A Mother's Heart is a Gethsemane

 Not one of the apostles could stay awake to keep watch with Christ as He suffered His agony in the Garden of Gethsemane, but I cannot help but believe there was one who kept watch with Him even though she was not in the Garden with Him.  Perhaps some of the mystics wrote about His Mother keeping watch in prayer with Him that night wherever she happened to be.  How could such a Mother, united so closely to her Son, not know in her heart and soul of His agony?

A mother suffers when her children suffer.  Perhaps in a way she even suffers more than they suffer, for she can see more clearly than they where their paths lead and the pain they will bring upon themselves.  She wants to spare them all the suffering that she can—even to wishing she could take on their pain for them.

"Father, let this cup pass from Me; nevertheless not My will but Thine be done."

So Christ prayed in Gethsemane.  How powerless He must have felt as He knelt and prayed, faced with the anguish of knowing the suffering He would undergo.  Likewise how powerless a mother feels as she prays to the Father that He might take away her cup, which is to spare her children their suffering.

It is easy to focus on Christ's agony as His fear and terror of the cruel torture He would experience in being scourged, crowned with thorns, mocked, condemned to death, and crucified.  Yet what is such physical suffering in comparison to the pain of His heart?

He chose to suffer out of love.  Consider for a moment what that means: He suffered such a cruel death not merely to fulfill the demands of justice and allow us to enter heaven, but because He loves us and desires us to be in intimate relationship with Him.  One who loves infinitely must suffer infinitely.

He loves you and wants you close to His heart.  You.  Not the you that you would like to be, but you as you are.  You have a special place in His heart that He gives to none other.

So many turn away from such love.  Who can bear it?

Think of the pain you have ever felt when someone rejected your love.  His pain in Gethsemane—the cup He asked His Father to take away—must have been bitter with unrequited love. He longed so much for all to love Him and yet knew how many would reject Him. He must have felt as He knelt there that His sacrifice was in vain—that it was not enough for Him to suffer such pain out of love, for it would not be enough to win the hearts of all to love Him.  The devil must have tempted Him with the folly of His sacrifice, urging Him to give it up as fruitless because He would give all that He had and it would not be enough.

A mother's heart serves as a similar battleground.  A mother gives everything she has and it is not enough.  How much she must be tempted to think that it is all in vain and to feel the agony of her own powerlessness in the face of what she desires with all her heart and soul.  Truly she is united in that pain with Christ in Gethsemane.

Gethsemane

I discovered this beautiful song a short time ago.  It is meant for children, but it is nice to have something in a range I can sing.  Also, our Lord told us that we must become like little children if we want to enter the Kingdom of Heaven.

Despite trying to become like that little child looking up to my Father to provide all that I need, I am finding the quarantine begin to wear on me, as I expect you are also.  Today I am thinking especially of all those struggling with it, of all those dealing with heartache, of all those who are lonely, and of all those feeling hopeless.  I am thinking also of Christ in Gethsemane, aching for consolation, crying out to the Father and yet remaining so alone in His agony.

Music is helping keep my eyes turned toward Him, so this song is as much my prayer as my song.  It is my prayer for you in whatever you need right now:

Gethsemane

Father, let this suffering pass from us; nevertheless, not my will, but Thine be done.

Pilgrimage During the Pandemic

Many people have been criticizing our leaders in the Church for cancelling all public Masses while we quarantine for the pandemic and many complain of not being able to receive the Sacraments.  I must admit hearing those things does trouble me.  It makes me wonder what the Church should do.  Is She merely pandering to the government decisions to avoid outright conflict?  Is She thus abandoning Her mission to nourish our faith by treating the physical health and well-being of the most vulnerable as more important than our spiritual health?

Perhaps She might be rather calling us to enter more deeply into the mystical reality.  I have written already of our being called to receive the Sacrament of the Present Moment.  Now, however, I mean far more than that: I mean the eternal reality.

For the Church as we know Her will not endure.  The Sacraments will pass away.  The Eucharist, as precious a gift as It is, will no longer be needed.

When we come to the Eternal City, we shall be face to face with the living God, with I-Am-Who-Am.  We shall no longer need to receive through Sacraments, which make visible the invisible, providing grace to sustain us in our exile here in this valley of tears, for we shall then be in intimate union with Him.

All the grace we receive is meant to prepare us for that.  Reception of the Eucharist in particularly brings us into intimate relationship with Christ, our crucified Lord.

Does it?

"I am the Lord thy God, who brought thee out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of bondage.  Thou shalt not have strange gods before me."

Exodus 20:2-3

Despite this commandment, we often allow our minds and hearts to turn to idols without realizing it.  Even our spiritual practices may become idols.  It is far easier to cling to devotions and the practice of the spiritual life than to come into a deep and intimate relationship with the Unknown God—the God we can never fully understand because He is infinite and we mere finite creatures.

"For my thoughts are not your thoughts: nor your ways my ways, saith the Lord.  For as the heavens are exalted above the earth, so are my ways exalted above your ways, and my thoughts above your thoughts."

Isaiah 55:8-9

The moment we believe we have understood the mind of God is the moment we have created God in our own image.  If that's not an idol, I don't know what is.

Perhaps that may sound extreme to you.  Perhaps you may wonder why I mention this possibility.

I will tell you: it is because I am trying to take seriously the call to conversion in this time.  I don't want to fall into criticizing our leaders in the Church or in our government, placing myself on the high pedestal of godhood in dictating what ought to happen in these present circumstances.  I don't want to fall into that trap even in the hidden corners of my heart.

Rather, I want this time of quarantine to bear the same fruit that grew from that of the Desert Fathers who chose isolation as a way to encounter God.  I want to see the harvest like unto that of those who seek a life of contemplation in the cloister.  I want my heart and mind to be converted.  In short, I seek and pray for that true metanoia that is to be transformed by Him who is leading us from glory to glory (see 2 Corinthians 3:18) that I may be purified of all attachment to sin or self-seeking, ready to see Him face to face.

I don't want to fall into desolation or despondency or frustration at being deprived of what I deem necessary.  I don't want to believe I am merely in a state of suspended animation, waiting for the virus to end.

Rather, I want to see these days in the desert as communion with the Father.  I want to see them as time to give Him my fiat as our Lady did when the Angel Gabriel appeared to her and told her that she would be the Mother of the Messiah and as Christ did in the Garden of Gethsemane when He asked that the cup of suffering should pass Him by:

"Nevertheless not what I will,
but what Thou wilt."

Luke 22:42

Pray for that for me.

I will pray the same for you.

Love Is Not Loved

I love joking with friends about how saints have a habit of stalking us.  When a certain saint takes an interest in me—take Saint Therese of Lisieux for instance—I will find her appearing through holy cards or quotations from her that particularly strike my heart or someone mentioning something about her that catches my attention.  Somehow or other she makes her presence known.

So too with other saints.

Not so with my dear patron, however: Blessed Jacopone da Todi whose feast is today.  Because he is not so well known it is difficult to run across him in as many places as one can find a more popular saint such as Saint Therese.

Recently my heart was a bit sad as I thought of that, wishing that he would reach out to me but thinking it would not happen.  I forgot about it, though, as happens with so many of the little things that pass through our minds and hearts.

Then I was reading the words of the day from the Spiritual Diary, a book that was my Nonna's, on the Solemnity of All Saints and in it were these words:

Blessed Jacapone could not bear to see people giving themselves over to sin, especially during the days of Mardi Gras, and he would repeat: "Love is not loved!  Love is not loved because He is not known."

That was a beautiful gift as I remembered my almost-prayer of wanting Jacopone to reach out to me, for I felt like he had.

It seemed like he reached out to me a second time when I was researching for my paper through my studies on how to help people be receptive to the gifts of the Holy Spirit.  It seemed the most unlikely of places, as I read a book by a Mexican archbishop, Luis Martinez, on the Holy Spirit—a beautiful book called The Sanctifier.  There again I found those same words of Jacopone's:

"Love is not loved!"

Those words of my dear patron bring my mind back to the Baltimore question and the answer to what is the purpose of our lives: "To know, love, and serve God is this life and to be happy with Him in the next."

It is such a simple statement and yet so profound.  But why is it that we do not love Him who is love itself?

I would echo Jacopone's words: I believe that we do not love Him because we do not know Him.

Wherever we find doubt or fear or worry or anxiety or discouragement or any of those negative emotions within us blocking our relationship with God, it arises out of some wound or lie about who He is.  We do not truly know Him as the all-provident Father who can do nothing that is not for our greatest good and who can allow even the evil perpetuated by our free will in order to bring it to a good end.

I wish I had the courage to run through the streets and shout as Jacopone did about Love not being loved because He is not known.  I wish I had the courage to stand out there and offer to pray over any who would heed that message and wanted to allow the healing power of Love to transform them.

Yet in my little way I shall make that cry to the hearts of my friends and to my own heart.  Even more, I shall beg Love Himself to make Himself more fully known that He may be more fully loved.

Especially shall I beg Him, Emmanuel, God-With-Us, to make Himself known once again in our coming celebration of Christmas.  I will go to kneel at His feet, to adore the little Child who is King of Kings and the Lord of the universe, and I shall there beseech His mercy that He who is God may look with favor upon me who am not.  There too I will pray for you that you may be free in knowing your littleness before Him and rest with reckless, childlike abandon in the Father's arms.

The Heart of a Child

One of the most beautiful things about children is how much they let you love them.  Love doesn't scare them away.

You can just stare at them and smile and they don't find it rude or uncomfortable.  They don't make excuses about being too busy or needing to do things.  They want you to play with them and spend time with them and aren't the least bit shy about inviting you to do so in whatever way they want it, whether throwing a ball with them or climbing up you again and again to do flips in the air or asking to be carried on your shoulders.

They know how to receive.  It's a pity we all forget how as we get older.

It's so easy to start believing that you aren't worthy of love or that people are just pretending to like you because they are being charitable while secretly they're wishing you would just go away.  It's easy to get so focused on work and duty that there isn't really time for others.  It's easy to take to heart the idea that it is more blessed to give than to receive and so to build your life around giving to others so that you don't have to face your own internal need for them—your need to receive.

Perhaps that is why Christ told us to become like little children.  Perhaps that is why He wanted to come to earth as a little child Himself.

Today is Gaudete Sunday.  After hearing my pastor's homily speaking of how the Church commands us to rejoice this day, I found it a beautiful gift to see how my Father in heaven provided for such rejoicing as I played with many joy-filled children after Mass.  My reflection following that experience seems to me most suitable for preparing for the great feast of Christmas—the great celebration of Christ's birth—for I am pondering what it means to become like a little child and what it means to welcome the gift of the Christ-Child into my heart.

Gaudete!

When Everything Goes Wrong

The other day I finally listened to Bishop Robert Barron talking with Dr. Jordan Peterson on the latter's podcast.  There were several good things that struck me from it and I would certainly recommend listening to it (you can find the video here), but there is one thing in particular upon which I want to reflect at this moment: the idea of right praise.

Bishop Barron mentioned the liturgical nature of the writing of the creation account in the book of Genesis and the reason for its structure: "The end of a liturgical procession is the one who will lead the praise."  Of course it was man that was created last of all the animals.  Therefore, when God gives Adam and Eve dominion over all the creatures there is far more to it than most of us would think when we hear the word dominion.  The dominion indicated is a lordship over the animals, but in order to lead them to praise of the Creator.  "All of these things belong in a chorus of praise of the true God led by us," said Bishop Barron.  It is our duty to praise God.

When we fail in that duty, much as when the Israelites turned to idols, everything goes wrong.  They became enslaved and began to lose their battles and suffered plagues and droughts and so on.  It is little different for us.

Right praise is essential for our daily lives.  Christ taught us that in the prayer He gave us, praising our loving Father in heaven: "Hallowed be Thy name."

Our daily lives often teach us its necessity in other ways.  I have certainly found it so.

Praise began to become a necessary part of my daily life through indirect participation in the Charismatic Renewal.  Listening to praise and worship music taught me to raise my eyes above my own struggles to look toward God.  One of these songs in particular seized my heart in the midst of some personal darkness and confusion: the song Blessed Be Your Name, which beautifully proclaims a decision to praise God no matter whether things go well or ill from a human perspective and which references the book of Job.

I keep being reminded that the devil's tempting revolves around one primary tactic: to make us look at ourselves instead of at God.  Praise powerfully counters that temptation by turning our gaze away from ourselves and toward God.

When I become focused on my struggles, my failure to achieve anything worthwhile, my inability even to accomplish the little duties I see before me, and so on, it is easy to become discouraged.  It is easy to feel hopeless.  Yet such feelings merely reveal disorder in the hierarchy of my life.  I was created not to establish my own little safe world of accomplishments and perfect order, but to give God right praise.

If there are places in your life where you are struggling perhaps you might dare to ask yourself whether the cause is the same.  Are you looking at yourself or are you giving God right praise?

God's Providence allows all that is.  By His will, including His permissive will, He has brought everything to this moment exactly as it is.  Thus no matter how dark the moment it is part of His plan.  And we also are part of that plan.  We take our rightful role when we choose to fulfill our vocation of leading all creation in giving praise to God—Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

Are You Clinging to Your Teddy Bear?

Have you ever seen the above image or one like it?

It is quite a good illustration for how God works in our lives.  Although sometimes it seems like He is not quite so gentlemanly about asking us to give Him whatever teddy bear of comfort we are clinging to in our lives.  Sometimes He simply takes things away from us, leaving us in confusion and doubt.  Then we feel lost and abandoned.

He could of course show us the bigger teddy bear first to win our confidence.  Yet He rarely does.  In fact, He rarely even gives us the greater gift immediately after taking something from us.  Perhaps He gives it sooner if we surrender readily to Him whatever pleasure or security He is asking us to give Him.  Perhaps it is only because He is forced to take away the teddy bear that has become a danger to our spiritual health that He waits for us to turn to Him before He gives us the bigger one lest it should become an idol as well.

So many times I find myself wondering why He seems to deprive those dear to me (and myself as well) of things that seem necessary.  Surely if He truly wanted us to live life more abundantly He would provide us with the support and healing we need in order to be able to do so?

It is easy to allow the enemy to work here—so easy to believe the devil's dastardly lies that seem so much more consonant with the reality we experience and to believe them in such subtle ways that we scarcely even realize it.  We end up relying on our own strength.  We believe that God does not wish to answer our prayers and therefore we must accept His will—a truth certainly, but one that so easily becomes rather a lie lived in bitterness because it taints our view of the Father's love and goodness rather than uniting us with the passion of Christ.

"God alone suffices," said Saint Teresa of Avila.

Is that not the only answer to the taking of our teddy bears?

We think we need them.  We think we need to hold something to give us comfort and security and we can't bear the thought of facing Him with empty hands.

Yet His hands were empty as they hung on the cross for us, as He poured out His love for us, a love that would soon be transformed into glory in His resurrection.  He had no teddy bears.  Everything had been taken away from Him by the Father's will to which He surrendered absolutely.

God alone sufficed for Him as Man because He wanted us to know that it is true for us as well.  He really will give us everything we need.

Of course it may mean we need to change our hearts.  We may need to change our prayers.  We may need to quit telling God what He needs to do and asking Him what we need to do and how we can fix things and simply enter into His presence open to receive His love.  Why not come before Him with empty hands and empty hearts and say to Him: "Lord, here I am; I come to do Your will.  Heal me in whatever way you wish."

Fire

"Amen I say to you, unless you be converted, and become as little children...."
~Matthew 18:3

Oil light flickers red warning.
Pressing the gas, I lose power.
Smoke billows behind the car.

Seeking safety on the highway's side
Leaves a rainbow trail of oil.
Fire flickers under the hood.

Alone, I know I am not alone.
Calm, I call for help, which comes
In flashing lights.  Fatherly firemen
Clamber down across the ivy.

My heart beats like that of a child
Excited at the moment, unworried,
For the Father has all in His hand.

His Providence pours out in my Dad
Who comes to rescue me and wait
For a tow, while I, wrapped in love,
Go home, lips moving to our Lady.

Two Sparrows

Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? and not one of them shall fall on the ground without your Father.
(Matthew 10:29)

It is particular fitting today, on this great Solemnity of All the Saints to ponder the above quotation, which speaks powerfully of the Providence of God.  So many great saints share a radical belief in that Providence and stand as examples for us.

The past decade has made it clearer and clearer to my mind and heart that I am called to live in radical abandonment to His Providence and to share that with the world.  Yet so we all are.

Modern life makes it so easy to forget that.  Everything around us—and indeed our own internal sense of responsibility and rightness—compels us to take care of ourselves.  We become fixated on taking care of everything from our health to our homes and properties.  Even our ministries and spiritual lives suffer from this reliance on our own capacities, our own knowledge, and our own vision of how things should be.

Yet we are called to more.  We are called to be saints.

To be a saint means not to be a great model or even to have heroic virtue, although saints often fulfill these qualifications.  In reality, to be a saint means to be completely reliant on the Providence of God poured out through everything and to be faithful to Him as He is calling us to serve Him in each moment.

It is the simplest and most difficult reality there could be, but also the most freeing.  Recently, I had an experience by His grace that brightly illuminated the latter reality for me.

I was traveling from the Toronto airport headed home.  I tried to allow more time at the airport than I needed, but little delays along the way added up and when I faced the long lines and the realization that I actually had to go through American customs there, my heart quailed a little within me.  Someone near me began fretting about missing her flight; she was told it was her lucky day and let through.  I wondered if I should worry.

In that moment, my Lord made it clear to me: I could worry, but worrying would gain me nothing, whereas the worst thing that could happen would be that I would miss my flight—not what I wanted in the least, but in the grand scheme of things fairly insignificant.  So I chose to accept that.  I told Him that He was in charge and that I would rely on His Providence.

From that moment on I had peace within me.  Any time the doubts or worries resurfaced, I merely gave them to Him again.

Well, when I walked up to the gate, handed the attendant my ticket, and then started walking toward the jet bridge, I heard the announcement for the last call for the flight.  As always, His timing was perfect.

As if that were not enough, I had to fly through Denver where He again showed me His Providence.  During my layover, I was sitting near my gate when two house sparrows alighted on the ground in front me.  My immediate thought was a negative one about this invasive species that had overtaken the country in some ridiculously short time after they were introduced from England.  (My resentment of the species stemmed from my fighting them to allow native birds to nest.  The house sparrows can be quite cruel, kicking out other birds and destroying their eggs and so on.)

Across the way from me sat a pilot who commented upon the birds, as did a couple of women a few seats down.  I spoke up, sharing that these were indeed male and female house sparrows (though restraining my resentment of that fact).  He then said they had made him think about a Scripture verse about the sparrow—a gentle rebuke to my own internal response.

We got talking and he mentioned something about Providence that led me to share with him the title of my favorite spiritual book I happened to have sitting on my lap, Abandonment to Divine Providence.  My description of it as the most eastern book of western spirituality I had read caught the attention of the two women down the way and one of them wanted to take a picture of the cover so she would remember it.  So I found myself a missionary of God's Providence once more.

The pilot and I continued our conversation.  I asked him of his journey to faith and then I shared mine with him.

When he left to go fly his plane, he said I had made his day—that God had made his day.

The meeting had clearly been orchestrated by God, and not just by sending the sparrows to us: the pilot had just happened to sit there rather than by the gate he would be flying out of and I had taken this flight which had not been my preference.  If either of us had done what made sense for us, we would not have met.  Yet somehow, without our intending it, we had allowed God once more to show His presence by our doing what we would not necessarily have chosen.

Fear not therefore: better are you than many sparrows. 
(Matthew 10:31)

We can never rely too much upon God our most loving Father.  Those who seem to rely too much upon God by refusing to act indeed trust not in Him but merely in their idea of Him, for He demands we give Him all in every moment.

Be not afraid to trust Him too much.

After all, He has everything in His hands. There is nothing He cannot do. It is only we who place limits upon what He will do by our need to be in control, our need to do things ourselves, like little children. And surely He smiles upon us, even when we run away from His Providence, for He knows that we run right into His arms....

XIII. Jesus is Taken Down from the Cross

V. We adore Thee, O Christ, and we bless Thee.
R. Because by Thy holy Cross, Thou hast redeemed the world.


What a terrifying experience it must have been to have stood beneath the cross on Calvary as the Savior of the world died, the earth quaked, and the veil of the temple was torn in two.  Then to receive His body....

Our Lady must have thought of the first time she held her Son in her arms when she held His broken body.  Then she must have marveled at how God could rest in the fragile flesh of an infant.  Now she grieved at the tortured body of that Son who had borne incomprehensible sufferings by taking on the sins of the whole world.

Her own heart had been pierced by the sword of sorrow foretold by Simeon in the temple.  Thus her suffering too became a well of love united with that of her Son, earning her the title Co-Redemptrix.

Although her heart must have broken as she pressed the body of her Son to her heart, still in the depths of her heart she uttered still that simple word of love: "Fiat."  Whatever she willed, she knew that God's will must be done.  She knew that no matter how cruel it seemed, no matter how dark the path that she must tread forward, that the Father's Providence would bring good out of evil.

Now by her prayers she seeks to obtain for us that same grace.

O Mother of sorrow, for the love of this Son, accept me for thy servant, and pray to Him for me. And Thou, my Redeemer, since Thou hast died for me, permit me to love Thee; for I wish but Thee, and nothing more. I love Thee, my Jesus, and I repent of ever having offended Thee. Never permit me to offend Thee again. Grant that I may love Thee always; and then do with me what Thou wilt. (From the Stations of the Cross according to Saint Alphonsus Liguori.)

XII. Jesus Dies on the Cross

V. We adore Thee, O Christ, and we bless Thee.
R. Because by Thy holy Cross, Thou hast redeemed the world.

When Nietzsche wrote, "God is dead," doubtless he intended it to be a startling statement, but surely it is far more startling to say that "God has died."  Even more powerful is to say: "God has died the most excruciating death to show you how much He loves you and wants you to live with Him forever, freed from the pain and suffering you inflict upon yourself by your sins."

Death cleaves soul from body, but also destroys all earthly hopes for glory and power.  In the light of death none of these paltry things to which we cling so strongly mean more than the dust that covers the earth.

Our Beloved Savior knew better than we what truly matters.  He knew that in the end all that remains is love.

It was love that carried Him through the torturous journey that brought Him to the place of execution.  It was love that filled His heart with every breath He took—every painful breath to draw in voice to speak His last words of love upon His enemies and those close to Him alike.

O my dying Jesus, I kiss devoutly the Cross on which Thou didst die for love of me. I have merited by my sins to die a miserable death; but Thy death is my hope. Ah, by the merits of Thy death, give me grace to die, embracing Thy feet, and burning with love for Thee. I yield my soul into Thy hands. I love Thee with my whole heart; I repent of ever having offended Thee. Never permit me to offend Thee again. Grant that I may love Thee always; and then do with me what Thou wilt. (From the Stations of the Cross according to Saint Alphonsus Liguori.)

And every word He spoke while He hung upon that cross carries such a weight of love:

"Father, forgive them, for they know not what we do."  For we never know what we do: we never know how deeply we offend Him not just by our sinning, but by failing to turn to Him with the loving tenderness in each moment that He deserves for His goodness to us.

"Truly I say to you, today you shall be with Me in Paradise."  All it took to gain Saint Dismas this promise was one act of love.  How overwhelmingly our Lord responds to any act made for love of Him!

"Woman, behold your son.  Son, behold your mother."  He wanted even to share His Mother with us, to share her pure and loving heart with us, knowing that she would intercede for us with all the power of her being.

"My God, My God, why hast Thou abandoned Me?"  Crying out in union with our torment, He shows us that He too knows the depths of despair that sometimes threatens our hearts' peace.

"I thirst."   How greatly He thirsts for our love!

"It is finished."  When He had reached the end of His strength, He knew that His sacrifice was complete, ready as if a gift to be wrapped and handed to those He loves.

"Into Thy hands, I commend My spirit."  In the end He gave Himself back into the hands of His Father whose Providence had guided each moment of His earthly life and which directs also each moment of ours.

Three hours of agony it cost Him before He had expended all the strength of His mortal body in an outpouring of love.  Even then He had more to give: when the soldiers pierced His side, blood and water flowed forth like an ocean of mercy for the whole world, preparing the way for the most beautiful prayer given to Saint Faustina and known as the Divine Mercy chaplet and which begins thus:

You expired, Jesus, but the source of life gushed forth for souls, and the ocean of mercy opened up for the whole world. O Fount of Life, unfathomable Divine Mercy, envelop the whole world and empty Yourself out upon us.

VIII. Jesus Consoles the Women of Jerusalem

And there followed him a great multitude of people, and of women, who bewailed and lamented him. But Jesus turning to them, said: Daughters of Jerusalem, weep not over me; but weep for yourselves, and for your children. Luke 23:27-28

The title of this station has always struck me. Of course it is often rendered in another less confusing fashion, but it is the strangeness of this particular title that draws my attention, and therefore my reflection.  How is it that Jesus consoles the women by telling them to weep for themselves and their children?  For surely that would not be cause for consolation, but rather desolation.  How could He intend to console them by telling them to weep at all?

So often He overturns our expectations.  We want Him to tell us that everything will be okay and by okay we mean that we and our loved ones will not have to suffer.

Yet He does not tell us that.  Rather, He tells us to weep for ourselves and for our children—He tells us we may grieve for the sins that we commit and will commit, lament our failings, and even mourn our losses.

The women did not need to weep for Him.  He knew perfectly well why He suffered: to bring us salvation.  It is only we who do not know why we suffer that deserve such pity. We deserve those loving women's tears—and our own tears—because we have no concept of the numinous quality of suffering and cannot grasp its salvific effect.  Only He could truly understand such a mystery.  Only He could bear all our sins in the cross, carrying us to the Father and pouring out the last drop of His blood for us.

Let us take consolation in that love then.  For that is the only place where we can find true consolation, especially when the way before us seems dark and those about us struggle mightily with sufferings that seem beyond their strength to bear.

We may weep for them and for ourselves.  Yet let those tears not be in vain: let our weeping be united with His sacrifice that they may bear fruit in abundance.

My Jesus, laden with sorrows, I weep for the offences I have committed against Thee, because of the pains they have deserved, and still more because of the displeasure they have caused Thee, who hast loved me so much.  It is Thy love, more than the fear of hell, which causes me to weep for my sins.  My Jesus, I love Thee more than myself; I repent of having offended Thee.  Never permit me to offend Thee again.  Grant that I may love Thee always; and then do with me what Thou wilt. (From the Stations of the Cross according to Saint Alphonsus Liguori.)

I. Jesus is Condemned to Death

One of my earliest memories associated with church (aside from lying under the chairs to benefit from someone's ability to make origami water bombs and singing "I Sing a Song of the Saints of God" with the rhyming words such as "beast" and "priest" switched) is the praying of the Stations of the Cross and the singing of the Stabat Mater.  That memory became all the more precious to me once I discovered that Blessed Jacopone da Todi is credited with writing that beautiful Marian hymn.

The Stations of the Cross remains one of my favorite devotions.  What power there is in this meditation on the suffering that we wish to flee at all costs and that our Lord took on solely out of His great love for us.

Because of my attraction to this devotion, and impelled to take up some small Lenten practice here on the Interweb that the Holy Spirit may work through these petty words I scatter about now and again, it seems right to look at each of the stations throughout Lent.  So accompany me, if you will, on this journey with our Lord to find whatever insights He will give through these ponderings.

The First Station

Jesus is Condemned to Death

And [Pilate] entered into the hall again, and he said to Jesus: Whence art thou? But Jesus gave him no answer.  Pilate therefore saith to him: Speakest thou not to me? knowest thou not that I have power to crucify thee, and I have power to release thee?  Jesus answered: Thou shouldst not have any power against me, unless it were given thee from above. Therefore, he that hath delivered me to thee, hath the greater sin.
John 19:9-11


The power of Christ shines so brightly through its human shroud in His words answering Pilate.  There are thousands of responses He might have made to Pilate, but the fact that He chose these words must draw our attention to what He means.  One phrase in particular stands out in bold assertion:

Thou shouldst not have had any power against Me, unless it were given thee from above.

He might have said to Pilate: "I am not afraid of you because I know that My Father has given this power into your hands and it is My will to accomplish all that He desires of Me."  He might have said: "The Father's Providence has taken even your small part into account."  He might have said it hundreds of different ways.  The meaning remains the same: God, the Almighty Father, gives power to men that they may choose to do the most cruel and evil things because through the suffering that results He will work the greatest good any could ever imagine.

So it is in our lives.  Many things say to us in one way or another: "Look at the power I have over you.  Aren't you going to do something about it?"

Of course we do.  We complain.  We look for a way out.  We try to justify an easier path.

If only we could respond as boldly as our Lord: "No, you have no power over me except what has been given from above.  Therefore I will trust in the Father's Providence to arrange for good to come from all the suffering and evil in my life that I have no power over.  If I have not the power, He does."

Jesus, give us this grace, we beg You!

My adorable Jesus, it was not Pilate, no, it was my sins that condemned Thee to die. I beseech Thee, by the merits of this sorrowful journey, to assist my soul in its journey towards eternity. I love Thee, my beloved Jesus; I repent with my whole heart for having offended Thee. Never permit me to separate myself from Thee again. Grant that I may love Thee always; and then do with me what Thou wilt. (From the Stations of the Cross according to Saint Alphonsus Liguori.)