The Nassau Bay Neighborhood Stations of the Cross from sunrise to sunset on Good Friday is informally organized by a small group of Nassau Bay neighbors.

Walk, bike, or drive the 3.6 mile loop through our beloved Nassau Bay neighborhood, while meditating on the 14 Stations – Jesus’s journey through the Passion, Suffering, and Death on the cross. Be outside on this beautiful spring day while journeying in prayer. The first Station is directly across the street from the back parking lot at St. Paul the Apostle Catholic Church.

Here’s a printable Worship Aid and Map of Locations. To access from your phone, here’s a digital link to the walking map.

The Stations will be available sunrise to sunset on Good Friday and removed by Holy Saturday morning.

Here’s St. Paul’s Holy Week Schedule:

Special thanks to the neighbors who volunteered to host a Station! May you have a blessed Good Friday and a Happy Easter!

PS: if you’re curious about how to create something similar in your own neighborhood–or wondering about the backstory on this beautiful project–read the post-script on this post from 2020.

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The Road to Emmaus (Luke 24:13-35) is one of my all-time favorite Gospel passages to meditate on because there’s just so much there!

It’s a story of journeying in faith. It’s a story of accompaniment: journeying in faith with one another and Christ.

I love how this painting of The Road to Emmaus by Daniel Bonnell helps me imagine myself on that journey with Christ.

I think about all who have walked alongside me for a part of my journey in life and faith—both friends and family, in both good times and bad. The image of Christ walking alongside, bringing clarity and insight to our conversations sits deep within my heart.

Think about the times in your life when someone has accompanied you.

Were you able to recognize Christ’s presence or were your eyes “prevented from recognizing him” (Lk 24:16)?

I love how the disciples tell Jesus about what happened to Jesus. It’s like telling God how to do his job! I’ll be the first to admit: I have tried to tell God that whatever was happening wasn’t part of my plans! (Like how hard is it to check the calendar before a crisis befalls?) I imagine Jesus smiling and gently laughing to himself at the absurdity.

Despite knowing what he meant, I still flinch when I hear Jesus’ response to the disciples’ glum interpretation of events: “Oh how foolish you are!” (v.25). Of course Jesus didn’t utter this as a disrespectful insult; that would’ve been inconsistent with his entire way of being. The word “foolish” was more akin to “slow-of-heart,” like the Texas-expression, “Bless your heart; that’s adorable!”  Or simply “Don’t be ridiculous!”

Because: Don’t be ridiculous – of course the Messiah had to suffer (v.26). Still, it’s so hard for us to understand why bad things happen to good people. We get stuck on the WHY. The disciples on the Road to Emmaus got stuck on the WHY.

Have you ever gotten stuck on “WHY?”

Although we have the benefit of a post-Resurrection reading of events, the disciples didn’t. Perhaps they were unable to recognize Jesus because it was simply inconceivable that the Messiah would suffer and die.

Technically, yes, the idea that the Messiah had to suffer and die was in Scripture, but it was subtle. Like when I was a kid, my mother often accused me of having selective hearing—something my 12 & 13 year old sons seem to have perfected. The message was there, but it wasn’t what people wanted to hear, so they didn’t hear it.

Perhaps it was only because Jesus re-interpreted all of Scripture for them on the journey, that they could begin to understand.

What are some insights that you are only beginning to understand at this point in your journey?

I love that the story could have ended there. The disciples could have gleaned that insight (Scripture says the Messiah had to suffer and die) and gone off to share what they learned with others.

But instead, as Jesus gave the impression he was going to go, the disciples extended hospitality, “Stay with us” (v.29), and everything changed. We know that they recognized him in the breaking of the bread (v.30-31), but that only happened because they invited him in, and through that invitation to relationship, Christ’s presence became apparent.

Not being able to have people over… not being able to share Easter Sunday dinner with family and friends… not being able to break bread with the Church community and receive Christ in the Eucharist… not being able to literally walk alongside people who are suffering the loss of loved ones… these are among the most difficult parts of the Coronavirus.

What are the most difficult parts of this pandemic for you?

I know I encounter Christ when I extend hospitality; when I invite people in… but I never considered the need to invite Jesus in. I assume he’s there—in faith, I know he’s there. But perhaps I’d more readily recognize his presence if I would invite Jesus in.

How readily do you recognize Christ’s presence?

Do you invite Jesus in?

My favorite verse from this passage is absolutely when the disciples say to each other, “Were not our hearts burning within us” (v.32). There have been so many times that I have realized that my heart is on fire! When I do something with the passion that comes from God-given gifts and talents… when I experience a deep connection with someone in a great conversation… when my husband and I experience the synergy of the whole is greater than the sum of the parts… when I have that moment with one of my kids. These are the times my heart was burning within me; these are the times Christ’s presence was intimately known in the depths of my soul.

When have you recognized your “heart burning within”?

Along my life’s journey, I have gotten better at recognizing these moments as encounters with the divine. The story of the Road to Emmaus is a fantastic reminder that our life—our faith—is a journey with Christ, whether we recognize it or not. Though that journey, our faith and our lives are forever changed when we do recognize that Christ has been in our midst all along.

Banner image: Road to Emmaus (1891) by Fritz von Uhde

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Every so often, when discussing a difficult topic, there will be one courageous student that asks the question no one wants to ask but everyone wants answered.

For the longest time, that’s how I thought of Thomas. We label and dismiss him as “Doubting Thomas,” but he didn’t just express the simplistic doubt of, “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Thomas asks to touch the wounds.  Thomas asks the question no one wants to ask but everyone wants answered.

Caravaggio’s painting of The Incredulity of St. Thomas captures the gripping curiosity of the rest of the disciples by depicting Peter and John as intense onlookers.

Grounded in the reality of the loss, the pain, the suffering, Thomas needed to see how that woundedness could possibly be healed. So he asks not just to see, but to touch!

In response, Jesus gently and patiently guides Thomas’s hand into the wound. Though the pain has ended, the scar remains.

Think about that: the wounds—the scars—remain, but they no longer hurt. Instead of pain, exploring woundedness led to the discovery of healing and profound belief.

What has exploring your own woundedness taught you?

It’s interesting, even, that Thomas expected the wounds to be there.

Would you have expected the wounds to disappear in light of the Resurrection? 

This is something to keep in mind as we discuss “returning to normal” after Covid-19. Perhaps we won’t ever quite return to normal. Perhaps that’s not necessarily a bad thing.

The wounds will heal, the pain will end, and scars will remain.

Faith and hope in the Resurrection neither denies the pain nor the woundedness.

Faith and hope in the Resurrection expects the scars and probes deeply to touch upon the healing.

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Happy Easter! Alleluia! He is Risen!

What do Easter joy and Christian hope mean in the time of Covid-19, when Churches are closed as quarantine continues? 

Hope-in-God (in the theological-sense) is not the same thing as hope in the human-sense.

The human-sense of hope is basically having an optimistic state of mind, anticipating or expecting positive outcomes in life.

Our human-sense of hope has been beaten down by the pandemic, by the isolation, by the cancellations and closures. No kidding, the human-sense of hope is having a difficult time not celebrating Easter in Church.

It’s in this space between the human-sense of hope and the theological-sense of hope-in-God that we find Mary Magdalene showing up to anoint the body on the Third Day.

Perhaps Mary Magdalene didn’t recognize the Resurrected Jesus because she was looking through the eyes of human-hope. Jesus had to help her to see through the eyes of Christian-hope. 

The Good News, the Easter Joy, is that the goodness of God will conquer evil. God will transform pain and suffering into new life and goodness.

Christian-hope is trusting in God’s abiding presence and the promise of God’s goodness.

The Hope of the Resurrection–the true Easter Joy–is about trusting God to (somehow) bring goodness out of this.

Each of us have seen small blessings begin to emerge… like the decrease in air pollution allowing India to see the Himalayas for the first time in decades.

What goodness (small or large) have you observed or experienced that points to the transforming power of God?

Recognizing and rejoicing in these are goodnesses can help us better recognize God’s grace and better cultivate Christian hope.

Happy Easter! Alleluia! He is Risen!

Banner Artwork “Alleluia” ©Jen Norton. https://www.JenNortonArtStudio.com . Used with permission.  

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What happens on Holy Saturday?  …We wait…

It’s the period of in-between – that space between the pain and suffering of Good Friday and the joyful hope of Easter Sunday… this waiting is Holy Saturday.

In the time of Covid-19, those of us who are staying safe-at-home are right here, in the waiting.

Quite often, when we’re in the in-between—no longer in the throes of pain and suffering, and not yet in a place of joyful hope—we find ourselves somewhere in the process of thinking and praying and grieving what we’ve lost.

Here’s the thing that our faith teaches us about this in-between:

God is at work in the waiting.

~~~

Recall the story of Jonah, who didn’t want to do the difficult thing God was asking of him. In his stubbornness, Jonah tried to run away aboard a ship, which is when things went from bad to worse. Blamed for the violent storm, he was tossed overboard and assumed he was going to die. “But the Lord provided a large fish to swallow up Jonah; and Jonah was in the belly of the fish three days and three nights” (Jonah 1:17). Those three days and three nights must have provided quite a bit of time to wait… and think… and pray… and wait some more… And then, Jonah agreed.

In the waiting, God works in our hearts. 

It was three days and three nights of waiting… and thinking… and praying… for the Apostles as well. Waiting… with grief and sadness.

From their point of view, it didn’t look like anything was happening, but it was. They thought all was lost. But it wasn’t.

God is always at work in the waiting.

Trust God. Even if it doesn’t look like anything is happening… God is always at work in the waiting.

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Good Friday is the one day of the year that there is no Mass. The tabernacle is empty. There is no Jesus.

Good Friday is the day of the Passion – the suffering and Death of Jesus on the Cross.

There are many years that Good Friday prompts us to dig deep and examine our own sinfulness. For it was sin, selfishness, self-righteousness, greed, and pride that brought Jesus to the Cross.

But that’s not where we are this year.

This year we are suffering. We are grieving. We are physically isolated from community.

Many are sick. Many are unemployed. Many are overworked. Many are mourning.

So many disappointments. So many heartaches. So much lost.

This is the year we need to look to the Cross and know that we are not alone in our suffering.

This is the year we need to hear Jesus Christ, the Son of God, give us permission to cry out, “My God, My God, Why have you abandoned me!”

Although Jesus wasn’t ever actually abandoned by God (nor are we), in the depths of human suffering, it can sometimes feel like it.

Jesus was praying with Scripture. Psalm 22 laments pain and frustration with tremendous detail… and it then shifts. Around verse 21, the Psalmist begins to praise God’s Glory with confidence. We, like Jesus, can lament to God with vivid description and still be People of Faith.

Unable to gather as a community, unable to receive the gift of God’s grace in the Sacraments, unable to pray together as the Body of Christ in our Churches… it does feels very alone.

The tabernacle is empty. The Church is empty. This is our very uncomfortable reality, feeling the longing and loss on Good Friday.

If this – the suffering, longing, and loss of Good Friday – is where you are, know that you are not alone… nor are you weak in your faith. Look to the Cross and know that you are not alone.

The essence of our faith is trusting in the knowledge that the suffering and Death of Good Friday is not the end of the story. But it is where we are right now… at least for today.

~~~

Post-Script: A Neighborhood Stations of the Cross

On the morning this reflection was posted, inspired by an idea posted on the Guadalupe Radio Network‘s Houston Facebook Group, my friend and neighbor Coleen asked for help replicating a North Houston neighborhood’s Stations of the Cross. This beautiful idea would allow people to walk/bike/drive the 14 Stations and maintain social distancing while journeying in prayer. Propelled by the grace of the Holy Spirit, our neighborhood Stations in Nassau Bay came together quickly and easily. 

Following the directions given by a member of the North Houston’s neighborhood group Prestonwood Prays, around 8am Coleen set out to purchase supplies. At 9am she asked me to gather, print, and laminate the images of the Stations, and then called upon Brooke to coordinate the locations into a coherent path. Together, we quickly found 14 homeowners willing host the sign-post at the edge of their property, and Brooke mapped and organized the locations to form a walkable 3.25 mile loop. Since I had recently put together a simple, Scripture-based, Traditional Stations of the Cross for use on a retreat, I integrated those passages, along with the address of the next Station, onto a second laminated page to be attached to each sign. We announced the opportunity on FaceBook and text, and provided the links to a printable Worship Aid and Map of Locations. Everything was installed and folks were making their pilgrimages by 2pm. After sundown on Good Friday, the Stations were removed and disassembled. We received such an outpour of gratitude from prayerful pilgrims that we will do our best to continue this tradition in the years to come!

Here’s the basic instructions and supplies needed to construct these neighborhood Stations. 

The tabernacle at St. Paul the Apostle Catholic Church was designed with doors that open to the sanctuary on one side, and the stained glass image of the Last Supper on the other. With gratitude to Mark Evangelista for the photo of the empty tabernacle opening to the hand of Christ offering the bread, and Miriam Escobar for the photo open to the empty sanctuary.

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Did you know that the last party or social gathering that you attended would, in fact be the last one for the foreseeable future?

When reading the Gospel accounts of the Last Supper, it’s pretty evident that the Apostles had no idea it would be their last. Yet what happened while they shared the Passover meal with Jesus would be remembered and celebrated as the first: the Institution of the Eucharist.

Then he took the bread, said the blessing, broke it, and gave it to them, saying, “This is my body, which will be given for you; do this in memory of me.” And likewise the cup after they had eaten, saying, “This cup is the new covenant in my blood, which will be shed for you.” (Lk 22:19-20)

The Last Supper is the focus of the Church’s celebration on Holy Thursday. Yet for almost all of us, this will be a Holy Thursday without the Eucharist.

For anyone planning to watch the liturgy at home, since it’s a Holy Thursday without the presence of the people, it’ll also be a Holy Thursday without the Rite of the Washing of Feet.

I always found it interesting that while the Gospels of Matthew, Mark, and Luke provide the details about the Last Supper, the Gospel of John does not. Instead, John cuts to the meaning of the Last Supper: humble service.

So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet. For I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you. (Jn 13:14-15)

In the time of Covid-19, while we celebrate a Holy Thursday without so many things, let’s really turn our attention to humble service.

As a society, we’ve been doing a better job of recognizing and appreciating the humble service of so many of whom we’ve never even realized were essential employees! From health care, to supermarkets, to truckers and delivery persons, to police and first responders, to teachers…

How can you express gratitude for the humble service of others?

Amid so much grief and suffering that we cannot control, there are countless acts of humble service happening all around us, from making and donating reusable masks, to checking on and caring for neighbors, to finding ways to celebrate kids’ accomplishments and birthdays, to the sharing of musical talents, to the distribution of meals…

Where have you seen examples of humble service to others?

So on a Holy Thursday without so, so many things, perhaps you can find a way to be in communion with Christ through acts of humble service… (even if that service is a matter of reframing your interactions with those you are trapped at home with) …remember that Christ is present in these acts of service and sacrificial love.

Christ has given you an example; how will you humbly serve others?

Banner Artwork “Last Supper” ©Jen Norton. https://www.JenNortonArtStudio.com . Used with permission.  

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The only thing worse than the actual struggle of going through a difficult time is feeling completely isolated in the struggle. Unless, of course, you like to also compare your struggling with others (who certainly have it worse than you) and minimize your own pain because it always helps to pile guilt onto the sense of isolation to reduce that suffering.

This is what is happening in Covid-19.

It honestly doesn’t matter how bad you do or don’t have it. We are all suffering right now. We are all grieving for normalcy.

So let’s just stop right there. Nowhere in Scripture does the God of Life and Redeemer of the World minimize or compare suffering. Instead, Scripture presents us with invitations and affirmations, especially in the Passion and Death of Christ.

Focus, for a moment, on the image of Jesus praying in the Garden of Gethsemane.

Jesus knew what was happening, and he knew it was about to get a lot worse before it got better.

Let the very fact that “knowledge” caused Jesus grief affirm you; this is hard.

Jesus prays and asks his closest friends to pray, telling them: “I am deeply grieved,” and “The sorrow in my heart is so great that it almost crushes me” (Mt 26:38 NRSV and GNT).

Jesus models speaking truth to your closest friends… 

…gives permission to speak the truth of your heart to God… 

Jesus prays, “Father, if you are willing, remove this cup from me…” (Lk 22:42).

…petitions God for the deepest longings of the heart…

…asks clearly and directly…

Jesus concludes,  “…yet, not my will but yours be done” (Lk 22:42).

…invites trust in God…

…models surrendering to God.

In our agony, in our suffering, in our frustrations, in our confusion, God sees us. God is with us. Angels are ministering to us. And God will redeem this.

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While listening to our Pastor proclaim the Gospel as we watched our Parish’s Palm Sunday Mass on YouTube, my 12-year-old asked, “But wait–why are we reading about the crucifixion and death now. Isn’t that what happens on Good Friday?”

Yes. Yes, it is. Palm Sunday begins with Jesus’ Triumphant Entrance into Jerusalem as the crowds sing “Hosanna in the Highest” and wave their palm branches. And then we are plunged into the solemness of Holy Week.

That tension from the highest of highs to the lowest of lows is stark… it’s uncomfortable… and it’s exactly the point.

In light of the pandemic, take a moment to reflect on your experience of this stark contrast in your own life. Think back to February or early March… recall the events, activities, travels, and celebrations that you had on your calendar.

• What were you looking forward to with joyful anticipation?

Think of the disciples watching the One they know to be the Messiah and Son of God entering the Holy City of Jerusalem surrounded by glory and praise… and within days, he is arrested and crucified.

Before stepping more deeply in to the Passion, realize that having joyful anticipation abruptly cut down—that very sense of disappointment—is a crucial part of our Palm Sunday liturgy. We are all feeling it; we have all felt it, including Jesus and his disciples.

Allow this jarring experience and sense of profound disappointment to be an entry point into the Passion as we begin Holy Week.

Let Jesus meet you where you are.

Banner Artwork ©Jen Norton. https://www.JenNortonArtStudio.com . Used with permission.  LEGO design and photograph by the same 12 year old son who asked the opening question https://www.instagram.com/todayinlegocity/.

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Having hope in a time of crisis is not easy. Hope is rooted in truth, and the truth is, things are not easy right now.

Let’s be clear: having hope is not foolish optimism detached from the reality at hand. Rather, it has to do with trusting in the promises of God… which is hard… which is why it’s called a virtue (and not a given).

Hope—trusting in the promises of God—is intertwined in trusting in God’s goodness. On Friday, Pope Francis spoke about this very dynamic in his meditation on the calming of the storm from Mark 4:35-41 (full text and video here). Caught in a violent storm, the disciples, who are experienced, life-long fishermen, fear for their lives while Jesus is lays sleeping.

Pope Francis honed in on the spiritual struggle so many of us have in the midst of a storm like Coronavirus and quarantine: “Like the disciples in the Gospel we were caught off guard by an unexpected, turbulent storm.” Like the disciples, our faith in God is evident in the way we call out to God. However, in the midst of a storm so violent that people fear for their lives, sometimes we question God’s goodness. We cannot understand it and question if God cares about us. Fear threatens our trust in God’s goodness.

Trusting in God’s goodness opens our hearts to hope. In a time of crisis and fear, we need to remind ourselves and each other that there is abundant evidence of God’s goodness at work.

In the language of faith, this is the Paschal Mystery – God works with us, in us, and through us as vessels of grace to one another. Even in the midst of chaos and crisis, we can see goodness.

In the language of Mr. Roger’s Mom, “Look for the helpers.”

Name and claim the goodness and joy that you observe. Know that God is the source of all goodness. Believe that the Holy Spirit empowers us to be vessels of grace,

Recall the insight from the Raising of Lazarus: we have faith not in a God who rescues us; we have faith in a God who Redeems. We have faith in a God who is the source of all goodness; who respects our freedom enough to let things unfold… even difficult, painful, stressful things. Because our God Redeems.

God doesn’t do evil to achieve good (or to teach lessons). God doesn’t intend, rejoice in, or plan for suffering. God redeems it.

And we have faith in a God who Redeems.

Cultivating Hope

Trusting in a God who Redeems is at the root of the virtue of hope, and like all virtues, we can strengthen and grow in hope with practice.

Here one practice that we have been doing in our family to cultivate hope:

The Rose: Every night, when we gather for family dinner, we pray “The Rose,” which is a family-friendly, loose adaptation of St. Ignatius Loyola’s Examen. I have always appreciated the way the Rose allows us to hear about aspects of each other’s day that we otherwise wouldn’t.

(Note: if you cannot see the image above, and/or if you would like a printable copy of The Rose, click here.)

• Rose: Naming the bits of laughter and joy, the successes (no matter how small), the connections… Naming goodness and grace is essential to the spiritual practice of gratitude. Do it every night while eating dinner. Share your gratitude for goodness with one another.
• Bud: For my boys, anticipation of joyful experiences is just as (if not more) exciting than the experience itself. Naming our buds lifts our spirits. However. In the time of Covid-19, when all the things we usually look forward to have been cancelled, it’s becoming more and more difficult to identify things to look forward to. Which is why it’s becoming more and more crucial to our spiritual well-bring. Yes, most of our “buds” have looking forward to upcoming Zoom calls with friends… and getting to the other side of the Coronavirus! This is going to take some effort, but it’s also key to cultivating hope!
• Thorn: As I wrote in How Are You, it’s also important to be real about the struggles in your day. Articulating your thorn is prayer when that lament is directed to God, trusting in His goodness. Need some guidance there? Check out the Psalms.
• Root: As a family, we join together in specifically praying for people by name… and praying for an end to this pandemic.

What are you doing to cultivate hope today?

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