THE FIRST STATION

Jesus is condemned to die

It was early Friday morning when I saw my son.
That was the first glimpse I had of him since they took him away. 
His bruised and bleeding skin sent a sword of pain 
deep into my heart and tears down my cheeks.
Then Pilate, from his chair of judgment,
asked the crowd why they wanted my son executed. 
All around me they shouted, "Crucify him!"
I wanted to plead with them to stop, but I knew this had to be. 
So I stood by and cried silently.

Lord Jesus, it is hard for me to imagine the anguish 
your mother felt at your condemnation.
But what about today, when I hold a grudge...? "Crucify him!"
When I judge others...? "Crucify him!"
Doesn't this bring tears of anguish to both you and your mother? 
Forgive me, Jesus. 

THE SECOND STATION

Jesus takes his cross

Regaining a little strength,
I walked with the crowds to the entrance of the square. 
A door flew open and my son stumbled out,
the guards laughing behind him.
Two men dragged over a heavy wooden cross and dropped it 
on his shoulders. Then they shoved him down the road. 
My pain for him was unbearable. 
I wanted to take the cross from him and carry it myself.
But I knew this had to be, so I walked on silently

Lord Jesus, I beg you to forgive me for the many times
I have added more weight to your cross bv closing my eyes
to the pain and loneliness of my neighbor. 
Forgive me for gossiping about others and for always trying 
to find excuses to avoid certain people who wish to talk with me. 
Help me to be like Mary, 
always seeking to lighten the crosses of others. 
Forgive me, Jesus.
 

THE THIRD STATION

Jesus falls the first time

I followed close behind my son as he stumbled toward Calvary. 
Nothing had ever hurt me more than to see him in such pain.
I saw the cross digging into his shoulders. 
My heart dropped when I saw him fall face to the ground,
the heavy cross landing squarely on his back.
For a moment I thought my beloved son was dead. 
Now my whole body began to tremble. 
Then the guards kicked him. 
He rose slowly and began to walk again, yet they still whipped him. 
I wanted to protect him with my own body. 
But, I knew this had to be, so I walked on and wept silently.

Lord, how often have I seen you fall,
and, unlike Mary, have left you there without concern? 
How often have I seen people make mistakes and laughed at them?
How often do I find myself getting angry when someone 
does things differently than I? 
Mary offered you her support through your entire passion. 
Help me to do the same for you by the support I give to others. 
Lord, have mercy on me.