5th Sunday of Lent 2024

The Eleventh Station

Jesus is nailed to the Cross

The Cross is laid on the ground, and Jesus stretched upon it, and then, swaying heavily to and fro, it is, after much exertion, jerked into the hole ready to receive it.  Or, as others think, it is set up-right, and Jesus is raised up and fastened to it.  As the savage executioners drive in the huge nails, He offers Himself to the Eternal Father, as a ransom for the world.  The blows are struck—the blood gushes forth.

Yes, they set up the Cross on high, and they placed a ladder against it, and, having stripped Him of His garments, made Him mount.  With His hands feebly grasping its sides and cross-woods, and His feet slowly, uncertainly, with much effort, with many slips, mounting up, the soldiers propped Him on each side, or He would have fallen.  When He reached the projection where His sacred feet were to be, He turned round with sweet modesty and gentleness towards the fierce rabble, stretching out His arms, as if He would embrace them.  Then He lovingly placed the backs of His hands close against the transverse beam, waiting for the executioners to come with their sharp nails and heavy hammers to dig into the palms of His hands, and to fasten them securely to the wood.  There He hung, a perplexity to the multitude, a terror to evil spirits, the wonder, the awe, yet the joy, the adoration of the Holy Angels.

-St. John Henry Newman

The Nail

Though day sun crept on barren hill, no warmth of light could break night’s chill

A son would do his father’s will—

Momentous work to soon complete.

From the road arose a clamor, women’s cries and soldiers’ banter,

Rough-hewn wood and Roman banner,

A march of death on weary feet.

The calls of crowds pursued the men up that hill and delighted when

The time had come for flesh to rend—

For blood, the sport they came to meet.

The watchmen marked the hour three as broken men were laid on trees,

And in that great cacophany

Amidst the wails and jeering shrieks,

The shrillest sound did pierce the veil—a hammer strike on single nail,

Unknowingly, the hand impaled

Had lit the stars and shaped the sea.

Then silence took the very air as time itself suspended there,

The universe was made aware—

By that first nail was pierced He.

For in that gasp of time and space which spread across creation’s face,

Eternal hand touched finite place

And fix’d the nail which pins the earth to God.

-Landon Johnson