Here I am at Lourdes High Station 02, I want to try to give you the best of my experience as I make my way to each station. First, I want to say I am really taken aback by these life size scenes with nature in the background.
Here with my very eyes, I see Jesus with His hands up to except His cross. My eyes are temporarily taken to my left of the soldier holding up one end of it. All here seem to know their job and destiny.
The heaviness I feel, yet the look on Jesus' face has no resistance is my lesson to be learned.
Back to this Roman soldier for a minute, the one who lifted the cross and gave the command. The one who looked directly at Jesus and possible only saw a task to complete. At least at first, could something have changed him? I ask this question because who comes on to Holly Ground within the reach of our Lord and is not changed in some way.
This station invites us to enter that forgotten viewpoint — not to excuse it, but to learn from it. Lourdes High Station 02 reminds us that even the hardest hearts are not beyond God’s reach. And even the ones who nail Him down can be changed by what they see.
Jesus,
I do not always recognize You when You stand before me.
Sometimes I look with tired eyes and miss Your presence entirely.
Sometimes I follow the crowd or obey the noise of the world instead of listening to the quiet truth inside.
Break through my hardness.
Even if I’ve stood in the wrong place, bring me back to the right one.
Let me not fear Your Cross but help me carry it — with You and for You.
Amen. 🕊️
He had done this many times before. The soldier assigned to Jesus that day was no stranger to crucifixions; they were a regular part of his service to Rome, carried out with a sense of duty rather than emotion.
Another judgment handed down. Another condemned man. Another crossbeam to be lifted and carried. It should have felt like just another task in a long line of executions but this time, something was different. There was a quiet weight in the air that didn’t match the usual chaos.
The prisoner (Jesus) didn’t resist as others often did. He didn’t spit or shout, didn’t curse the crowd or plead for mercy. Instead, He simply looked calm, silent, and unwavering and in that gaze was a strength the soldier couldn’t quite name. It wasn’t pride or defiance. It was something deeper, something unsettling in its stillness.
The soldier felt it, though he couldn’t allow himself to dwell on it. Years of discipline had taught him to move quickly through orders, to silence any flicker of thought that might slow him down. So he focused on the task, barking commands, lifting the rough beam, and pressing forward with the weight of both the wood and his responsibility. This was his job, and jobs didn’t make room for questions.
And yet, standing here at Lourdes High Station 02, it’s not hard to imagine that something had begun to stir beneath the armor — not just the metal on his body, but the armor wrapped around his heart.
Even if only for a moment, a quiet question may have begun to rise from within, one that training couldn’t suppress and orders couldn’t drown out: Who is this man?
For the soldier, the Cross was supposed to be a symbol of Roman power. A warning. A punishment. But Jesus changes everything He touches even a beam of wood meant for torture. At Lourdes High Station 02, this becomes a moment of transformation. Not just for Jesus, but for everyone involved, even the ones responsible for His pain.
The soldier watched Him take the Cross without argument. That alone unsettled something deep inside. This wasn’t fear. This wasn’t guilt. It was… acceptance. The kind that speaks louder than rebellion.
How often do we act out of habit, never questioning what we’re part of? How often do we go along with things because it’s easier than stopping? This station reminds us that grace can reach anyone — even the one who hands over the Cross.
There are many stories of soldiers at the foot of the Cross. One pierced His side. One offered vinegar. One declared, “Truly this was the Son of God.” Maybe the one who gave Him the Cross at the beginning was one of them. Maybe that first moment of encounter — the exchange of eyes, the weight of the wood, the silence between them — planted the first seed.
Lourdes High Station 02 is filled with silence like that. The air holds it. The trees breathe it. And in that stillness, we begin to realize something important: none of us are too far gone. Even the soldier can change.
In fact, maybe the soldier is all of us — doing our best in broken systems, sometimes unaware of the pain we cause, sometimes too numb to care. But Jesus looks at us anyway. And His look doesn’t condemn. It invites.
Lourdes is a place where healing takes root. And this station, though early in the journey, is already full of that potential. Jesus accepts His Cross. He accepts our sin, our ignorance, our detachment — and He carries it. Not to shame us, but to save us.
The soldier may have begun as the enforcer. But maybe, by the end, he became the witness.
Lourdes High Station 02 asks us to examine our part — not to dwell in guilt, but to awaken to grace. Are we watching Christ suffer and doing nothing? Or are we beginning to see Him for who He is?
Even if we’ve held the nails, even if we’ve pushed the Cross into His arms, we are not disqualified from redemption. Jesus doesn’t turn His eyes away from the soldier. And He doesn’t turn His eyes away from us.