"Now the festival of Unleavened Bread, which is called the Passover, was near. The chief priests and the scribes were looking for a way to put Jesus to death, for they were afraid of the people."
We confess that we have held power over others, in large ways and small.
Years ago, I attended a stations of the cross liturgy that had been created by a photographer who worked closely with those living in homelessness. Lovingly, he had worked with them to create and photograph the stations, with them enacting the person of Christ. The stations were beautiful and created in relationship with the subjects of the photographs.
The lives of the individuals in the photographs were difficult and painful, and seeing Christ in each of them helped me remember that Jesus stands with those on the margins. The focus, however, was on their suffering, and not on my role, or anyone else's role, in creating that suffering. I felt a sense of disconnect, as if I were observing the crucifixion from a distance, untouched by what was happening to a community that felt "other." It felt too easy to simply feel sorry for people who were caught in a bad situation, and walk away.
My last two years at St. Lydia's, we focused on confession during the season of Lent. In relationship to ongoing work we were doing around racial injustice, we wrote confessions each week on slips of paper and hung them from bare branches in the space. As we moved toward Good Friday, I wondered how we could observe the day in a way that not only invited us to witness the places where crucifixion takes place, around our nation and world, but called us to confess our own place in the passion narrative. Most of us have played every part in the story: betrayer, crowd, authority, and Christ.
In addition, as the #BlackLivesMatter movement, Standing Rock, and refugee crises unfolded I wondered how our congregation could connect to the pain and injustice of the world that might not have touched those in our community specifically, without fetishizing the suffering marginalized communities were experiencing.
Womanist and feminist theologians have pointed to the ways notions of "salvific suffering" are used as a rationale for people of color and women to stay in situations of suffering. From enslaved people who were taught that they should suffer like Jesus to women in abusive relationships being taught it was their "cross to bear," the suffering of Christ has been used as a weapon to keep the vulnerable locked in oppression. If you'd like to read more on this, Delores Williams' Sisters in the Wilderness and A Troubling in My Soul: Womanist Perspectives on Evil and Suffering edited by Emilie Townes are a good starting place.
I do not believe that suffering in and of itself, is redemptive. Though God meets us in our suffering, God does not desire our suffering. God desires the world Mary sings of, in which the lowly are lifted up and the powerful are brought down from their thrones (Luke 1:52).
My challenge was to create Good Friday stations that did not allow our congregation to watch others' pain from a safe distance, as if it was a commodity to be consumed. I felt it was important for Good Friday to connect us to the world we live in and the struggles for justice taking place in our country and world, in places far and near, and in communities that were like us and not like us. I did my best to approach this work with intention and awareness of my own privilege.
The stations could not imply that suffering was part of God's plan for her people. Instead, I wished to create stations that highlighted the role that the betrayer, crowd, and authorities play in creating suffering, and invite us to confess our own participation in the systems that create marginalization. As a predominantly white congregation, intentionally building relationships for justice in our city, I wanted to give us the opportunity to reflect on our own roles in injustice, and those of the systems that create it. I wanted to create a space that felt invitational, rather than confrontational, providing congregants with a gentle place in which to make their confession. Finally, I wished to acknowledge that, while we all have much to confess, we have all encountered the cross.
Below you will find the stations I created in 2016 and 2017, with the help of congregants who sent me images. There is also one image from 2018 which I've added. Special thanks go to Betsy Cannon and Jacob Slichter for their thoughtful contributions.
You will notice that the stations are not based on the traditional ones found on the walls of many churches. Rather, I excerpted lines from the Gospel we were reading that year, and created a space where congregants could move freely from station to station in no set order. The space was dimly lit with cushions for sitting and praying. Some stations included an action of some kind, such as lighting candles or writing prayers.
If you are thinking of creating contemporary stations at your congregation, here are a few things to think about as you design your liturgy. Remember that the theological work you are doing is incredibly consequential, especially if you are making use of images of communities you are not a part of. Please approach this work with care.
Be attentive to your context
Every place is different, every congregation is different. The images you focus on should connect to your community and the ongoing conversations you've been having about injustice. They shouldn't come out of the blue. They should also turn you toward your neighbor and communities you might not yet be in relationship with, inviting you to reflect on experiences outside your own.
Choose images that focus on the dignity of those being persecuted, and the humanity of the struggle for justice.
Rather than focusing on suffering as an end in itself, focus on the humanity of those who experience suffering. When looking for images relating to the Black Lives Matter movement, I chose a victorious image of Bree Newsome. The children pictured in Flint, Michigan are not passive victims, but ordinary kids: courageous and resilient. The focus is not on victimization, but on the systemic realities that have led to situations of oppression.
Chose images that highlight the role of the oppressor
I chose images that showed clearly the violent forces that divide us from one another. The man who brandishes the flag in "The Soiling of Old Glory." The massive police/military presence in Baltimore and at Standing Rock. The absence of care and compassion in the refugee crisis.
Don't forget the systemic oppressions your own community has suffered
Pay special attention to the ways in which your community (or members of your community) have experienced the cross. This will be different for each individual, so meditate on the experiences of your congregation. Remember that your congregation has experienced suffering you may not be aware of.
Congregant and Liz Edman, author of Queer Virtue, pointed me to Therese Frare's 1990 photograph of David Kirby which changed the face of the HIV/AIDS conversation when it was published in TIME Magazine. This photograph connected to the pain and betrayal felt by so many of my LGBTQ congregants and their experiences of suffering and abandonment. This image, closest to our community, is perhaps the starkest image of suffering I selected.
Look for images that speak across time and culture
We're looking to do more than rehearse the news from the past year. We're looking for images that connect us to the human struggle, to suffering, and to our own call to robust confession. These may be recent or historic, but the images need to speak and tell a story themselves, and invite the viewer to come closer. The images don't need to be literal. In fact, it's best if they leave room for interpretations, questions. The relationship between the image, the gospel text, and the prayer cue should open up rather than shut down.
Be mindful of who captured these images or created these works of art. I focused on journalistic photographs in these stations because, given the constraints of my time and expertise, I didn't feel I could do a responsible job of collecting diverse art. However, I believe it is preferable to use art and images authored by the communities that are being represented.
Look for images that are well-composed and present them with care
Take care to select images that are strong aesthetically. Photographs taken with care and skill can give dignity and voice to those who have been given neither. Take time to create high-quality prints and display them with intention. I had our images printed and placed them in simple, inexpensive, matching frames. Be sure to reference the artist or photographer.
Give Ample Time at the Stations
These images have power and impact. Allow your congregation a good amount of time to take them in, pray, and linger. Allow this time to be open and self-directed. Give it room to breathe; you'll know when the time has come to conclude this portion of the liturgy. Bring them out of the moment gently, with a song that emerges from silence. Take tender care throughout the conclusion of the service and have trained leaders on hand to speak with those who may be distressed.
The Stations
Baltimore, 2015; photographer unknown
"Then Pilate took Jesus and had him flogged."
Pray for those who are victims of violence at the hands of the powerful.
Lakota riders Alex Romero-Frederick (left) and Greg Grey Cloud (right) confront a line of North Dakota State Police the day that construction crews began work on the Dakota Access Pipeline just outside the Standing Rock Reservation, on August 15, 2016. The display was part of a ceremonial horse introduction meant to be peaceful. photo: Daniella Zalcman
"Now the festival of Unleavened Bread, which is called the Passover, was near. The chief priests and the scribes were looking for a way to put Jesus to death, for they were afraid of the people."
We confess that we have held power over others, in large ways and small.
Baltimore, 2015; photo: Devin Allen
"If this man were not a criminal, we would not have handed him over to you."
We have imagined our siblings to be criminals.
Life Jackets on the shore of Greece, 2015; photo from Al Jazeera America
We’re not all in the same boat,” 2015; Banksy
"Jesus was troubled in spirit and declared, 'Very truly I tell you, one of you will betray me.'”
We confess that we have betrayed our friends.
Bree Newsome removes the confederate flag outside the South Carolina Statehouse, 2015; photo: Adam Anderson
"The chief priests answered, 'We have no king but the emperor.'”
Let us live our lives by the rule of God, not by the rule of the Empire
“The Soiling of Old Glory,” 1976; photo: Stanley Forman
"They shouted, 'Crucify him! crucify him!'"
Pray for communities that turn into crowds.
David Kirby, AIDS victim, 1990; photo: Therese Frare
"They kept coming up to him, saying, 'Hail, King of the Jews,' and striking him on the face."
We have allowed those who are suffering to be ignored, mocked, and brutalized.
In Flint, Michigan, siblings Julie, Antonio, and India Abram collect their daily allowance of bottled water from Fire Station #3, their local water resource site; photo: Wayne Lawrence
"When they had kindled a fire in the middle of the courtyard and sat down together, Peter sat among them. Then a servant-girl, seeing him in the firelight, stared at him and said, ‘This man also was with him.’
But he denied it, saying, ‘Woman, I do not know him.’
Pray for those who have been abandoned.
Hundreds of people attend an evening rally at Washington Square Park in support of Muslims, immigrants, and against the building of a wall along the Mexican border, on January 25, 2017 in New York City. photo: Spencer Platt
"When the centurion saw what had taken place, he praised God and said, ‘Certainly this man was innocent.’"
We confess that we have blamed others for sin that was our own.
On the stones, write the names of people or communities who have carried the blame for sin that was not their own. Then place your stones outside at the foot of the cross.
People connecting with their loved ones through the border fence in Tijuana on the U.S.-Mexico border by the last border monument under the U.S. surveillance cameras. photo: Karoliina Paatos
"It was now about noon, and darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon, while the sun’s light failed; and the curtain of the temple was torn in two."
Unweave the threads of the curtain, and let them fall on the floor.
On Good Friday, what is torn apart?
What is made visible?
In Parkland, Fla., students gathered at a memorial not far from Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School, where a massacre in February left 17 dead. photo: Saul Martinez
"Now the men who were holding Jesus began to mock him and beat him; they also blindfolded him and kept asking him, ‘Prophesy! Who is it that struck you?’"
We confess that we have handed over others to violence.
London, 2013; Anonymous
"The soldiers wove a crown of thorns and put it on his head, and they dressed him in a purple robe…Then Pilate handed him over to them to be crucified."
Pray for those whose lives have been handed over to death.