, you see your disciples divided:
Grant peace and unity to your Church
Lord Jesus, you bear the wounds of our history:
Grant peace and unity to your Church
Lord Jesus, you know how frail is our love:
Grant peace and unity to your Church
Lord Jesus, you wish us to be members of your
body:
Grant peace and unity to your Church
Lord Jesus, you are enrobed in mercy:
Grant peace and unity to your Church
Eleventh Station
Jesus is nailed to the cross
From the Gospel according to Luke (23:32-34)
Two others also, who were criminals, were led
away to be put to death with him. When they came
to the place that is called The Skull, they
crucified Jesus there with the criminals, one on
his right and one on his left. Then Jesus said,
“Father, forgive them; for they do not know what
they are doing.”
Nothing frightens us more than being unable to
move. Yet here you are, bound, nailed, held
fast. Still, you are not alone, but in the
company of two others, resolved to reveal
yourself even on the cross as “God with us.”
Revelation never stops; it is not nailed to one
place. Lord, you show us that in every situation
there is a choice to be made. That is the
amazing reality of our freedom. Not even on the
cross are you stripped of your freedom: you
decide why and for whom you are there. You are
attentive to both the men crucified with you:
you let slip the insults of one and you hear the
plea of the other. You are even concerned for
the men who crucify you: you peer into the
hearts of those who “know not what they do.” You
look up to the sky: you would like it clearer,
yet you break through its barrier of gloom with
the light of your intercession. Nailed to the
cross you intercede: you “stand between”
conflicting parties. And you bring them to God,
because your cross tears down walls, cancels
debts, quashes judgements, establishes
reconciliation. You yourself are the true
Jubilee. Convert us to you, Jesus; though nailed
fast to the cross, you are able to do all
things.
Let us pray, saying: Teach us to love
When we are strong and when we are not:
Teach us to love.
When we are bound by unjust laws or decisions:
Teach us to love.
When we are at odds with those uninterested in
truth and justice:
Teach us to love.
When we are tempted to despair:
Teach us to love.
When everyone says, “There is nothing to be
done:”
Teach us to love.
Twelfth Station
Jesus dies on the cross
From the Gospel according to Luke (23:45-49)
The sun’s light failed; and the curtain of the
temple was torn in two. Then Jesus, crying with
a loud voice, said, “Father, into your hands I
commend my spirit.” Having said this, he
breathed his last. When the centurion saw what
had taken place, he praised God and said,
“Certainly this man was innocent.” And when all
the crowds who had gathered there for this
spectacle saw what had taken place, they
returned home, beating their breasts. But all
his acquaintances, including the women who had
followed him from Galilee, stood at a distance,
watching these things.
Where do we stand on Calvary? Beneath the cross?
Somewhere nearby? At a safe distance? Or
perhaps, like the apostles, no longer even
there. You breathe your last, and this breath,
both last and first, asks only to be received.
Lord Jesus, direct our paths towards this, your
gift. Do not allow your breath of life to be
dispersed. Our darkness seeks light. Our temples
want to remain ever open. Now the Holy One is no
longer beyond the veil: his mystery is revealed
to all. It is perceived by a soldier, who,
watching you die, recognizes a new kind of
power. The crowd that had cried out against you
understands it: formerly distant, they now
encounter the spectacle of an unprecedented
love, a beauty that revives faith. To those who
watch you die, Lord, you give an opportunity to
repent, to return to you, and to beat our breast
in order to shatter our hardness of heart.
Jesus, grant that we, who all too often regard
you from a distance, may always be mindful of
you, so that when at last you come, death itself
may find us alive.
Let us pray, saying: Holy Spirit, come!
We have kept our distance from the Lord’s
wounds:
Holy Spirit, come!
We have turned away from our brothers and
sisters in need:
Holy Spirit, come!
We have regarded the merciful and the poor in
spirit as losers:
Holy Spirit, come!
Believers and non-believers stand before your
cross:
Holy Spirit, come!
The whole world yearns for a new beginning:
Holy Spirit, come!
Thirteenth Station
Jesus is taken down from the cross
From the Gospel according to Luke (23:50-53)
Now there was a good and righteous man named
Joseph, who, though a member of the council, had
not agreed to their plan and action. He came
from the Jewish town of Arimathea, and he was
waiting expectantly for the kingdom of God. This
man went to Pilate and asked for the body of
Jesus. Then he took it down, wrapped it in a
linen cloth, and laid it in a rock-hewn tomb
where no one had ever been laid.
Your body is now, at last, in the hands of a
good and righteous man. You are shrouded in the
sleep of death, Jesus, but a vibrant, generous
heart has now chosen to stand by you. Joseph was
not one of those who talk but then fail to act.
“He had not agreed to their plan and action,”
the Gospel tells us. And this is good news:
someone who chose not to care for the opinion of
others now cares for you, Jesus. You are cared
for by someone who is concerned to do what he
considers right. You are now in the hands of
Joseph of Arimathea, one who “was waiting
expectantly for the kingdom of God.” You are now
in the hands of someone who continues to hope,
one of those who refuse to think that injustice
always prevails. You break the bonds of the
inevitable, Jesus. You challenge the mindsets
that devastate the earth, our common home, and
human solidarity.
You grant to those who “wait expectantly”
for your kingdom the courage to speak to power:
like Moses before Pharaoh, like Joseph of
Arimathea before Pilate.
You embolden us to take on great tasks.
In this way, even in death, you continue to
reign. For us, Jesus, to serve you is itself to
reign.
Let us pray, saying: To serve you is to reign
When we feed the hungry:
To serve you is to reign.
When we give drink to the thirsty:
To serve you is to reign.
When we clothe the naked:
To serve you is to reign.
When we welcome the stranger:
To serve you is to reign.
When we visit the sick:
To serve you is to reign.
When we visit prisoners:
To serve you is to reign.
When we bury the dead:
To serve you is to reign.
Fourteenth Station
Jesus is laid in the tomb
From the Gospel according to Luke (23:53-56)
[Joseph of Arimathea] wrapped [the body of
Jesus] in a linen cloth, and laid it in a
rock-hewn tomb where no one had ever been laid.
It was the day of Preparation, and the Sabbath
was beginning. The women who had come with him
from Galilee followed, and they saw the tomb and
how his body was laid. Then they returned, and
prepared spices and ointments. On the Sabbath,
they rested according to the commandment.
In a world of hectic activity, Jesus, you now
experience your Sabbath. The women experience it
too; their spices and ointments seem already to
prefigure the resurrection. Teach us how to do
nothing at those times when it is asked of us
only to wait. Teach us sensitivity to the
seasons of the earth, which are not those of our
making. Laid in the tomb, Lord Jesus, you share
in our common human condition, descending to the
depths that so terrify us. You see how we try to
escape them by keeping desperately busy. Often
we end up merely going around in circles, but
then the light of the Sabbath shines forth: it
teaches us; it tells us of our need to rest. To
experience a godly life, life on a truly human
scale, a life that knows the peace of the
Sabbath. This is what the prophet Micah
foretold: “They shall all sit under their own
vines and under their own fig trees, and no one
shall make them afraid” (Mic 4:4). So too,
Zechariah tells us: “On that day, says the Lord
of hosts, you shall invite each other to come
under your vine and fig tree” (Zech 3:10). Lord
Jesus, who seem to sleep amid the tempests of
this world, bring us all into the peace of the
Sabbath rest. Then we shall see creation in all
its beauty and goodness, destined for
resurrection. Then there will be peace for your
people and peace among the nations.
Let us pray, saying: May your peace come!
For earth, air and water:
May your peace come!
For the just and the unjust alike:
May your peace come!
For those who are overlooked and voiceless:
May your peace come!
For the powerless and the poor:
May your peace come!
For those who await a springtime of justice:
May your peace come!
Concluding Reflections and Prayer
“‘Laudato sì, mi’ Signore’ — ‘Praise be to you,
my Lord.’ In the words of this beautiful
canticle, Saint Francis of Assisi reminds us
that our common home is like a sister... This
sister now cries out to us because of the harm
we have inflicted on her” (Encyclical Letter
Laudato Si’, 1-2).
“‘Fratelli tutti.’ With these words, Saint
Francis addressed his brothers and sisters and
proposed to them a way of life marked by the
flavour of the Gospel” (Encyclical Letter
Fratelli Tutti, 1).
“‘He loved us, Saint Paul says of Christ... in
order to make us realize that nothing can ever
‘separate us’ from that love” (Encyclical Letter
Dilexit Nos, 1).
We have walked the Stations of the Cross. We
have turned towards the love from which nothing
can ever separate us. Now, as the King sleeps
and a great silence descends upon all the earth,
let us pray, in the words of Saint Francis, for
the gift of heartfelt conversion:
Most High and glorious God,
Cast your light into the darkness of my heart.
Grant me right faith,
firm hope,
perfect charity,
and profound humility.
Grant me, Lord, wisdom and understanding,
so that I may do your true and holy will. Amen.
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