Dear Pilate – letters exchanged

Dear Pilate – letters exchanged

Dear Pilate,

Not sure how you’ll receive this letter but I think I know you well enough to know you’ll read it.  That would be the Judge in you – the one who reads and listens to the evidence before a judgement is handed down.  You’re trained for this so I’m fairly sure you’ll read and reflect before leaving down this page.

They say your wife sent you a message that day.  Even as I stood before you a woman out of our line of vision saw what you and others could not see.  I’m told she said it was a dream, as if my Father doesn’t speak to us in our dreams.  “Have nothing to do with that man” – is that what she said?  Needless to say, I’m glad you didn’t fully take that advice literally.  You see that’s why we met that day because too many people decided they’d have “nothing to do with that man”.  I know that’s not what she meant but it’s what they meant.  For having nothing to do with that man gave them an excuse not to listen and not to change and not to follow.  Having nothing to do with that man allowed them distance and, at times distance is dangerous.  It leaves too much room, literally, too much room for error, gossip, lack of judgement – wrong decisions.

There was very little room between us.  I knew you knew what was happening was wrong.  You wondered why I was silent.  You even uttered something stupid about your authority.  You were searching for words, Pilate but deep down you knew what I knew.  All this was happening because of jealousy.  Your wife spoke to you out of love – love for you and, through her dreams, love for me.  Her dreams told her something of what I was about – the Author of her dreams, wanted to awaken in her awareness of hope and change.  You didn’t listen to her – well you did and you didn’t.  You washed your hands, declared your innocence and handed me over.  It’s not what you wanted to do though and that’s the bit that stayed with me.  Not so much that you caved in, passed sentence as you didn’t do what you wanted to do – needed to do – the right thing to do.

I don’t blame you Pilate.  When we were on our own, I knew what you wanted.  The crowd just got the better of you.  All I’d ask is that now you’d follow your inner promptings more – err always on the side of compassion.  “Be compassionate as your Heavenly Father is compassionate and you will have compassion shown you”.

Jesus.

PILATE’S REPLY

Dear Jesus,

Again, you were right.  I read your letter and re-read it many times.  Just as I have re-lived that day many times.  It was my chance to do the right thing.  I felt guilty about letting Barrabas go.  He was a nasty piece of goods.  I couldn’t believe it when they called his name.  I still hear that chant when I try to sleep.  “Not this man, Barabbas” Oddly enough, I heard that you later pardoned a criminal and I took some small consolation from that.  At least we did something the same, even if your forgiveness were less reluctant than mine.

Authority is such a difficult place to be.  I felt so stupid talking to you about my authority to release you or condemn you.  People used me to suit themselves.  Your case, no different than many for always there were victors and losers after a case.  I always hoped I’d made the right decision but sometimes would have heard that someone I declared innocent had, in fact, used the system to beat the system.  Bad as that was, I heard too of the innocence of ones I judged guilty.  Your case was different though.  I knew you shouldn’t be there.  Everything in me wanted to shout at them “leave him alone” but the words wouldn’t come.  Yes, I got a message from my wife that day.  Pretty much along the lines you mention.  “Have nothing to do with that man.  I have been troubled all day by a dream I had about him”.  Her words, much as I value them, were not what convinced me.  I was convinced, even before I met you.  We talked, at our judicial parties, in our houses, on our travels about you.  We heard all the things you had done.  Word gets around.  There was something very different about you.  Of course my wife’s words were significant. But like mine, they were drowned out by the roar of the crowd.  “Crucify him”, “If you let him go you are no friend of Caesar’s”, “Not this man, Barrabas” “Let his blood be on us and on our children”.  The judge was afraid.  The good word was drowned out by the bad.  The light overshadowed by the darkness.  I lost my way.  Washing my hands was a wasted exercise – a waste of water – and, as I thought at the time, a waste of your life. 

I was pleased, shocked yes, but breathlessly pleased to hear of an empty tomb, shocked guards and new hope.  Could it be true?  The one condemned, the one executed, the one betrayed had risen from the dead.  Today I get your letter.  Your words and your eternal promise jump off the page and find life in my heart.  You live.  Praised be God forever.

Pilate.

Dear Judas – letters exchanged

Dear Judas – letters exchanged

Dear Judas,

Did you ever think it would come to this? When I asked you to follow me and you left family and friends to walk in my steps, did you ever wonder what the future would hold? I know you did. You were full of future and full of hopes. They’ll say you were greedy and that’s why you put yourself in charge of the funds but we both know that’s not true. If it was greed that motivated you there were bigger funds to draw from that the few coppers we often had. Do you remember the time we got a coin from a fish’s mouth? I’m sure that amused you – you who had charge of the funds – that when a coin was needed we had to go fishing! I know it wasn’t the money that attracted you or kept you walking with me.

I never had any worries about you and money but I did worry about you. I worried that you wanted more, no not more money, but more from me! I talked of peace and you dreamt of change. I talked of the past and future you longed for now. I talked of patience, turning the other cheek, giving the cloak to the man who stole your shirt and you – you wanted action and change. You were tired of being the underdog. You wanted so much wanted it so quickly. You think I didn’t notice your inner thoughts and dreams – your belief that I would overthrow authority, call the bluff of those who pretended they knew all. I knew that disappointment had set in – more than that, frustration. You wanted things to happen at a swifter pace, a more urgent pace but the word you missed and kept missing, was “pace”. I needed you to “pace yourself Judas”, to slow down, reflect, acknowledge the goodness that was in those around us – even those we did not understand.

Did you think it would come to this Judas? That you’d leave the table, having dipped your fingers in the same dish as I and that the freshly washed hands would open themselves to thirty pieces of silver? Silver you didn’t really care for, despite what the people thought. Judas, I know you didn’t sell me for those silver pieces. I heard them bang off the floor when you threw them back. You just lost sight of me for a while. You didn’t pace yourself. Judas, I understand now as I understood then. Your heart was in the right place … if only you had paced yourself …

Jesus.

the reply …

 

Dear Jesus,

How I wished we’d talked that night. Passover night! I sat so close to you but felt so far away. What were you saying to us when you took the bread and wine? “My Body, given up for you – my blood, poured out for you” – I thought you were talking about it all being over. I didn’t want to have to do anything “in memory” of you. It seemed as if you’d thrown in the towel. Even the towel. When I saw you wrap one around your waist and bend and wash our feet. I just could not take it in. It seemed to me as if all were falling in around us. Here we were, not even a place to call our own – gathered in a borrowed room. They all seemed so close to you. John, leaning back on your breast. How innocent he seemed, childish even and you seemed all right with that. Peter, changing his mind as ever – first he wouldn’t let you wash his feet and then he wanted a shower! And you seemed all right with that. Then you talked about denial and one by one the table assured you that there’d be no denial. Yes, I said it too and somehow that’s when I seemed to change. You didn’t seem to expect much from us. “one of you will betray me” – I’m not sure whether I imagined it or not but I thought I heard you say it would be the one to whom you hand the piece of bread – maybe I just imagined it but when you passed it to me, something clicked. Something changed and suddenly I forgot the conversations we had. I forgot all the wonderful things you said and my ears wandered from you to those who whispered on the edge of our gatherings about you being a “wanted man”.

Those voices took over and the whispering grew louder in my head. Faces matched the voices and I just found myself going to those faces. Temptation I suppose. That’s what happens when we take our eyes off you and suddenly and I honestly don’t know how it happened, I was in front of them, making a deal with them for thirty sliver pieces. You’re right – you were always right – it wasn’t the money. I know the others don’t believe that but it wasn’t. I couldn’t have cared less about the money. Something just clicked. They asked what sign I’d give. That’s the bit that upsets me most. Jesus, I told them I’d give you a kiss – I betrayed you with a kiss. That’s the bit that gets me most. I know you had respect for the kiss – you told us that the night that Mary (Magdalene wasn’t it) covered your feet with kisses and I let you down with one …. I’m so SO sorry.

You see now I know what you were saying to us when you took the bread and wine. Now I know you wanted me to slow down, to follow your lead and not always have to set my own pace. For what it’s worth Jesus, I banged those silver pieces off the ground and when they scattered, I remembered the scattered tables in the temple and thought I’m doing this much, at least, in memory of him …..

Judas.

Thirteenth Station: Jesus is taken down from the cross

Thirteenth Station: Jesus is taken down from the cross

We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you.  Because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.

I can still see her.  She’d been in the hospice for some time, off and on, but her final weeks were spent there – in a borrowed room.  Her family tried so hard to make it their home and to make home of it for her.  Familiar bits and pieces, photos of happier days, some of the food she liked – those everyday things that make something of life for us as we journey along. She knew, it seemed to all, more than she pretended and she moved along this uninvited path, surrounded by those who loved her most, knew her best and wanted – more than anything – to see her beat the odds, defy the diagnosis and enjoy what was her real home for many more years. “Ah, hello”, became her greeting of choice when anyone would walk into her room.  There was a real effort in her intonation.  She wanted to sound bright and in tune so that the tone would be set for all who came to see her.  It was a wish, on her part, that despite all that was happening within and around her, people would be drawn into what was bright and in tune.

The last time we met was almost in total silence.  I thought she was asleep or maybe even more deeply at rest in her own self and decided that I should celebrate with her, in quietness, the Sacrament of The Sick.  I prayed  the words, so low that there wasn’t even a whisper and when I reached to put the Oil on her forehead, she turned her two hands over – inviting the Oils to be placed on her palms. She knew what was happening and responded with open hands.  When I finished, she looked up and said “you’re so good”.  It was the most amazing “Amen” I’ve ever heard.  Without formalising it, she said her “AMEN” – her so be it, in a way that was deeply spiritual and wholly appropriate.  Her “amen” was gratitude and acceptance.

Hours, rather than days later, there followed her final Amen.  I wasn’t there but those who mattered most to her were.  I often think of the slowness of the moment, the reality dawning that her time had come and then there followed the disconnection of medical companionship for the journey – monitors perhaps – since they were no longer needed.  Drawing near to her, was family and beyond them friends and neighbours, all working together to remove her from the cross – to take her, not so much down, as home and to want to walk that road with her.  I hear again Jesus’ words at the eleventh station; “it is accomplished”, head bowed, spirit given – all that was left was for the right thing to be done by and for her.

I sometimes think that the Irish are especially gifted in the way they tend to one another at times like this.  Other people’s houses, kitchens and lives are invaded by a wave of practical kindness that helps take people from the Cross.  I’d hate to think we’d ever lose that.  No financial bailouts, no economic downturns or negative equity, should ever stop us wanting to reach to the one on the cross and those standing at its foot, so that we can help – that we can carry – that we can give rest to the ones gone and loving support to those left behind.

You’d almost think Joseph of Arimathea must have Irish relations ….. even if he hadn’t, he did the right thing.

Oh, that today we would listen to his voice, let us harden not our hearts.

Twelfth Station: Jesus dies on the Cross

Twelfth Station: Jesus dies on the Cross

We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you.  Because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.

“How did it happen?”  “Had he been sick for long?”  “Did he say anything to you?” – these questions are fairly typical and often asked following someone’s death.  It’s not so much about nosiness as trying to fit the pieces together so that there’s a completeness around the story of someone’s life and death.  When a person dies alone or in strange circumstances there can remain a lot of unanswered questions.  These questions can weigh heavily on the minds and hearts of those left behind.  The “if onlys” can take hold and the grieving process is delayed or suspended in the absence of answers.

Jesus’ death is very public.  Its details are recorded and have been re-told for over two thousand years.  The story-tellers have changed but, in the main, the account of the death of Jesus has gone unaltered.  It includes a prayer of forgiveness for those involved in the execution, a conversation with a repentant thief, the entrusting of his mother to the care of his beloved disciple, a heart-rending cry to God “Why have you deserted me?”, a call for a thirst to be quenched and finally an acknowledgement “it is accomplished”.  Following that, a lowering of the head and yielding of the spirit.

These details are important and call us to a relationship with the Lord, even at the moment of his death.  There’s a unity here that speaks to the hearts of all who have grieved the loss of a loved one.  Somebody once said that the only way to never cry at a funeral is to never love anyone.  Thankfully there are very few of us who can say we’ve never loved ANYONE so it’s fair to say, we’ve done our share of crying at funerals.

Is there a tear in our eye as we think about this station?  Chances are there should be.

Oh, that today we would listen to his voice, let us harden not our hearts.

Eleventh Station: Jesus is nailed to the cross

Eleventh Station: Jesus is nailed to the cross

We adore you, O Christ, and we praise you.  Because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.

There are a few thoughts that come to mind when looking at this station – many thoughts indeed – but two that seem to re-emerge.  One is of people living with disability, old age or infirmity.  Their hands and feet quite literally tied and unable to move due to one condition or other.  Jesus’ hands used to healing are rendered powerless beneath the enforced control of the nails.  Likewise his legs and feet that walked to so many places and into the lives of so many people – from the young newlyweds in Cana to the bedroom of the a young child lying in but to be drawn from the arms of death.  Hands that blessed, cured, nourished – feet that walked for many – rendered powerless.  This station, I sometimes think, speaks to those who feel so restrained.  Jesus seeks to focus them and all of us on what is central “Father, into your hands I commend my Spirit”.  It’s as if he’s saying the body is a passing thing and that, in the passing, many changes take place but that the Spirit is the central.  It is on the Spirit we must focus and IN the Spirit we must seek to come before God.

A second thought from this station focuses on what leads to cruelty between people.  How could any man, even a solider obeying orders, use hammer and nails to inflict pain on another?  The hammer and nails, in the right hands of a well-intentioned man or woman are tools of mending and creating.  The tools of the trade and the trade is honourable.  In the wrong hands, they are weapons – used to instill fear and to exert control.  The hammer and nails, in and by themselves, can harm nobody.  It’s when they’re put in the wrong hands the story of cruelty emerges.

As we look then at this station, we might do well to give a bit of thought to the potential for use or misuse of tools, even of weapons.  Maybe too, we could make a firm resolve for peace.  It’s also an invitation to pray for peace and the ending of cruelty in its many forms.

Oh, that today we would listen to his voice, let us harden not our hearts.

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