Oración del Vía Crucis, San Juan 1763
Updated: Feb 19, 2021
<<by Melinda Creech (guest blogger for Lent!)>>
A few years ago, I wrote a poem called “Oración del Vía Crucis, San Juan 1763.” The poem tries to represents the encounter between two cultures—the Spanish Franciscan monks at the San Juan Mission in the eighteenth century and the indigenous people of Texas living around the mission at that time.
Although the missions only flourished for a few decades, most of them still provide a place for the community to gather and worship. They hold the heartbeat of their small community made up of the descendants of the people who once inhabited the missions of San Antonio. I feel distanced from the native peoples and the Franciscan fathers, although they lived very close to where the San Antonio Mennonite Church building stands today. The native people lived a life in tune with the land and its provisions. The priests were committed to the spiritual formation offered from the gospel of Christ. This poem is an attempt to hold those two ideas in tension, imagining some of the daily activities of a native person juxtaposed upon the Franciscans father’s lessons on the Stations of the Cross.
The form of the poem reflects this struggle. It’s complicated. “Oracion del Via Crucis, San Juan 1763” (“A Prayer for the Way of the Cross, San Juan 1763”) is an interlocking rubiayat with an imbedded sonnet. An interlocking rubaiyat is a quatrain in which the first, second, and fourth lines rhyme. The third line becomes the predominant rhyme for the next stanza. In this way each stanza connects to the next stanza. (Robert Frost’s “Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening” is an interlocking rubaiyat.) The rubiayat rings with the sensitive voice of a native farmer, following him through a day in his life, holding his simple reflections on the stations of the cross. The stations of the cross were predominant symbols in the mission church and on the steps in the courtyard of the church.
Oración del Vía Crucis
San Juan 1763
I
The cottonwoods enveloping
My path to hear the river sing
You held the guilt that Pilate washed away
I hold the river’s offering
II
No words compel the breaking day
Creation loves the quiet way
With no defense you shouldered all the blame
With silence I will work today
III
Around me I see sick and lame
Strength and weakness bear no shame
When powerless to stand, your strength gave way
To love them blindly is my aim
IV
I watch the little children play
Their eyes hold on to me the way
Your eyes caressed the one who gave your name
Compassion, fill my face I pray
V
With crucifix and book they came
They want our gods to be the same
You watched a stranger free you from your chain
I let the stranger know my name
VI
Youth and innocence are slain
Their blood, it leaves a stubborn stain
Another wiped the blood that hid your face
I need a cloth to ease my pain
VII
The work is hard, the weary pace
The discipline within this place
You felt your body conquered by the strain
Your weakness is my hiding place
VIII
No thought for others; I complain
Demanding shares of all the grain
And still you spoke with selflessness and grace
I trust your power to sustain
IX
Others work a slower pace
Their weakness signifies disgrace
A final time you fell beneath the weight
Pride with tolerance replace
X
My loom and shuttle swift create
Colors bold and perfect weight
The soldiers’ hands ripped cloth and dignity
My weaving cannot mend the hate
XI
The bells of San Juan set us free
And bind us in community
A hammer’s blow consigned you to your fate
The ringing resonates in me
XII
Daylight fades, the hour is late
I leave the fields and close the gate
The dark stole day and held you to the tree
Wrapped in darkness there we wait
XIII
The doors are opened quietly
I feel the stones beneath my knee
Those who remained took all that they could save
This praying gives tranquility
XIV
The fever took my child from me
I buried her beneath a tree
They laid your bones inside a borrowed grave
Where hesitating hope stands silently
Melinda Creech
February 2009

There are fourteen stanzas in the poem, representing the traditional fourteen stations of the cross. A sonnet is embedded in interlocking rubiayat. The sonnet is formed by lifting out the third line of each quatrain and putting those lines together into a sonnet.
Stations of the Cross Sonnet
You held the guilt that Pilate washed away
With no defense you shouldered all the blame
Then powerless to stand, your strength gave way
Your eyes caressed the one who gave your name
You watched a stranger free you from your chain
Another wiped the blood that hid your face
You felt your body conquered by the strain
And still you spoke with selflessness and grace
A final time you fell beneath the weight
The soldiers’ hands ripped cloth and dignity
A hammer blow consigned you to your fate
Dark stole day and held you to the tree
Those who remained took all that they could save
And laid your bones inside a borrowed grave
The design of the papercut banner was inspired by the stained glass windows along the sides of the San Antonio Mennonite Church building. I have added four more panes, two at the top and two at the bottom, to accommodate the fourteen stations of the cross.
The logo of the San Antonio Mennonite Church is embedded in the diamond at the center of the cross. The logo is a simplified replica of the round stained glass window at the front of the church.
The fourteen panes around the edges of the banner represent the Stations of the Cross. The Stations of the Cross have traditionally been used by the church to focus our worship on Jesus’ path to the cross.
Emanating from the center of the cross outward are small triangles and quadrilaterals forming a stained glass cross. This design is intended to remind us that we are all little broken pieces, but the cross holds us all together.