The Way of Sorrows

"And when they had mocked him, they took off the purple from him, and put his own clothes on him, and led him out to crucify him. And they compel one Simon of Cyrenian, who passed by, coming out of the country, the father of Alexander and Rufus, to bear his cross. And they bring him unto the place of Golgatha, which is, being interpreted, The place of the skull." Mark 15:20-22.

Sunday our sermon was entitled "The Via Dolorosa," as we finish up an extended series from the book of Mark. In these recent weeks, we've been looking closely at the passion of our Lord, timing it all to finish up on Easter Sunday with the resurrection account from Mark's gospel. Pastor R. said the meaning of this Latin phrase is "the way of sorrows," as we reflected on that mile long journey our Lord took from the governor's palace to the place of crucifixion. He needed help carrying his cross burden; Luke's gospel tells us of women weeping by the way; Luke also tells of two criminals who went on the same journey to be put to death along with Him.

It was a sad and painful journey. But at the end was triumph. This rendition of the song seems triumphant to me. Maybe rightfully so.

(Remember to turn off the sidebar music!)

On Time

I don't know what to say, but something has happened to time. It has accelerated. It's eating up the hours, days, weeks, months, and years at a much more rapid pace. Is it just me or are you noticing it too? Have you noticed that something that you thought happened just a week ago was actually a month before? How about when you think something happened last year and it was really two, maybe even three years back? Well, I looked and saw how long it's been since I made the last post here and was flabbergasted. And just when I wanted to try to make more posts, more little brief stops. Oh well, such it is when time flies. John Milton had it right, though:


Fly envious Time, till thou run out thy race,
Call on the lazy leaden-stepping hours,
Whose speed is but the heavy Plummet's pace;
And glut thyself with what thy womb devours,
Which is no more than what is false and vain,
And merely mortal dross;
So little is our loss,
So little is thy gain.
For when as each thing bad thou hast entomb'd,
Then long Eternity shall greet our bliss
With an individual kiss;
And Joy shall overtake us as a flood,
When everything that is sincerely good
And perfectly divine,
With Truth, and Peace, and Love, shall ever shine
About the supreme Throne
Of him, t'whose happy-making sight alone,
When once our heav'nly-guided soul shall climb,
Then all this Earthy grossness quit,
Attir'd with Stars, we shall for ever sit,
Triumphing over Death, and Chance, and thee
O Time.


~ John Milton - 1633