Sara’s death hung heavy over me, so I went the the Grotto to just sit with the news of her passing, and to revisit all my other losses, as well as contemplate my eventual passing from this dense plane.
I had walked the Stations of the Cross hundreds of times over the years, but the day Sara died, I really noticed them for the first time. I thought about them for the first time. I heard them for the first time. They spoke to me about fear: my fear, Sara’s fear. Because in the artist’s relief of the first station, in which Jesus is being condemned to death by Pilate, I saw Christ’s fear–the dread, the hopelessness, powerlessness–it was the same fear we all share at the prospect of dying, of ending.
I understood that the Stations of the Cross were much more than Christ’s agonizing walk to Calvary, but depicted the human condition and the challenges each of us face. It is a journey that begins with fear and ends in liberation. But how does one move through dread and terror to understanding?
One station at a time. One step at a time.