Station Eleven

The church I attend here in Asheville, Circle of Mercy, meets on Sunday evenings in space shared by a host church, Land of the Sky United Church of Christ. On Good Friday each year, Land of the Sky creates a stations of the cross experience in their sanctuary, and this year, for the first time, I decided to go.

When I arrived at the church, I set an intention to walk and pray without any expectation or agenda. My spiritual director has said to me, more than once, “What God is doing in you is none of your business.” So I asked for God’s help to trust that whatever impact the experience might have on me would happen outside my control and most likely outside my conscious awareness.

There were 15 stations distributed along a stone-and-frond-marked labyrinth. Each station included a short passage of Scripture, some questions for reflection, and an evocative picture. There were other people there, ahead of me, but it was not crowded. I made my way at an easy pace, not hurrying but also not lingering.

When I got to the eleventh station, I read these words of Jesus, “Father, forgive them, they don’t know what they’re doing,” and immediately I felt an energy descend upon me. These things are impossible to describe, of course, but it was a radiating kind of energy, ascending and descending, a bit like a current of electricity, a bit like a hum. I felt it head to toe.

I am as big a spiritual knucklehead as most, but even I knew surrender to it, keep my thoughts out of the way, and let it happen. After a few minutes, I heard the person behind me drawing near, and I moved on. The energy at station eleven, whatever it was, did not travel with me.

I completed the remaining stations and left the sanctuary, then walked around outside for a while and reflected on the experience. I have no idea what that experience at station eleven was ultimately about—again, God’s business, not mine—but the thought that came to me was that something in me was getting radiated, possibly the barriers to forgiving that can be so strong, the obstructions that organize inside when I think that I personally or some cause I hold dear is being treated unfairly. I don’t know that that’s what was happening, but it felt like maybe that was part of it. And even if it wasn’t, I’m grateful for the longing I feel for the spirit of forgiveness to grow stronger in me.

But life goes on, and this story is not over. I left the church, drove to the grocery, and pulled into a parking space. I looked down at my phone, saw a text from a friend, and began typing a reply. A few moments later I felt a bump against my car door. A woman was getting into the car next to me, her door now resting against mine. She gave no indication that she was going to check on what had happened, and I don’t think she saw me sitting in my car.

There was adrenaline in my body, my mind jumped to conclusions about this person’s character, and I felt an urgency to stick up for my property and for “justice.” I was mindful of not wanting to frighten her, but when she closed her door, I opened mine and got out quickly.

“Excuse me,” I said. “Your door bumped mine.”

“No, it didn’t. I didn’t feel anything.”

I looked at my door, and there was no scratch. “Well, there’s no damage. Have a good day.”

And before she had even finished backing out of her parking space, I was feeling zapped again. Not fifteen minutes from the radiation treatment at station eleven (“Father, forgiven them, they don’t know what they’re doing”), I was feeling wronged by someone who didn’t know what she had done and—zzzzzzz, hmmmmmm--getting worked on once more at the place where my protective impulses are ever alert to defend me, my possessions, my work, and my ego.  

So, thank you Land of the Sky, thank you lady in the parking lot, and thank you Mystery Without End for working to melt away everything in us that is not Love. 

Russell Siler Jones is an ACPE Psychotherapist in Asheville, North Carolina. He can be reached at russell.jones@acpe.edu.