The Via Dolorosa -

Jesus consoles the weeping women of Jerusalem

Yesterday morning, we walked and prayed our way through the Stations of the Cross. It is a winding path through the narrow market place of the Muslim and Christian Quarters in Jerusalem. Some of the stations are marked with tiny chapels while others are simply indicated with an aging brass medallion on the white limestone wall. The slopping, slippery walk ends at the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in the tomb of Christ.  

I've walked the route several times in the past and have been surprised by the emotion it evokes. Stopping, reading the accompanying scriptures, reflecting and praying at each station has had a remarkable impact on me. I enjoy the contemplative meandering early in the morning before the crowds and shopkeepers begin their bargaining.  

This time as I prayed the stations, the question I pondered was, "What needs to die?" Not only is the question complex but my potential response is a tangle of self-promise and promotion. Confession and surrender marked this crucible path. I have much to give up and give away.  

Then came Station 8 which reminded me of a part of the story which is often overlooked during the Protestant Lenten journey. It asks us to pause and acknowledge Jesus' consolation of the women of Jerusalem. Matthew 23:27-31 narrates the story this way:

A large number of people followed him, including women who mourned and wailed for him. Jesus turned and said to them, "Daughters of Jerusalem, do not weep for me; weep for yourselves and for your children. For the time will come when you will say, 'Blessed are the childless women, the wombs that never bore and the breasts that never nursed!' Then they will say to the mountains, 'Fall on us!' And to the hill, 'Cover us!' For if people do these things when the tree is tree, what will happen when it is dry?"

As much as I love the man, I admit I thought, "how insensitive of Jesus." How could dried up wombs be a blessing? Did he miss the cultural cues here? He's talking to women in the 1st century whose purpose is not only to produce children but sons! Sons were a statement of investment in the future, the continuance of legacy, an assurance of God's blessing. It would be their shame to not give birth, an expression of condemnation and despair for the future. How is that consolation?

It got me thinking about the good and deep longings that each of us has: for relationships, for health, for community, for justice, for peace. Can the suffering be so unbearable that we can only find comfort in longing for the end? At the Wailing Wall, Wendy spoke to a Palestinian Christian tour guide who said he no longer prays for peace. Instead he prays for the Second Coming.  

Wow. That is not my daily prayer.  

But being here, I think I catch glimpses of the deep despair where one might deeply long for Christ to come again rather than trust that circumstances can change. Granted that the sample is small but every Arab man I have met here who is under the age of 30 speaks of the lack of jobs and opportunity. Every single one has earned a college degree(s) and is woefully underemployed or unemployed. There is a bitterness, an angry edge, and a hopelessness that infects them.  

Children are a blessing here. The culture celebrates and honors them. But given the suppression and oppression experienced here, I can understand Jesus' warning about the human condition that can "do these things when the tree is green, what will happen with it is dry?" Have we so distorted God's good intention for humanity that it would be better not to bring babes into this chaos and conflict?

Does my version of hope need to die? 

It sends me to my knees. Lord Jesus, come. I'm not sure if it is a second coming that is required but we need you to come. Come and intervene. Come and change us.

Change me.