Station X: Jesus is Stripped of His Garments

We adore Thee, O Christ, and we praise Thee.
Because by Your holy Cross, You have redeemed the world.

And when they came to a place called Golgotha (which means the place of a skull), they offered him wine to drink, mingled with gall, but when he tasted it, he would not drink it. And when they had crucified him, they divided his garments among them by casting lots; then they sat down and kept watch over him there. Matthew. 27:33-36

Naked.

All the paintings of the crucifixion restore his human dignity with portrayals of cloth and coverings, but when Jesus the Christ was crucified he was crucified naked. As if the cruelty, torture and pain weren’t punishment enough, the Roman legion tore open his wounds and took any remaining shred of clothing, flesh and dignity before they laid him down on the wood of the cross.

In our world, we all attempt to hide our own nakedness. Physically. Spiritually. Emotionally. The fall covered us with a heavy blanket of shame, afraid to be seen because we are afraid to be known because we are afraid that if we were truly known we would not be loved.

From the very first sin, from our very first parents, from the first time they realized they were naked, we have been covering ourselves so as not to be put to shame.

And then Jesus is stripped of his garments.

Traditionally in this station, we meditate on Jesus’ terrible humiliation, shame and indignity. We identify with him in the places where we, too, have been mistreated, ashamed or stripped of our basic needs and rights. We go to the deep and painful places of our physical, spiritual and emotional nakedness because we know that Jesus has gone there first.

All of that is good and true and beautiful. Yet when I meditate on this station, I see more than that. In true-to-Jac fashion, all I can see when I look at Jesus is the Bridegroom.

I think most married people remember their wedding night.

When the ceremony is over and the reception is winding down and the months of planning have finally come to an end. You’re left only with sore feet, a hairspray-caked updo, a pile of presents, and each other.

For most couples I know, this night isn’t anything too out of the ordinary save for the giant party. They had already shared the same house and the same bed and the same familiarity for years.

For me, that night was different than any other night.

We had waited and ached and looked forward to this day with great anticipation, frustration and longing. My sister and best friend sneaked into our new apartment before we arrived back home to sprinkle red rose petals on the bed and light enough candles to create a fire hazard.

I remember looking in the full-length mirror, lingering over all of the sweet memories from the day. Still wearing my white dress, now dingy around the bottom after photos and dancing and a long, lazy walk to the car and I didn’t care one single bit.

Michael walked into the bedroom and wrapped his arms around my waist. Resting his lips against my back, he kissed his way to my cheek and whispered, “You are the most beautiful woman in the world.”

See, when Jesus is stripped of his garments, I don’t think anyone is taking anything from him.

He is taking them off willingly. He is naked. Undressing for the marriage bed of the cross to be united with his bride in the consummation. For this new Passover. For the wedding of the Lamb.

I lay down my life—only to take it up again. No one takes it from me, but I lay it down of my own accord. John 10:17-18

For a lot of people, this week—the Sacred Triduum of Maundy Thursday, Good Friday and Holy Saturday—isn’t anything too out of the ordinary save for the giant party and an egg hunt. But for us, this night was so very different than any other night. We had waited and ached and looked forward to this day with great anticipation, frustration and longing.

In the Garden of Repose we will scatter flowers and at the Vigil we will light enough candles to create a fire hazard.

And perhaps, even in this seemingly shameful and undignified station, we will see only the joy of the Bridegroom.

When the hour came, Jesus and his apostles reclined at the table. And he said to them, “I have eagerly desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer. Luke 22:14-15

Eros is part of God’s very Heart: the Almighty awaits the ‘yes’ of his creatures as a young bridegroom that of his bride. … On the Cross, God’s eros for us is made manifest. Eros is indeed … that force which ‘does not allow the lover to remain in himself but moves him to become one with the beloved.’ Is there more ‘mad eros’ … than that which led the Son of God to make himself one with us even to the point of suffering as his own the consequences of our offences?” Benedict XVI, Lenten Message 2007

The Stations of the Cross

All of us have those moments we mark in time. Birthdays. Anniversaries. Graduations. Funerals. We note the details so we can remember and retrace our steps with the ones we love, even long after they have left us. For hundreds of years, Christians have been doing the same thing, visiting Jerusalem to literally walk in Jesus’s last steps, remembering and retracing His path as He walked the way of the cross.

In the twelfth century, Saint Francis of Assisi looked after these sites, encouraging people to stop at significant points and reflect on what Jesus did for us. Knowing that not everyone was able to make a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, the Franciscan Order later requested permission to place these stops or ‘stations’ in all Catholic churches so we, too, can mark the final moments of the One we love most.

This series of reflections is an attempt to help you walk with Jesus through His Passion…and perhaps to remember that He has also been walking with you. Through yours. This whole time.

But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was on him, and by his wounds we are healed. Isaiah 53:5

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