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The Ninth Station: Jesus Falls the Third Time
17 Apr by
Scripture
“He was despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows and familiar with suffering. Like one from whom men hide their faces he was despised, and we esteemed him not” (Isaiah 53:3 NIV).
“In bringing many sons to glory, it was fitting that God, for whom and through whom everything exists, should make the author of their salvation perfect through suffering” (Hebrews 2:10).
(With references in the Meditation to Matthew 11:28-30, Matthew 23:2-4, Matthew 26:36-44, 2 Corinthians 12:9, 10, Philippians 2:5-11, Hebrews 4:14-16.)
Meditation
Jesus is reeling in the street, struggling through the gauntlet of human flesh and sweat and dust and hurled abuse. Simon is there, carrying the cross for him to Golgotha just ahead. Yet, it hardly matters. Jesus can no longer walk – no longer feel his feet touch the stones of the street. Weakness so pervades his body that even his agony is blurred by numbness. He is nearly empty of everything – of blood, of pain and of his whole being.
The clamor of the crowd stills for a moment as Jesus stops moving and the procession halts. Those near hear the rasp of his ragged breath, watching him sway in slow motion and collapse. Impact forces the air from his body in a sharp groan. Then it is quiet.
The crowd peers at him with a low buzz of speculation starting to rise. Is he already dead? The rabbi’s chest heaves and the people start shouting again.
While the cacophony gains momentum, Jesus opens his eyes and studies them, the heat from the street renewing his consciousness of pain. He has been pressed to the ground by their guilt and staggered under their load of suffering. Now he is with them in profound weakness, pierced by the paradox of the circumstance. Burdened beyond bearing on the one hand and left void on the other, he is both filled up with sorrows and empty of strength, inadequate for further existence.
Yet, he knew it would come to this. He left the Father, risking everything to enter humanity. He laid aside his prior place to be with his people and knew there were only two ways to return. Both would regain his position, but only one would make him their Savior. He had submitted and served and suffered for them and he would not return to his Father without the completion of these things. He would not take his place again by force, by a bold grasp of what was rightfully his. He would arrive there humbly, obediently and submissively – poured out of all that could be poured out, altogether abandoned, perfected in his partaking of human sorrows.
The enemy had tried him … to see if he would depart without the payment. The temptation to return by the easier path had come in Gethsemane. “My Father, if it is possible may this cup be taken from me …” But the cup would bring the consummation of the course. The cup would make him the Christ. And it was only as Christ he could make this people his brothers, sons and daughters of God.
Now, Jesus feels the soldier’s foot prod him to move, but he cannot. This weakness is part of the cup. This weakness is theirs, but they don’t know it. Each of these people around him is helpless, without power and without life before God. But he, having shared the nature and glory of equality with his Father, is being emptied out for them. He is feeling the devastating drain of his own power and life before God. This is not a fraction of the world’s weakness. It is all of it. The void being left in him is measureless.
Yet, it is the way of perfection. There would never in all eternity be a weakness he would not comprehend. His people would always find his sympathy as they approached him and he would speak to his Father for them with infinite compassion born out of infinite suffering.
That he is now bearing their guilt and sicknesses and embodying their frailties means they will be free. His words to them in the towns surrounding Galilee have not empty ones. “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” These people have tried to keep the law, but the requirements are tiresome and impossible. Their teachers have done nothing to help, but continue putting the heavy loads of more law on them.
But no more. By his perfect living he is atoning for them. By his present suffering he is identifying with them. By his imminent dying he is purchasing their peace with God. Once and for all, he is fulfilling the law that they have labored under. He is plumbing the depths of their weakness in human flesh and with divine understanding so that he might welcome these profoundly weary people into his yoke. So that he might make their burdens light. He is drinking the last dregs of the cup that will make them whole.This time the soldier reaches down and hefts the almost dead weight of Jesus. “Come. We’re almost there.”
Action
I will not despise my human frailties, but anticipate the opportunity they provide to see Christ’s life manifested powerfully in me. I know I can boldly approach God with every weakness because Christ is at his right hand interceding with a perfect compassion that comes from perfect understanding. As I stand there, I will expect what has been promised – mercy and help and Christ’s strength coming to rest on me.
Prayer
Jesus, forgive me for so quickly seeking to escape weakness, for panicking when it invades my life. When I am confronted with my frailty, I am often like Jonah and take desperate measures to flee it. Thank you that I cannot outrun your love or your compassion or your desire to be my help in times of need. Help me to see my most fragile moments as chances to know the fullness of fellowship with you and experience the flow of your life and power that longs to rush into my empty and weak places.
Chorus
We adore you, O Christ, and we bless you. Because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.
“He was despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows and familiar with suffering. Like one from whom men hide their faces he was despised, and we esteemed him not” (Isaiah 53:3 NIV).
“In bringing many sons to glory, it was fitting that God, for whom and through whom everything exists, should make the author of their salvation perfect through suffering” (Hebrews 2:10).
(With references in the Meditation to Matthew 11:28-30, Matthew 23:2-4, Matthew 26:36-44, 2 Corinthians 12:9, 10, Philippians 2:5-11, Hebrews 4:14-16.)
Meditation
Jesus is reeling in the street, struggling through the gauntlet of human flesh and sweat and dust and hurled abuse. Simon is there, carrying the cross for him to Golgotha just ahead. Yet, it hardly matters. Jesus can no longer walk – no longer feel his feet touch the stones of the street. Weakness so pervades his body that even his agony is blurred by numbness. He is nearly empty of everything – of blood, of pain and of his whole being.
The clamor of the crowd stills for a moment as Jesus stops moving and the procession halts. Those near hear the rasp of his ragged breath, watching him sway in slow motion and collapse. Impact forces the air from his body in a sharp groan. Then it is quiet.
The crowd peers at him with a low buzz of speculation starting to rise. Is he already dead? The rabbi’s chest heaves and the people start shouting again.
While the cacophony gains momentum, Jesus opens his eyes and studies them, the heat from the street renewing his consciousness of pain. He has been pressed to the ground by their guilt and staggered under their load of suffering. Now he is with them in profound weakness, pierced by the paradox of the circumstance. Burdened beyond bearing on the one hand and left void on the other, he is both filled up with sorrows and empty of strength, inadequate for further existence.
Yet, he knew it would come to this. He left the Father, risking everything to enter humanity. He laid aside his prior place to be with his people and knew there were only two ways to return. Both would regain his position, but only one would make him their Savior. He had submitted and served and suffered for them and he would not return to his Father without the completion of these things. He would not take his place again by force, by a bold grasp of what was rightfully his. He would arrive there humbly, obediently and submissively – poured out of all that could be poured out, altogether abandoned, perfected in his partaking of human sorrows.
The enemy had tried him … to see if he would depart without the payment. The temptation to return by the easier path had come in Gethsemane. “My Father, if it is possible may this cup be taken from me …” But the cup would bring the consummation of the course. The cup would make him the Christ. And it was only as Christ he could make this people his brothers, sons and daughters of God.
Now, Jesus feels the soldier’s foot prod him to move, but he cannot. This weakness is part of the cup. This weakness is theirs, but they don’t know it. Each of these people around him is helpless, without power and without life before God. But he, having shared the nature and glory of equality with his Father, is being emptied out for them. He is feeling the devastating drain of his own power and life before God. This is not a fraction of the world’s weakness. It is all of it. The void being left in him is measureless.
Yet, it is the way of perfection. There would never in all eternity be a weakness he would not comprehend. His people would always find his sympathy as they approached him and he would speak to his Father for them with infinite compassion born out of infinite suffering.
That he is now bearing their guilt and sicknesses and embodying their frailties means they will be free. His words to them in the towns surrounding Galilee have not empty ones. “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” These people have tried to keep the law, but the requirements are tiresome and impossible. Their teachers have done nothing to help, but continue putting the heavy loads of more law on them.
But no more. By his perfect living he is atoning for them. By his present suffering he is identifying with them. By his imminent dying he is purchasing their peace with God. Once and for all, he is fulfilling the law that they have labored under. He is plumbing the depths of their weakness in human flesh and with divine understanding so that he might welcome these profoundly weary people into his yoke. So that he might make their burdens light. He is drinking the last dregs of the cup that will make them whole.This time the soldier reaches down and hefts the almost dead weight of Jesus. “Come. We’re almost there.”
Action
I will not despise my human frailties, but anticipate the opportunity they provide to see Christ’s life manifested powerfully in me. I know I can boldly approach God with every weakness because Christ is at his right hand interceding with a perfect compassion that comes from perfect understanding. As I stand there, I will expect what has been promised – mercy and help and Christ’s strength coming to rest on me.
Prayer
Jesus, forgive me for so quickly seeking to escape weakness, for panicking when it invades my life. When I am confronted with my frailty, I am often like Jonah and take desperate measures to flee it. Thank you that I cannot outrun your love or your compassion or your desire to be my help in times of need. Help me to see my most fragile moments as chances to know the fullness of fellowship with you and experience the flow of your life and power that longs to rush into my empty and weak places.
Chorus
We adore you, O Christ, and we bless you. Because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.
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