Weeping may spend the night, but joy comes in the morning.
In one sense, it is an odd gathering. A handful of adults of various ages, a teen, a couple of children. Drawn by differing purposes to walk a sacred path together, not planning to meet each other here, we nevertheless coalesce into companions together on a journey.
As the beauty of space and simplicity and music and holy text swirl around us we are propelled onto the Way of the Cross. Stations. I meditate on the word itself as I am lulled and comforted by the serenity of this moment at the end of a full day and busy week. A station. A regular stopping place.
What a gift that this unusual mix of people and this ancient tradition could be quite ordinary. And that in meeting one another to walk the way of sorrows we are drawn more deeply into the mystery of love.