An outdoor procession of the stations of the cross.
In New York City where I grew up our Church had a procession every year. The men of the Church would take turns carrying the huge cross through town. It would take several men at a time with one carrying the cross in it's center.
The women would walk behind it singing songs and rain or shine the youth group would play the parts of the Crucifixion.
I watched as the teen who played Jesus tried to convey pain and exhaustion as he walked through the streets as other teens who played soldiers whipped and mocked him
As a child I would look at the teen they chose to play Mary and I would wonder what the real Mary looked like. What was she feeling as the child she loved so much was going to die?
I wondered about the people who were witnesses. How did they feel? Were they scared, did they feel helpless? hopeless?
The procession always ended back at the Church where there was a solemn quiet time of reflection. In that silence my Mom would cry.
I remember feeling embarrassed of those tears.
It would scare me.
"Mom, why are you crying?" I would ask her.
"Because he suffered so..." my Mom would answer.
I can still see myself ...looking up at my mom as those tears rolled down her face and now I get it.
I think of Him walking through those streets....battered and bloodied; knowing his fate he walked on.
I think of the people in His life that loved him, how helpless they must have felt seeing their Teacher, Friend, Son walk to certain death.
I think of the unbearable pain He must have been in and I cry as He still showed love and mercy to those who mocked him and were there to watch him suffer.
I remember my mom's tears and how now I cry with the same answer
"Because he suffered so...."