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MARY MAGDALENE'S STATIONS OF THE CROSS
Mary Magdalene's Stations of the Cross:
Jesus is condemned to death:
Yeshua, my Adonai. How can I not grieve for you and our love? Every lash on your back is another bloody mark on my heart. I love you more than life itself. How many lifetimes must we part in this way? I love you, always. Abba, give me the strength to carry on with this mission...I pray.
Jesus carries his cross:
My beloved husband. In the beam you now carry across your shoulders, I see the multitude of the possibilities of what could have....should have...been. Where you are going I cannot follow. I am here among the jeering mob. Do you see me? My footsteps never falter, though I know they only quicken our separation. By my heart I swear I would walk with you through the gaping maws of Hell. The servants of the Evil One surround me. How can I fight them without you beside me?
Jesus falls the first time:
Beloved husband...I am falling. But I am still breathing-like a woman in labor...why are you leaving me so soon? Why must I be the one to carry this unholy burden of living? I had dreams of us together into our old age...now, my vision shows only me dragging the shadow of your presence behind me. Why must you be the only one to take the easier path? You tell me to have faith...in what? A God who would tear our Union asunder? If this is what YHWH has become after throwing his Bride to the gutter, perhaps it is better she not take him back. I love you, my Adonai, and you are only being pulled further away from me.
Jesus meets his sorrowful mother:
Even your mother weeps, though she knew from the beginning that she bore you for this. In blood and pain she birthed you, and in blood and pain she is handing you over to God. Is this then, the path we women must be forced to walk, as we have been too many times before? How many times must we part like this?
Simon helps Jesus to carry the cross:
I am thankful for Simon's presence, to ease your burden in this one thing...at least it delays (if only for too short a time) your death. I long to look at your face as it was on our wedding day in Cana. Do you remember? I was a thirsty traveler, and you, my oasis, where I longed to abide forever. I will sing a song in remembrance of him.
Veronica wipes the face of Jesus:
Blessed be the brave disciple, who, in the face of public scorn, and even death, wipes the sweat and blood from your eyes. My heart quickens at the notion that indeed, the seeds of love have been planted, and shall thrive, despite the best efforts of those who serve the Evil One.
Jesus falls the second time:
My heart breaks at your suffering, Adonai. I feel your wounds as if they were my own...is it your blood or mine that seeps between the cracks in the road? Whose suffering then is greater? I must tell the child you will never see all that is happening here. How will I make her understand your sacrifice? I am not as certain with my words now. My tongue is failing me.
The women of Jerusalem weep over Jesus:
Daughters of Jerusalem they may be, but they refused any payment for this one final act of devotion. Her daughters are everywhere! And amidst their genuine grief, you consoled them with one final teaching. One selfless act for another.
Jesus falls the third time:
Why are they hurrying you so? Their thirst for blood...your blood...knows no bounds. I know I shouldn't, but I despise them for what they do. How can I not? You are so far from me now...the mob has separated us. I cannot see you!
Jesus is stripped of his garments:
The fools seek to shame you before the crowd, stripping you of your earthly garments, but I see only the raiments of Heaven. There is sorrow...but there is also peace. Your soul dazzles my eyes--they cannot look upon you.
Jesus is nailed to the cross:
Those hands I so often held between my own, are marred by the iron nails they hammer into place. Those feet I anointed in Bethany so long ago, now stained by rivlets of blood. You make no sound, and I alone can see your soul already beginning to depart from your eyes as they dull and darken.
Jesus is raised upon the cross, and dies:
They mock you with their fancy words and educated tones. And still you ask Abba to forgive them, "for they know not what they do." As you hang from that tree, I look upon you as if across a great chasm that only increases in breadth and depth with each passing moment.
My soul cries out to you, Yeshua, but you have already surrendered. Why can I not follow you?
Jesus is taken down from the cross:
The flesh of my Beloved, cold as stone. His eyes, once filled with love, now empty and dull. Like a sefira, he has been shattered...unable to contain the light of Abba's love within merely the confines of limited flesh. I too, am like stone, as I stand beside his mother, gazing down at this dead thing that was once my reason for being. I am overcome with weeping, but the light does not leave me. I am still intact-it is only my heart which has been torn apart.
Jesus is laid in the sepulcher:
Your body is wrapped in the finest linen, the stone barring the way as to deny me this, my most sacred duty...the final anointing.
Do you remember that first anointing...in Cana, on our wedding night? My heart warms, and it grieves, as the memory overtakes me.
How can that scrawny, shriveled thing, lying cold behind this stone, be the carpenter's son who ensnared me with his impassioned sermons? So strong and filled with light...an unquenchable flame.
I know that flesh is only a fleeting thing, but I am human, not Spirit, and I already miss those strong arms around me. I must carry on your teachings, though many, even your inner circle, revile me, and have already begun spreading false rumors of me.
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