Way of the Cross

Photo by Phil Miller ________________ click on photo to enlarge

Sauntering along the grounds of Nazareth, the Bardstown home of the Sisters of Charity, I am aware that it is Holy Week.


Spring beckons with budding trees and greening grasses while dried and clinging leaves rattle in the easterly breeze; reminders of the seasonal change.

Robins busy themselves in the soft turf which is made sodden by recent rains and warming.


Near the church I come upon the monuments called, Way of the Cross, commemorating the painful journey of Christ to the Passion; each monument displaying an event along the Way.


At the end of these monuments to torment and human cruelty I come upon the gardens of the dead. The cemetery dedicated to the nuns and priests who have served the order.


I think of Christ's final moments on the cross; agonizing, forlorn, seemingly abandoned.
And, finally, the release by human death to everlasting life. The dove rises.


I am somehow relieved to know that he has made the path known to us and he is, in his Passion and release, making a Way for each of us. Yet, I feel guilty that he suffered so.


Leaving the gardens of the dead I return to the walking path which winds its way through meadow and thicket, feel the sunshine on my shoulders and choke back tears. I am at once grieving and hopeful.


I am grateful for this time alone in the garden among the remains of the souls who sought to do right and who lived by the words of Jesus, "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me."


I am blessed to experience another Spring, another beginning, another rebirth.
Raising my eyes to the cerulean sky, I smile slightly, then wrap myself in the moment.

Phil Miller