Thirteenth Station Jesus dies on the cross Mark 15: 34–37 A man on a cross is about to die – while the world seems to be holding its breath. On the hill the afternoon sun grows dim – suffused red, to those gathered for his death; it seems he is taking the light with him. In the suspense comes the startling cry: “Eloi, eloi, lama sabachthani!”* The soldiers pause and look up from their game. Their Centurion demands an explanation of that cry – with its awful desolation; when before he had promised a paradise. But none there could know the crowning sorrow, of the human cost of the Incarnation. He grows weak and is just able to speak. He thirsts, so a vinegar sponge is held to his lips, as those around the cross: Mary, the women, John, can now only watch as he surrenders into the Logos. It is time, he can finally let go – calls: “Father, into your hands I now commit my spirit”. He bows his head, gasps: “It is finished”. “Then came that dread darkened sun, and the rushing wind, so uncanny, that my men were spooked, and some fled. But no, a spear thrust in his side, ensured that their Messiah had died. Was he their god’s son? I cannot say, but I won’t deny – an innocent man perished”. *My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?