Via Crucis Station 10 presents the brutal humiliation of Jesus being stripped naked before the mocking crowd. The soldiers tear away His garments, which have stuck to His wounds from the scourging, reopening every lash mark. This station exposes the total poverty of Christ—He owns nothing anymore, not even the clothes on His back. At Valinhos Sanctuary, this station calls me to examine my own attachments to worldly possessions and vain reputation. Jesus is stripped of everything: dignity, privacy, comfort, possessions, any shred of earthly status. Yet in this complete emptying, He models perfect freedom. I'm learning that when we own nothing, nothing owns us. When we cling to nothing earthly, we can embrace everything God offers.
V. We adore Thee, O Christ, and we praise Thee.
R. Because by Thy holy cross, Thou hast redeemed the world.
Naked Lord, they've taken everything from You now. Your clothing, perhaps woven by Your Mother's own hands, becomes gambling stakes for soldiers who don't even know Your name. You stand exposed, vulnerable, utterly humiliated before the leering crowd. What did this cost You—You who are purity itself, forced into this degradation? Yet You accept even this final stripping. You let them take it all. I'm asking myself: What am I clinging to that You're asking me to release? My reputation that I guard so carefully? My possessions that I've worked so hard to accumulate? My need to appear successful, beautiful, important, respected? Strip me, Lord, of all that is not You. Strip away my pretenses, my masks, my carefully constructed image. Let me stand naked before Your gaze, hiding nothing, pretending nothing, clinging to nothing but Your mercy. Clothe me only in Your righteousness.
Jesus is stripped of His garments—the last earthly things He possessed. We accumulate possessions believing they bring security, happiness, identity. Yet they possess us more than we possess them. True freedom comes from holding things lightly, using without clinging.
Christ stands naked before mockers, stripped of all dignity and reputation. We build carefully constructed images—how we want others to see us. But this false self must be stripped away. Freedom comes when we stop performing and dare to be truly known, truly seen.
Beneath possessions and reputation lies our deepest layer—the ego's illusion of self-sufficiency. "I don't need God. I'm fine on my own." This must be stripped away for the true self to emerge—the self created in God's image, dependent on Him, finding identity only in being His beloved.
Our Lady appeared at Fátima clothed in radiant white, simple yet luminous, adorned only with light. She told the children not to offend the Lord our God anymore, for He is already so much offended. I'm understanding that one grave offense is vanity—the worship of appearance, possessions, status, image. The tenth station strips away all pretense.
Lucia, Jacinta, and Francisco lived this message in their simple peasant lives: simple clothes, simple food, simple prayer, simple faith. Their poverty of spirit freed them to be rich in grace. Our Lady isn't asking me to be destitute but to be free—free from the tyranny of always wanting more, always needing to impress, always fearing what others think.
According to the biography of St. Francis of Assisi, he literally stripped himself naked in the public square, giving his wealthy father even the clothes he wore, declaring that from then on he would call only God his Father. St. Clare embraced what she called "Lady Poverty" as her closest companion.
St. John of the Cross wrote something that challenges me: To reach satisfaction in all, desire satisfaction in nothing. St. Mother Teresa proclaimed that the more you have, the more you are occupied; the less you have, the more free you are. I'm slowly learning this is true—my possessions possess me far more than I possess them.
Material Detachment Exercise: choosing one possession I'm overly attached to and giving it away this week. I'm noticing my resistance, my excuses, my rationalizations. I'm offering these feelings to Jesus stripped on the cross.
Reputation Inventory: asking myself what image I'm trying so hard to maintain, where I'm performing rather than authentically being, what masks I wear. I'm practicing poverty of spirit by going 24 hours without complaining about what I lack, instead thanking God for what I have. Finally, I'm reflecting: If I lost everything tomorrow—possessions, health, reputation—what would remain? That's my true treasure.