One evening in prayer, I found myself returning to a meditation on the Sorrowful Mysteries of the Rosary, particularly on Jesus’ carrying of the cross. I kept picturing Him suffering under its weight, falling repeatedly, burdened body and soul by all that the cross represents. Of course, we know that Jesus suffered greatly as a result of the scourging and that He physically struggled to bear the cross’s weight, hence the assistance from Simon of Cyrene. But I felt Jesus bringing me back over and over again to meditate on the weight of our sins that was equally, if not more, painful.
Most of us have probably thought about our sins, and the sins of the world, that Jesus carried. Every single sin, big or small, was on Jesus’ shoulders as He walked toward Calvary. Each little lie, each piece of gossip, each snide remark—not to mention the mortal sins of adultery, murder, and the like—were on Jesus’ heart. The mere knowledge of our sin must have been profoundly painful.
But as I sat with this image of Jesus carrying the weight of these sins, I perceived Him draw my attention to a deeper understanding. Can you truly feel, He seemed to say, the weight of all of these sins? I felt compelled to think, not just about the sins themselves, but about all of the effects each causes. From the smallest unkindness to the most brutal assaults, the collateral damage of each sin ripples far past our frail human understanding.
So often, we fall into a pattern of sin and repentance: We sin, (hopefully) experience guilt and contrition, (hopefully) take our sins to confession, and move on. Sure, we have spoken poorly about a family member or missed Mass, but we have resolved to do better. We make conscious efforts to not repeat the pattern. We may mess up again, but God’s forgiveness is waiting, and the world continues to spin madly on. We can become numb to the residual consequences because our slate is wiped clean. We’ve confessed. We’ve done our penance. What more is there?
But sin does not exist in a vacuum. How often do we stop to consider all the damage that sin inflicts? If we, for example, speak impatiently to our child, do we allow ourselves to feel deeply the effect of that choice? to permit ourselves to feel the hurt our child felt? to reflect on how our pattern of impatience could affect the way our child will treat others, perhaps their own children and the generations that follow? to consider that we may be damaging our child’s trust in the love of God, whom we are meant to model? Have we considered how our sin has hurt Jesus, who loves that child more than we could ever imagine?
Of course, I am not suggesting that we delve into each and every sin and beat ourselves up for every misstep; my anxiety-prone brain certainly couldn’t handle that kind of spiraling. But maybe that anguish, that feeling of “I can’t go there,” is exactly what we should experience. Because sin—every sin—is a big deal, much bigger than we sometimes want to believe. And perhaps that discomfort is the reminder we need to lean more on God’s grace as we pursue virtue.
We can and should take time, particularly as Lent begins, to reflect on the effects of our sin. Perhaps there is a sin that we find ourselves frequently confessing and we cannot figure out how to shake it. Maybe we find ourselves lacking true contrition or need to develop a deeper love and understanding for the depth of Christ’s suffering on the cross.
Regardless, as we begin to walk with Jesus on the road to Calvary, I would invite all of us to take time to try to bear the weight of our sins, not so we can feel accused by Jesus but so that we can learn to hate our sins, appreciate God’s mercy, and learn to better love and empathize with our neighbor. Through such meditation, may we draw closer to the Innocent One who knew all of the ways we would betray Him and the thousand pains each of our sins would cause—and died for us anyway.
