The Looming Shadow of the Cross

I get it. I "get" that it's the Octave of Easter and we're all supposed to be joyful and happy and bubbling over with over-enthusiasm because Jesus Christ has RISEN! ALLELUIA!

Yes, I DO believe, and I KNOW, without a doubt, that God condescended to become one of us, suffered the ransom for our sin through punishment and a really torturous, horrible death, and was buried. I believe He descended into Hell to seek out our first parents, Adam and Eve, and all the others who had gone to Gehenna to await the Messaiah, and freed them.

Yes, I believe, but this year, I remain in the Passion. I celebrate liturgically, but personally, I'm not "feelin'" it and let me just say this:  this is exactly why our Faith is not about emotion.

One of the reasons I am Catholic is also because I do not have to "feel" the liturgical season and be smiley and happy just because, for the 2011th time we've celebrated the Resurrection of Christ.  I'm thrilled that others are happy and I am overjoyed interiorly about all the "HE IS RISEN!" accolades posted by my friends an acquaintances online.  One of the cool things about being Catholic is that we know the Cross is always with us and just because we celebrate something liturgically, it is not a requirement to experience it emotionally. Life happens and it is the Cross that makes it meaningful.  It is the Cross and Resurrection that define EVERYTHING.

So it is that we continue to suffer the Passion of the type God gives us even as we liturgically celebrate with the Christian world. We may be crushed by the weight of the Cross, but we always look to the Resurrection, for were it not for that, the weight upon us would be far too heavy to bear. And in that is a kind of joy that cannot be expressed through mere words or smiley-faces or platitudes.

Triduum

Holy Thursday was beautiful but busy, and I attended my own parish, wishing I could remain for Adoration at the Altar of Repose, but no, immediately after I had to leave due to family obligations.

It had been proposed several weeks ago that we take our mother to a Latin Good Friday Liturgy. On Friday morning, therefore, I loaded the car and went on a long drive to my brother's home in hopes of attending with them. Thankfully we'd done our research and knew the available Latin liturgies and how long it would take to arrive.

That's when the Cross came to us. 

When I arrived at my brother's home, he greeted me with grim news:  Mom was not doing well. He didn't know what was going on, exactly, but explained the previous evening she'd gone to the ER because she felt her throat closing up. She was apparently diagnosed with an allergy of some sort because they gave her Benadryl. Someone drove her home and my brother's fiance' was going to pick her up and drive her to her car, then on to my brother's house in time to leave for Good Friday services.

Well, he was concerned, because Mom was confused on the phone, expressed she couldn't walk, and said she was driving anyway.  I called her and she sounded fine, said she'd realized she hadn't eaten (she'd diabetic and cannot fast on our required days), so ate and was better. As she wasn't slurred, I hung up and didn't order her to pull over and wait for us as I'd originally intended to do.

She arrived some time later and clearly, was having trouble walking. My brother expressed that this was how she'd behaved just after her blood sugar crisis after her angiogram last summer - a crisis that had landed her in the hospital for 5 days.  She insisted she hadn't eaten so we gave her food and made the decision to take her to the Liturgy. It was unspoken that we'd divert or call for help if her condition deteriorated in any way.

Unfortunately, we are like shell-shocked children: we are so accustomed to crisis and weirdness as a baseline that we are completely unable to assess when our own mother should have proper medical care. When crisis is the standard, it takes a great deal to make the decision to involve the hospital...yet again.

As it turned out, we had to nearly carry Mom into the church, give her time to rest in a back pew, find a bathroom for her, walk her there, have her nearly fall in a psychological panic, watch her walk normally when it was convenient for her, deal with her nearly falling over when there were witnesses.  It wasn't a matter of just one thing, but a combination of medical and psychological. I refused to give in to "crisis mode" and became the firm caregiver. I'm sure I appeared quite heartless to people in that particular parish when my mother nearly fell and grabbed onto me. I held her up while stating over and over again, "You're fine."  without emotion and without coddling.

It's like raising an attention-seeking toddler: give in to emotion and turn the incident into a full-blown temper tantrum.

We sat near the front of the church so Mom could see (and so we'd have a quick escape need be), and close proximity to the altar rail as we'd be approaching it twice.

Mom seemed to follow along decently, mostly listened. I knew this was the first Latin liturgy she'd heard for over 50 years. For my brother and his girlfriend it was a first.  Unfortunately, the parish did not have decent guides (most people attending this liturgy were regulars and had Missals - I had forgotten and left mine home).  So it was that we followed what we could, I gave what little guidance I could, and, well, worried about Mom the entire time. I think my brother and I exchanged more glances in that 2 hour liturgy than we ever had at any other point in our entire lives.

When it was time for the Veneration of the Cross, we stood to go, and Mom moved as if to let me by.  I bent down to ask her if she wanted to venerate the Cross. She stared at me blankly. I had to repeat it a couple times while signaling my brother to wait. The line was already moving but that was fine...I was sure they would let us in but we didn't want anyone held up  by our slowness.

Finally she understood, nodded, and my brother and I lifted her and, flanking her, walked her out of the pew and into the aisle. The people were kind and allowed us to enter. We proceeded forward slowly, which was no problem in this particular veneration. The person in front of our trio venerated and moved aside. My brother and I glanced at the woman in the other line, waiting but she stood back, nodding at us to proceed.  We both nodded in thanks (I think?), and brought Mom forward to the Cross so that she could bend and kiss the feet of Christ. The altar servers actually assisted by lifting the Crucifix slightly for her.  Then my brother, then, although my mother tried to turn, by my brother's gentle prompting, she waited so that I could move forward.

I don't ever recall seeing so much detail in blood and nail on the feet of Jesus as I kissed Him.

What was happening was not lost on me.

As we turned and hobbled back at a snails' pace, people lining up behind us, Mom announced she had to go to the bathroom again, so we took her on the long trek in that direction.

I noticed she walked normally between the stall and the sink to wash her hands but the second that was over, she returned to her "helpless" state, obligating my brother and I, once she was in the hallway, to bear her up again and constantly direct her to stop looking at her feet, but rather, look ahead. Yet every time another person approached, she'd panic and we'd be holding her up as one would a person drowning in the ocean.

At one point, Mom's panic aside, I smiled at some children on their way also to the bathroom, stepping aside so that they could proceed, indicating they should go.  We were making a spectacle, holding up traffic everywhere, and not by necessity. Yet...all around us deferred to us, even though we were strangers among them.  It was no matter: we were Catholic and therefore, we were family.  

It was a repeat at Communion and the first time in 50 years Mom was able to kneel at the Communion rail to receive Our Lord. Because of her physical problems I advised her to stand but lean (and said she could lean on me as I knelt) since kneeling would be so hard for her. But no, she knelt and received. Our relatives came behind us not to receive as they could not, but to assist, and again, as we lifted her up and carried her back to her pew, the people of this very reverent, traditional parish waited and moved as they could to allow us to pass.

After it was over my brother got the car to pick her up and we took her home, ordering her to check her sugar, wondering if we should go to the ER or, by then, because she was improving, perhaps "wait and see".

Holy Saturday

Although we'd planned to attend the Vigil together, I went alone out of a personal obligation, and as Mom still had problems walking, she remained home. By the time I arrived back, Mom was in bed although she did join us around 1 am for some time, at which point we learned there was an "aftercare" document given to her by the ER. A document she hadn't shared with my brother and stated, last night, that she "couldn't understand no matter how many times she read it."

The document was clear:  first, she should not have driven at all to my brother's home. (We knew that and had told her to stay home as she was not well.)  All her symptoms required a return to the ER, but because we've gotten so used to both real and psychosomatic behavior as "normal" for her, we did not follow this.  Had we had that document in hand, we would not have attended Good Friday, but would have spent that time in the ER instead.

Last night, my brother and I both confronted Mom on her need to give us the documents from her ER and other doctor visits, and reiterated to each other that we HAVE to talk to her doctor and perhaps get her into an Assisted Living facility that has greater supervision than the minimal facility she is in now (which has only pull cords).

It was not an easy conversation and I left it to take my dog out, where I took the time to take a deep breath and say a quick prayer of apology and request for help.

Easter Sunday

He is Risen!

Yes, He is Risen Indeed, but Mom is nearing the end of her days.

This is the part where people feel the need to quote platitudes about hope and the Cross and the Resurrection and such. And this is exactly why such platitudes are so offensive.

In the midst of the Cross, there is no such thing as comfort. The road to Calvary must be walked, it is awful for all involved. This is where we find fortitude, perseverance, and hope - through experience, not through trite sayings.

The Cross does not disappear just because we liturgically celebrate the Resurrection. Easter in the world does not end temporal suffering. It all continues.

What I say it this:  it is the Cross that gives meaning to it all. It is not about emotion or candy or roasting lambs on a spit in the front yard with a red velvet lamb cake decorated with peeps for dessert.

It is ok to enter into suffering even in the most liturgically joyful Octave of our Calender. In fact, perhaps it is this suffering that reveals the Holiness the most, for it is for THIS that Christ suffered and died.  THIS suffering, RIGHT NOW.  For everyone, In all moments, the big and the little ones, ALL.

The Cross looms for all, for none of us will pass into Eternity without first passing through the Cross.

ECCE HOMO!

Last night was Holy Thursday, the beginning of our 3-Day Mass consisting of Holy Thursday (Maundy Thursday for some Christian religions who observe it liturgically), Good Friday - the commemoration of the Crucifixion and Death of Our Lord, Holy Saturday which recalls Jesus' descent into Hell to free the Holy Souls from Gehenna, and this culminates after darkfall with the Easter Vigil as we anticipate and celebrate the Resurrection of Christ. It ends finally with Easter Sunday, and each Mass, whether daybreak or later, includes different Biblical readings to set the tone according to historical reality.  It is the most unique Sunday and the most important...and it can't truly be experienced alone, for the Vigil and Easter Sunday are the climax of Holy Week and most especially, of the final 3 days.

It is usually my practice to remain for at least an hour at the Altar of Repose after the Holy Thursday liturgy, but last night I could not. I had to get home to prepare for the next few days, so after a brief visit to Jesus and apologies, I set for home.

Instead of my Adoration time, I watched "The Passion of the Christ", interrupted by laundry and other preparations.

Still, my time in waiting has been spent praying through the movie, bringing the historical and spiritual reality of the Sacred Triduum into my very home, into my very heart and soul, once again.

Although several things have stricken me (as they do every time), this year I have focused my prayer on the intent of Pilate and actions of Christ in response.  Specifically when Pilate brings Jesus before the crowd, after His scourging.

Who can not be moved by such a sight?

Jesus has been scourged and is brought before the people, bound, bloodied from the terrible scourging that hasn't left an inch of skin untouched, a cap (crown) of thorns driven not just into the skin, but through bone. And still he is covered in spit, his face is swollen to the degree of being misshapen, and a soiled cloak (soiled by only God knows what) has been placed over his shoulders mocking him as "King of the Jews".

Pilate, hoping for mercy, pulls Jesus to the forefront, proclaiming to the crowd, pleading, "BEHOLD the Man!" 

He weeps for Jesus, although does not show his "tears" to the people. He beholds Our Lord and sees what He has suffered, and hopes for mercy..but he does not pray, for Pilate is a pagan and does not believe in God, or the Son of God before him. But he does understand the belief of the people and pleads with them to respond with mercy to the plight of the suffering man before him.

Pilate does not understand what is about, but offers the last option: a revolutionary, a despicable murderer, the worst crime that could be committed in the taking of human life. He compares Bar-Abbas to Iesu, demanding the crowd to make a choice, an obvious one: Jesus, who hasn't fought back, who has suffered silently, or Bar-Abbas who...well...is as disgusting a person as he actually looks even without being completely beat up and bloodied.

Mark this, it is no mistake that the man whose name means "Son of the Father" was traded to freedom in order to condemn the man who is, truly, the Son of God.

And the crowd demands the blood of Jesus. Violently. 

Pilate didn't want Jesus to go to his suffering and death, but his sin was this:  allowing it. He feared so much for his own standing that he allowed an innocent man to die. Yet Jesus still freed him, for Jesus himself pointed out to Pilate that the sins of those who sent Him (Jesus) to Pilate were greater. He didn't let Pilate off the hook, but rather, pointed out the gravity of sin and the fact that actually, Pilate's sin was weakness (venial), whereas those who sent Our Lord to the Cross by accusation and advocation were guilty of a GREATER sin. Mortal sin, actually.

Look again, and look hard.

Pilate brought Jesus before the crowd, holding Him there,

BEHOLD THE MAN!

Behold Him indeed!  Behold Him, to takes away the sins of the world! Behold Jesus, who suffered this and more for YOUR sins!

Pilate SCREAMED these words, ECCE HOMO! for all to hear, for this was long before sound systems existed. He screamed with his voice, his entire being, to reach the crowd.

It wasn't screamed in gloating, but in desperate pleading. Final pleading.

"ECCE HOMO!"  He's had ENOUGH! 

But it WASN'T enough. By human terms it WAS enough, but by the screeching of the crowds, it wasn't anywhere near sufficient. They screamed all the more,

CRUCIFY HIM! CRUCIFY HIM! CRUCIFY HIM!

And they didn't know it, but even by their screeching for His demise, they were saved...if they chose to accept Him later.

Jesus didn't die "for all", as some would have by the human-created doctrine of comfort,  but rather "for many", for our own cooperation is a requirement of our salvation. The God who created us without our permission does not save us without it.

ECCE HOMO! BEHOLD THE MAN!

Triduum

Before the feast of the Passover Jesus knew that his hour had come; he had always loved those who were his own, and now he would show them the depth of his love. 

~ Liturgy of the Hours, Antiphon for Daytime prayer

.
I began Lent as Judas, and unfortunately, not much has changed in the last 40 days. The one less I take with me this year into the Sacred Triduum is the very acute, painful knowledge of my own abject wretchedness before God.

This evening, for the first time in many years, I didn't even want to go to the Holy Thursday liturgy, but of course I did go, because I can't imagine not doing so. It would just be...wrong. After all, what other thing could I possibly do that would be a better use of my time? What other thing do I possibly have to do at all?

Nothing.

After Mass I remained and went to the chapel to pray at the altar of repose for awhile, and was grateful to realize that, although I hadn't wanted to come, I didn't want to leave.

I'm grateful to have that sense of loss, of having to tear myself away from the Presence of My Lord, for tonight and tomorrow all the tabernacles in the world will stand empty, the light extinguished, door open. When we return tomorrow, we will be going to enter into Jesus' Passion and death, and lay Him in a tomb.

Perhaps, then, although I began Lent as Judas, I finish as Peter, for although I have fallen many times, I have continued to get up, and although I have denied Him, I have heard the cock crow and I have knelt at His feet, this very evening, and prayed never to betray Him again.

Yet...I know that I will, and that is why He went to the Cross.

Had Jesus not died for me, I would not be able to live for Him.

Thank you, Jesus.

O Felix Culpa! He is Risen!

Rejoice heavenly powers! Sing choirs of angels!

Exult, all creation around God's throne!

Jesus Christ, our King is risen!

Sound the trumpet of salvation!

Rejoice, O earth, in shining splendor,

radiant in the brightness of your King!

Christ has conquered! Glory fills you!

Darkness vanishes forever!

Rejoice, O Mother Church! Exult in glory!

The risen Savior shines upon you!

Let this place resound with joy,

echoing the mighty song of all God's people!

It is truly right

that with full hearts and minds and voices

we should praise the unseen God,

the all powerful Father,

and his only Son, our Lord Jesus Christ.

For Christ has ransomed us with his blood,

and paid for us the price of Adam's sin

to our eternal Father!

This is our Passover feast,

when Christ, the true Lamb, is slain,

whose blood consecrates the homes of all believers.

This is the night

when first you saved our fathers:

you freed the people of Israel from their slavery

and led them dry-shod through the sea.

This is the night

when the pillar of fire

destroyed the darkness of sin!

This is the night

when Christians everywhere,

washed clean of sin

and freed from all defilement,

are restored to grace

and grow together in holiness.

This is the night

when Jesus Christ broke the chains of death

and rose triumphant from the grave.

What good would life have been to us,

had Christ not come as our Redeemer?

Father, how wonderful your care for us!

How boundless your merciful love!

To ransom a slave you gave away your Son.

O happy fault, O necessary sin of Adam,

which gained for us so great a Redeemer!

Most blessed of all nights,

chosen by God to see Christ rising from the dead!

Of this night scripture says:

"The night will be clear as day:

it will become my light, my joy."

The power of this holy night

dispels all evil, washes guilt away,

restores lost innocence, brings mourners joy;

it casts out hatred, brings us peace,

and humbles earthly pride.

Night truly blessed

when heaven is wedded to earth

and man is reconciled with God!

Therefore, heavenly Father,

in the joy of this night

receive our evening sacrifice of praise,

your Church's solemn offering.

Accept this Easter candle,

a flame divided but undimmed,

a pillar of fire that glows to the honor of God.

Let it mingle with the lights of heaven

and continue bravely burning

to dispel the darkness of this night!

May the Morning Star which never sets

find this flame still burning:

Christ, that Morning Star,

who came back from the dead,

and shed his peaceful light on all mankind,

your Son who lives and reigns for ever and ever. Amen.

The Church in Hopeful Mourning

The Lord's descent into hell

"What is happening? Today there is a great silence over the earth, a great silence, and stillness, a great silence because the King sleeps; the earth was in terror and was still, because God slept in the flesh and raised up those who were sleeping from the ages. God has died in the flesh, and the underworld has trembled.

Truly he goes to seek out our first parents like a lost sheep; he wishes to visit those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death. He goes to free the prisoner Adam and his fellow-prisoner Eve from their pains, he who is God, and Adam's son.

The Lord goes in to them holding his victorious weapon, his cross. When Adam, the first created man, sees him, he strikes his breast in terror and calls out to all: 'My Lord be with you all.' And Christ in reply says to Adam: ‘And with your spirit.’ And grasping his hand he raises him up, saying: ‘Awake, O sleeper, and arise from the dead, and Christ shall give you light.

‘I am your God, who for your sake became your son, who for you and your descendants now speak and command with authority those in prison: Come forth, and those in darkness: Have light, and those who sleep: Rise.

‘I command you: Awake, sleeper, I have not made you to be held a prisoner in the underworld. Arise from the dead; I am the life of the dead. Arise, O man, work of my hands, arise, you who were fashioned in my image. Rise, let us go hence; for you in me and I in you, together we are one undivided person.

‘For you, I your God became your son; for you, I the Master took on your form; that of slave; for you, I who am above the heavens came on earth and under the earth; for you, man, I became as a man without help, free among the dead; for you, who left a garden, I was handed over to Jews from a garden and crucified in a garden.

‘Look at the spittle on my face, which I received because of you, in order to restore you to that first divine inbreathing at creation. See the blows on my cheeks, which I accepted in order to refashion your distorted form to my own image.

'See the scourging of my back, which I accepted in order to disperse the load of your sins which was laid upon your back. See my hands nailed to the tree for a good purpose, for you, who stretched out your hand to the tree for an evil one.

`I slept on the cross and a sword pierced my side, for you, who slept in paradise and brought forth Eve from your side. My side healed the pain of your side; my sleep will release you from your sleep in Hades; my sword has checked the sword which was turned against you.

‘But arise, let us go hence. The enemy brought you out of the land of paradise; I will reinstate you, no longer in paradise, but on the throne of heaven. I denied you the tree of life, which was a figure, but now I myself am united to you, I who am life. I posted the cherubim to guard you as they would slaves; now I make the cherubim worship you as they would God.

"The cherubim throne has been prepared, the bearers are ready and waiting, the bridal chamber is in order, the food is provided, the everlasting houses and rooms are in readiness; the treasures of good things have been opened; the kingdom of heaven has been prepared before the ages."

A reading from an ancient homily for Holy Saturday

ECCE HOMO!

The Reproaches of Good Friday:

My people, what have I done to you?

How have I offended you?

Answer me!

I led you out of Egypt,

from slavery to freedom,

but you led your Savior to the cross.

My people, what have I done to you?

How have I offended you? Answer me!

For forty years I led you

safely through the desert.

I fed you with manna from heaven,

and brought you to a land of plenty;

but you led your Savior to the cross.

Holy is God!

Holy and strong!

Holy immortal One, have mercy on us!

What more could I have done for you.

I planted you as my fairest vine,

but you yielded only bitterness:

when I was thirsty you gave me vinegar to drink,

and you pierced your Savior with a lance.

Holy is God!

Holy and strong!

Holy immortal One, have mercy on us!

For your sake I scourged your captors

and their firstborn sons,

but you brought your scourges down on me.

My people, what have I done to you?

How have I offended you? Answer me!

I led you from slavery to freedom

and drowned your captors in the sea,

but you handed me over to your high priests.

My people, what have I done to you?

How have I offended you? Answer me!

I opened the sea before you,

but you opened my side with a spear.

My people, what have I done to you?

How have I offended you? Answer me!

I led you on your way in a pillar of cloud,

but you led me to Pilate’s court.

My people, what have I done to you?

How have I offended you? Answer me!

I bore you up with manna in the desert,

but you struck me down and scourged me.

My people, what have I done to you?

How have I offended you? Answer me!

I gave you saving water from the rock,

but you gave me gall and vinegar to drink.

My people, what have I done to you?

How have I offended you? Answer me!

For you I struck down the kings of Canaan.

but you struck my head with a reed.

My people, what have I done to you?

How have I offended you? Answer me!

I gave you a royal scepter,

but you gave me a crown of thorns.

My people, what have I done to you?

How have I offended you? Answer me!

I raised you to the height of majesty,

but you have raised me high on a cross.

My people, what have I done to you?

How have I offended you? Answer me!

*

The Violent Bear it Away

And from the days of John the Baptist until now, the kingdom of heaven suffereth violence, and the violent bear it away. ~ Mt 11:12

This evening I went early to the Church to spend a final hour in Adoration. I  noticed Father come into the chapel, but initially did not pay attention as he was not vested. Suddenly I became aware that he was giving the customary benediction and others in the chapel had gone to their knees. I did as well, and watched as Our Lord was taken from the monstrance and the Blessed Sacrament reserved in the tabernacle were removed in solemn silence. The sacristan blew out the candles and left us staring into the open tomb of the empty tabernacle.

I pondered the violence of Holy Thursday, realizing how violent it was to my spirit to watch my Lord carried away at a time I did not expect. In past years there had been more time for Adoration...but not this year. Sadly, I moved into the Church to prepare for the first part of the three-day Mass that makes up the Sacred Triduum.

After Mass I returned to the chapel, to the Altar of Repose, planning to remain this year until the very end.

It is always with trepidation that I spend these last hours with Christ, going from the Last Supper and joining Him in His Agony in the Garden.  Tonight, I pondered the violence, the necessary violence, that makes up Lent and the Mystery of our Redemption. I meditated upon the necessary violence we must do to ourselves to overcome our own passions, to make our own sacrifices, in preparation to receive and understand the sacrifice of our Savior.

I meditated on the violence in this time of persecution, and the violence that begat it.

It is fitting, and it will always be fitting.

Tonight, as the Hour drew near, one could sense the tension in the chapel, as all who remained were aware of what was about to happen. Recalling the scene 2,000 years ago, I thought for a moment that I could nearly hear the sound of clashing armor, heavy footsteps, and hard voices. I could nearly see the torches that lit the way. And yet, there, in the chapel, the Garden, there was peace and silence in the presence of the Beloved. It grew to a point, though, that as much as I dreaded what was going to happen, I was ready, for I knew that if Our Lord was not taken away, our Redemption could not take place.

Even as Jesus surrendered to the chalice that His Father would not forbear to be passed from His lips, so I, too surrendered to the violence that must bear it all away.

Still, even prepared, as the Priest approached the Altar of Repose with great reverence, and removed Our Lord, even though liturgically there is no violence, yet somehow, violence was done to my soul as His Presence was taken from me. The candles were extinguished and the tabernacle stood open...empty.  I knelt were I was; I found that I could not rise. The violence of the Sacred Triduum has born me away, too, drawing me more deeply into the Mystery of our Redemption.

So it is that in stricken silence and anticipatory grief, I follow Jesus through this night of trial and persecution, through scourging and the crowning of thorns. I follow Him, because I cannot stay away. Even as I so often deny Him like Peter, I will continue to follow, for only He who is born away by the violence of the Cross is worthy to be followed, and worthy of the suffering caused even by the attempt.

As the violent bear away Christ our Savior, so, in suffering violence does He go to bear away our sin.

Tonight, they have taken Him away to be Crucified for our sins...

Last Temptation of the Mystical Body of Christ

In these final hours before we begin the Sacred Triduum, it is obvious to see the temptations being put to the Bride, the Mystical Body of Christ. As we get closer and closer to the Most Sacred of days, the voices become louder and angrier, more frenzied and it becomes hard and harder for us to remain calm in the face of this storm of rabid hostility.

This morning as I prayed the Divine Office, I went through the depths of the temptation to lash back at Pope Benedict XVI's (and therefore OUR) persecutors. I read these words with gritted teeth:

Psalm 52

Against a calumniator

Why do you boast of your wickedness

you champion of evil

planning ruin all day long,

your tongue like a sharpened razor,

you master of deceit?

You love evil more than good;

lies more than truth.

You love the destructive word,

you tongue of deceit.

For this God will destroy you

and remove you for ever.

He will snatch you from your tent and uproot you

from the land of the living.

The just shall see and fear.

They shall laugh and say: 

"So this is the man who refused to take God as his stronghold,

but trusted in the greatness of his wealth

and grew powerful by his crimes."

When I reached the end of that passage, I was ready to pray the imprecatory psalms - those psalms that are NOT in the psalter or used at Mass. I was ready to, in anger, call down fire and brimstone upon those who so hate us and so hate Christ.

Then I read on:

But I am like a growing olive tree

in the house of God.

I trust in the goodness of God

for ever and ever.

I will thank you for evermore;

for this is your doing.

I will proclaim that your name is good,

in the presence of your friends.

Psalm-prayer

Father, you cut down the unfruitful branch for burning and prune the fertile to make it bear more fruit. Make us grow like the laden olive trees in your domain, firmly rooted in the power and mercy of your Son, so that you may gather from us fruit worthy of eternal life.

Ant.  I have put all my trust in God's never-failing mercy.

Having finished that section, I was amazed at how quickly I had passed from near-rage into calm thoughtfulness, and even...trust. That's when it hit me.

We faithful Catholics are angry. We are angry about the abuse of children, yes, but also angry at the continuing abuse of these victims at the hands of money-grubbing, vile souls who are victimizing them again, all  for personal gain. We are angry at the bigoted media vipers and their henchmen who ignore the facts and instead perpetuate lies against the Holy Father.  Oh, yes, we are angry, and many bloggers, Catholic journalists, and Catholics on the street are fighting back.  Some honorably, and with use of intellect and  reason. Others, though, are lashing back with the same kind of anger and hatred as our attackers.

I realized in that moment, that this is the last temptation of the Bride. THIS is what is separating the proverbial goats from the sheep. THIS is a true test of the entire Mystical Body of Christ. Who will be ripped from the Head that is Christ, by their own choosing and behavior, and who will remain and follow the example of Jesus Himself?

Jesus was ridiculed, and false charges heaped upon him. He was beaten, he was scourged, even having been judged as innocent by the AUTHORITIES who had juris diction of this type of proceeding!  Jesus was dragged into dungeons and a crown of thorns placed on His head. He dragged His heavy cross up the hill and outside the gate to the Place of the Skull where he was nailed to that terrible tree in utter humiliation and made to face the whole world in His nakedness.

Innocent.

And He uttered not a word.

Jesus did not respond to His persecutors. He did not "correct" them. He did not come to His own defense, but took the assault as though what was happening to Him actually meant something else.

Oh, yes, it did. It meant eternal life for His Beloved.

When Jesus DID speak, He prayed for mercy for those who crucified Him.  He told the repentant thief who was crucified next to him that he would join Him in Paradise.  He PRAYED for MERCY for His Persecutors!

How we react in these terrible days, as faithful Catholics, will forever speak of us as a Church, as the Bride of Christ, as the Mystical Body.  How we respond, personally or professionally or both, will speak to the world of our Faith....or lack thereof.

Do we give into the temptation to lash out?  Or instead, do we turn into the Church Militant and do what we are called to do?

We are called to fall down on our knees and beg for mercy for the Holy Father's, and our persecutors!  THAT'S the battle! THAT'S the frontline! THAT is what will turn the tide and send the enemies scattering in terror!  BEG for mercy for them for indeed, they know NOT what they do! We want to pray for ourselves, that we will have the same zeal for the salvation of souls as did Christ himself!

Do not fall into the temptations that come from the Prince of this world, but rather, look to the Cross of Our Lord and the Salvation that is found in Christ alone. Look to His vicar, Pope Benedict XVI who guides us by his own example, which clearly is patterned after Christ.

Do you want to know why so many are attacking so strongly? Because they can see the image of Jesus in Pope Benedict XVI's actions, and it sends the demons that possess this world into a frenzy of hatred and terror.

So be it.

We must be as gentle as lambs but more cunning than the wolves that seek to destroy us. Our weapon:  prayer for those who persecute us. Love in the face of hatred. Life in the face that calls for death. NOTHING can withstand that kind of power.

Embrace the Passion of Christ

This Lent has been a hard one for the Church as a whole, but it has hit Europe especially. They are facing the purging now that began in America in 2002, but it seems the media and the world in general has become even more vicious and visceral in their reactions. A light is being shown on the sins of the Church, and even as we all collectively shudder, we, the disfigured Bride of Christ, must recognize that even the innocent must be scourged along with the guilty.

We live in a world today that hates us as Christians, but most especially as Catholics. It is launching a vile and backhanded assault against "the Vatican" and against our Holy Father, Pope Benedict XVI. In so doing, they are assaulting us all for we as Catholics are in solidarity with all who suffer injustice.  In our innocence, we partake in the sufferings of those who were abused. In our own guilt, we partake in the divine justice that is owed to the men (and women) in the Church who have abused others.  In the mystical reality of our identity as the Bride of Christ, the Mystical Body with Christ as our head, we must enter into and suffer His own Passion. We are one with Christ, and cannot be separated from Him.

I have heard and seen others, in America and abroad, who have expressed that they are "shaken" by these revelations of sin and debauchery in Ireland and Germany (especially given what has happened here). Sadly, I am not shaken at all. I am saddened. I am angry. I am beyond emotion. But I am not shocked, and I am not shaken.

We have to recall that God does not reveal sin without revealing His mercy. In this season of Lent, as we enter Holy week, it is fitting that the Church as a whole suffer to her very soul for the sins committed in her name, and perhaps with her seeming acquiescence.  It is fitting that such horrifying sin has been revealed, for now it can be purged. We enter Holy Week in humiliation, even we who are innocent. We hear once again the banshee cries directed toward all priests, most especially our Holy Father, screaming, "CRUCIFY HIM! CRUCIFY HIM!"  We shudder deep within ourselves, perhaps wanting to look away, but knowing we cannot.

We look into the eyes of the guilty and innocent alike and find ourselves reflected there, part and parcel of both the bad and the good of our human nature.

We walk the road to Calvary with our Savior, knowing why He became Incarnate and went to the Cross to save us from our sins. We offer ourselves in union with Him, to be ridiculed, to be scourged, and ultimately, to be crucified.  Unless we accompany Christ along the via dolorosa, we cannot rise with Him in the Resurrection, knowing the full revelation of His Mercy.

Mk 4:35-40 35 On that day, as evening drew on, he said to them, "Let us cross to the other side." 36 Leaving the crowd, they took him with them in the boat just as he was. And other boats were with him.37 A violent squall came up and waves were breaking over the boat, so that it was already filling up. 38 Jesus was in the stern, asleep on a cushion. They woke him and said to him, "Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?" 39 He woke up, rebuked the wind, and said to the sea, "Quiet! Be still!"  The wind ceased and there was great calm. 40 Then he asked them, "Why are you terrified? Do you not yet have faith?"

This parable has relevance to our time. If you recall from scriptures, Jesus was always getting into a boat with the disciples and going somewhere, so we recognize this image as a reflection of the Church buffeted about in the world.

We are now those disciples in the boat with Christ as the "violent squall" of an insanely violent media attacks relentlessly, as money-grubbing attorneys with no interest in anyone's soul, much less his own, seeks to bring down the Annointed of Christ himself, seeking hard to find guilt where there is only innocence. In response, we, the faithful, are filling the chapels and churches, we are praying in our homes and in all places, at all times. If we are "shaken" it means that we think Jesus is sleeping and cannot hear our cries. For some, the scandals may well rattle their faith, yet they are in good company, for did not the Apostles (but for John) flee also when confronted by the violence and accusations of the crowd? 

Sounds a lot like the Passion of Our Lord, doesn't it?

We should not be shaken in these times. We should recognize that Christ does not sleep among us, but has sent the Holy Spirit to guide the Church through every storm of every century, and will not fail us now. Christ himself has not abandoned us; He is with us and calls US to be even more united with Him in His suffering for the salvation of sinners. We must pray, we must do penance, and we must, in absolute faith, embrace the Passion of Christ and in so doing, come to understand the full revelation of His saving power through the exercise of Divine Justice, Divine Mercy, and Divine Love in the folly and the glory of the Cross.

In the Office of Readings last Saturday we read an exhortation from St. Gregory Nazianzen:   "We must sacrifice ourselves to God, each day and in everything we do, accepting all that happens to us for the sake of the Word, imitating his passion by our sufferings, and honoring his blood by shedding our own. We must be ready to be crucified."

Today, the antiphon of Morning Prayer reminds us:  "Jesus said: my heart is nearly broken with sorrow; stay here and keep watch with me." 

The Office of Readings today is from Hebrews 10:39 exhorting us: "We are not among those who draw back and perish, but among those who have faith and live."

Today, Monday of Holy Week, we are called to courage, called to "set our faces like flint" and remember that we, too, must be crucified with Christ. We are waiting and we are watching. We are called to have faith....and live.

Holy Week Begins

Today is the first day of the holiest week of the year, and already it's off to an interesting and brutal start.

Yesterday I was able to go to Confession, hopefully for the last time before Easter, and the priest said to me, "It's going to get even a little more intense this week."

Indeed. It already has, in ways I did not expect and ways that are not meant to be revealed.

Forgive me for my silence; it is the best I have to offer in the face of the great mystery of our salvation and redemption.

1. Let all mortal flesh keep silence,

and with fear and trembling stand;

ponder nothing earthly-minded,

for with blessing in his hand,

Christ our God to earth descendeth,

our full homage to demand.

2. King of kings, yet born of Mary,

as of old on earth he stood,

Lord of lords, in human vesture,

in the body and the blood;

he will give to all the faithful

his own self for heavenly food.

3. Rank on rank the host of heaven

spreads its vanguard on the way,

as the Light of light descendeth

from the realms of endless day,

that the powers of hell may vanish

as the darkness clears away.

4. At his feet the six-winged seraph,

cherubim, with sleepless eye,

veil their faces to the presence,

as with ceaseless voice they cry:

Alleluia, Alleluia,

Alleluia, Lord Most High!

The Lord is Risen, Alleluia!

Ant. 1 The splendor of Christ risen from the dead has shone on the people redeemed by his blood, alleluia.




Last night I attended the Easter Vigil with friends, and while waiting for them to pick me up, I stood outside in my driveway, enjoying the beautiful day.

I couldn't help but observe the activities of my neighbors, and those driving by with cars blaring and rattling with bass speakers probably bigger than the car itself. I couldn't help but notice all the activity going on...not ordered towards God.

I was struck by the fact so many families and individuals had entered into the Triduum, suffering liturgical death in union with the suffering and death of Christ, and were now preparing to welcome the Resurrection.

And yet, most of the world, it seems, is just going along as though nothing amazing was happening or has happened. It seems, in general, that most people never think about Jesus, or what He did. Most people, it seems, rarely utter a prayer, and if they use the most holy name of God, it is to shout it out in vain when something doesn't go their way.

So many families are quietly and simply living their faith, taking it as a matter of course that we will observe and celebrate these Holy Days with all our hearts. We may do our best to share this wondrous news with others, but it is becoming harder and harder in a world that wants to muzzle us so that we cannot share our joy in the Resurrection.

It made me think of what was happening in the world at the time of Christ. How He was arrested under cover of darkness, as though He had not taught in the Temple in broad daylight. How He was scourged like any other condemned criminal, and then paraded through the streets, carrying His cross. How He was taken outside the city walls and crucified, in the place of the skull, where criminals were decapitated.

And who, in the Roman world or beyond knew what was happening? Who knew what prophecies were being fulfilled? Who understood that the blood in their square and on their street was the blood of salvation, if they would choose to accept it?

Who saw our suffering Lord on the Cross and rushed into the shadow of His wings?

Only a few. Everyone else was either outright hostile or completely indifferent.

And yet...that reality of Christ's suffering, death, and resurrection changed everything. Everything.

It saddens me that so many will completely ignore this day, but the same hope in the Resurrection is the hope we should all grasp. Just as Mary Magdalene wanted to cling to Christ, so should we, and understand the hope He brings.

We have to remember that no matter how hard the world tries to silence the message, we cannot be silent in our love for Christ, and dedication to the Truth. He shed His blood for us...who are we to refuse to do the same?

Ant. 2 Our Redeemer has risen from the tomb; let us sing a hymn of praise to the Lord our God, alleluia.

Ant. 3 Alleluia, the Lord is risen as he promised, alleluia!

Acts 10:40-43

God raised up Jesus on the third day and granted that he be seen, not by all, but only by such witnesses as had been chosen beforehand by God - by us who ate and drank with him after he rose from the dead. He commissioned us to preach to the people and to bear witness that he is the one set apart by God as judge of the living and the dead. To him all the prophets testify, saying that everyone who believes in him has forgiveness of sins through his name.

Holy Saturday

It's such a strange day. I always wake up with a sense of emptiness, knowing that the tabernacles throughout the world are empty, as they have been for a day already. It is a sense of grief, a disquietude that enters into every moment.  

The candles are extinguished; at the church, in my home. I usually have a vigil candle or so lit somewhere, but not on these days, or during these nights. My black chapel veil is draped over my statue of the Blessed Mother, rendering her, at least for now, the Mother of Sorrows, reminding me to join my own grief with hers. 

This year, indeed, I have personal grief to share, for my beloved friend passed away on Good Friday, yesterday.  It is with this poignant experience of real grief that brings me to wait with Our Lady, to grieve with her, yet with a hope in the Resurrection, a knowledge that it is not yet over. 

Today, in the Liturgy of the Hours, we read of The Lord's descent into hell, where He has gone in search of our first parents and all of those who have suffered the penalty for sin. 

When the Lord finds Adam, he takes him by the hand, "...and raised him up, saying, 'Awake, O sleeper, and rise from the dead, and Christ will give you light.'"  

Indeed. This is what we await. We join with those who are asleep. We wait, silently grieving, for Our Lord, and tonight, He comes...tonight the stone is rolled away and with the coming of the Light we meet Our Lord as he arises from the dead, opening heaven so that we may, one day, join Him for eternity. 

But for today, we wait, knowing what is coming, awaiting the Light to lead the way...

*

Good Friday

(All text is from the Liturgy of the Hours for Good Friday)


The price of your redemption was not something of fleeting value like gold or silver, but the costly shedding of the blood of Christ, the lamb without blemish.


Ant.  It was about nine in the morning when they nailed Jesus to the cross.

Isaiah 53:2-3

He grew up like a sapling before him,

like a shoot from the parched earth;

There was in him no stately bearing to makeus look at him, 

nor appearance that would attract us to him.

He was spurned and avoided by men,

a man of suffering, accustomed to infirmity,

One of those from whom men hid their faces, 

spurned, and we held him in no esteem.

We worship you O Christ, and we praise you.

-- Because by your cross you have redeemed the world. 

Ant: From noon until three o'clock, there was darkness over the whole world

Isaiah 53:4-5

Yet it was our infirmities that he bore,

our sufferings that he endured,

While we thought of him as stricken

as one smitten by God and afflicted.

But he was pierced for our offenses,

crushed for our sins,

Upon him was the chastisement that makes us whole,

by his stripes we were healed.

Lord, remember me.

--When you come into your kingdom.

Ant: At three o'clock, Jesus cried out in a loud voice: My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?

Isaiah 53:6-7

We had all gone away like sheep,

each following his own way;

But the Lord laid upon him

the guilt of us all.

Though he was harshly treated, he submitted

and opened not his mouth;

Like a lamb led to the slaughter

or a sheep before the shearers,

he was silent and opened not his mouth.

He has plunged me into darkness.

--Like the dead, long forgotten.

We adore you O Christ and we praise you
Because by your Holy Cross you have redeemed the world.

Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.

Deathwatch

It seems I'm always at work when I get bad news.  In high school, I was at work when I learned of the death of a recent ex-boyfriend, with whom I'd spoken only a week before.

A few years ago, a friend called me at work to notify me of the death of another friend which had taken place on Holy Thursday.  She'd lost my new home number and left desperate messages for me at work. When I called her back, she told me how Amber had died in a wreck en route to work.  

When my Grandmother died, I was at work when my brother called me.  On that occasion I was the only person on my team in that day, we were buried in new claims, and I'd gone to the bathroom to try to get ahold of myself. I'd known my own would let me leave, but we had so much to do, I felt like I had to stay. Thank God two other managers in our office talked some sense into me as I was clearly in no position to do my job.  

Even the day my Dad died,  back when I was 20, I was at work and expecting a phone call at any moment.  No, I didn't get the news at work, for once, but he passed away while I was there, waiting. On deathwatch.  He was in another state and I had gone to work needing to keep busy while we awaited the news.  

So it came as no surprise to me today when Mom called me at work to deliver yet more bad news.  

After I hung up the phone, I sat at my desk tearfully, wondering if I could avoid the world for awhile. I grabbed my rosary to pray Divine Mercy for P., my friend.  Before I even got into the first decade, I heard someone come in and ask for me. My phone rang; the secretary telling me he was there. I'd forgotten about the parent who was coming in to pick up some paperwork, and quickly tried to pull myself together. Hoping it looked only like I had a cold or allergies. That's so much easier to explain.  

After he'd left, I told our secretary the news I'd gotten, managing to remain dry-eyed. She's not one who can easily deal with suffering, so I quickly took myself back to my office. As she left for the day she called out to me that it must be a lot like losing my Dad again. Because, she said, ever since her own mother had died, it was harder to lose certain female figures in her life, especially those who had had a particularly "motherly" role. 

I was so glad, in that moment, that she couldn't see the effect her words had on me. In a sense, she's right.  Although my Dad also helped me learn to drive, P. was more available and was the first to step in at my Mom's request.  He was also the one who taught me to shoot, and in so many ways was a father-figure to me, even though I didn't really make that connection until this afternoon.  

And now...we're losing him.  And, just like my Dad, I haven't seen this dear friend in a few years, either. The last time I saw P.  was at the funeral of a relative a couple years ago. While there, his wife had said to me, "You've always been so special to him."  

I'll never forget those words, and how guilty I feel, having lost touch for so long.  

He's always been special to me, too.  And I'm so sorry I won't ever get a chance to say that to him. I can only hope he knows that.  My life is better because of his involvement in it, because of the support he gave my family during some very difficult years, and because of the personal interest he took in me and my life. I know that some of what I accomplished was directly related to his own intervention.  

So, I guess, in a sense, as I listen to the ticking of the clock tonight,  I'm waiting and watching for the death of another type of father in my life.  

Agony

Maybe it's appropriate, this week, to experience this deathwatch.  

As Christ prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane, what did His followers do but sleep, when they should have been praying?

Jesus knew His time was near, and even James and John, His closest cohorts, could not stay awake to watch.  But they were present.  

They didn't realize they were supposed to be waiting.  

But Christ did. He knew. He waited.  He watched, and He as the first to see the flames of the torches coming. 

Not much is said of the theological implications of waiting, but it's there. Christ Himself experienced it.  When we know something is coming, when the Hour has come, we go, defeated, and if that Hour is delayed for any reason, it only prolongs our agony as we have worked so hard to prepare ourselves for what is to happen. 

Something happens to us when we know a battle is done. We want it only to be over. And in between that realization and the final event, we die a thousand deaths. We are resigned to what is to occur. It is not that we devalue ourselves or those we are losing; rather, it is that sense of complete surrender, self-abandonment to God's will. Knowing He is in charge, knowing that once the final event happens, then we can move on, but until then, we suffer for and with the victim.

Agony, you see, is never personal; it belongs to all.  

This is what allows us to enter into Christ's own Agony; He does not keep it for Himself, but is willing to share if we but ask to join Him. This is His consolation in the Garden.  This is what the Angel represented: those who were willing to approach the Beloved Lamb of God, realizing that His suffering was necessary, redemptive, and not to be borne alone even though we ARE the cause of it.  

So tonight, and as long as necessary, I guess all of us who await the death of a loved one enter into the shadows of this haunting garden, and together, we hold the hands of Our Lord who has been here waiting for us.  

Can you hear the clock ticking?  Can you hear the soft sound of your own heartbeat in the silence, counting the moments of life? 

The Hour draws near. 

Holy Water Fonts

This morning when I arrived for Mass, I was disappointed to see that the large font had been drained of water, and hoped Father hadn't been talked into some ridiculous practice. I was happy to note that the smaller fonts, as in the one near the chapel, was still full of water.

My own parish, happily, doesn't engage with stupid non-liturgical anti-GIRM practices of adding sand to the holy water fonts during Lent, although I do recall that during the Triduum they EMPTY them and take the opportunity to clean them thoroughly before refilling them for Easter.

Much to my amusement, during Mass, Father addressed the question of the empty font, brought to him by a child en route to the church this morning.

The student had asked him, "Why is the holy water font empty? What is the significance of that?"

Father explained, "Actually, the significance is very simple: the pump is broken and we have to replace it today!"

Whew! I love the wisdom of humor of our Pastor!

Preparing the Victim

From The Fathers of the Church, St. Jerome's Commentary on Matthew:

"Mt 26:3-4 :   Then the chief priests and elders of the peopple were gathered in the palace of the high priest, who was called Caiaphas. And they took counsel that they might seize Jesus by means of deceit and kill him. 

With the Passover near, those who should have been preparing victims, making smooth the walls of the Temple, sweeping the pavement, cleansing the vessels, and purifying themselves in accordance with the rite of the Law, that they might become worthy to eat the lamb, are gathered together and enter into counsel to determine how to kill the Lord."

Now that it is Holy Week, if we have not been to Confession, this is the time of year which obligates us to go in order that we may meet the other obligation; to receive Holy Communion once during the Easter Season.  It is a time of preparation, it is a time of cleansing, a time of serious self-examination. 

None of us are worthy to partake in the Sacrifice of the Divine Victim, but He offers Himself and He invites us to enter into His Passion. 

But we have a choice;  we can either be like the chief priests and elders who plotted evil, or we can choose to leave the  obscurity of deceit and speak out loud those things that have kept us in the darkness of sin. 

For only if we are cleansed through the Sacrament of Confession can we truly enter into the Passion and receive the Body, Blood, Soul and Divinity of the Lamb of God. 

Entering Into the Passion of Christ

From today's Office of Readings:

I will say more: we must sacrifice ourselves to God, each day and in everything we do, accepting all that happens to us for the sake of the Word, imitating his passion by our sufferings, and honoring his blood by shedding our own. We must be ready to be crucified. 

~ from a homily by St. Gregory Nazianzen, bishop

Holy Thursday

Stay with me
Remain with me
Watch, and pray....


Tonight, the Blessed Sacrament has been carried to the Altar of Repose, and all the tabernacles in the world stand open and empty. We are invited to remain with Jesus, praying with Him until Midnight, offering Him consolation in His sorrow for our betrayal.

It is this very night that we commemorate the beginning of His Passion; the Hour is at hand. It is this night that Jesus' agony was so intense that his sweat was as blood, and He prayed from the depths of this terrible suffering.

"My Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me. Yet not as I will, but as you will."

Jesus was perfectly resigned to the will of the Father; and just as the Fall took place in a garden, so our Redemption begins in the same way. And Jesus invites us into His Passion, to stay with Him, to pray with Him, to watch, and wait...for His hour is at hand.

Monday of Holy Week

John 12:3
Mary took a liter of costly perfumed oil made from genuine aromatic nard and anointed the feet of Jesus and dried them with her hair; the house was filled with the fragrance of the oil.

Luke 7:37-49
Now there was a sinful woman in the city who learned that he was at table in the house of the Pharisee. Bringing an alabaster flask of ointment,
38 she stood behind him at his feet weeping and began to bathe his feet with her tears. Then she wiped them with her hair, kissed them, and anointed them with the ointment.
39 When the Pharisee who had invited him saw this he said to himself, "If this man were a prophet, he would know who and what sort of woman this is who is touching him, that she is a sinner."

I think I understand why this woman did this; I think that I have been given a new "vision" into this Biblical scene. I have always come away from this reading considering the grateful heart of the woman who wept at Jesus' feet. And I have always sensed His compassion, imagining that, as she wiped His feet, he spoke softly, so as not to alarm her, even as He rebuked her detractors. Had Jesus spoken a sharp word, even though it was not directed towards this sorrowful woman, she would have drawn away, terrified, for she knew who and what she was, and she knew who Jesus was.

It was her faith that drew her to Christ; it was His Mercy, it was His Divine Charity that alighted the fire in her own heart. So she wept, allowing her tears to wash over the feet that would soon be pierced, torn, supporting the weight of Christ as he struggled to breathe upon the cross. Her tears contained sorrow for herself and others; they contained the joy of hope, the gratitude of her spirit. And wrapped up in all of that, the fear of forgetting, of falling away and returning to the darkness of the past.

If she could reach out to Jesus, she could realize, once again, the reality of what He had done for her; if she could only touch him, she would be strengthened in her resolve to resist temptation. If she could sacrifice for him, she knew she could express her love through the purity of her intent. She could be made whole...through Jesus.

She wanted to console, to comfort, to show mercy to the one who had been so merciful to her. She did not speak; she wept, and her tears were a deeper prayer than that which could ever be composed by mere words.

On Sunday, an image came to mind, one I've been pondering and will continue to ponder throughout this week and beyond. I will not share this image because it is far too personal. I mention it because the image, while it did not resemble today's Gospel, it has given me a glimpse into what was happening, and it has caused me to be able to see a little more than I ever have before.

This is the holiest week of our year. We are invited to approach the cross; we are invited to deeply consider the suffering and death of Christ, and we are welcome to unite ourselves to His suffering, to engage, to become a part of it. And I have begun this week by seeing the blood on my very hands. The woman in the Gospel washed Jesus' feet with her tears...I can do the same, but I can't wash the blood away. The woman in the Gospel annointed the head of Christ with an expensive, fragrant oil. All I can offer Him is His own blood. I am so impoverished that I can offer nothing other than His own sacrifice of atonement.

I tried to bring the image in my mind to life; I tried to sketch it out, but I do not have the ability. When I close my eyes, I can see every line, I can see textures, I can see colors, I can see emotion. But when I put my pencil to paper, it all disappears.

I used to be an artist of sorts; a few of the drawings that I've done have made their appearances here. But I can no longer create such things.

Many years ago, I remember sitting at my desk at work, during Lent, I think. I remember looking at a crucifix, maybe a necklace. I remember the image that came to mind, and I HAD to create the image. I used my own hand as a model...drawing my left hand...with my right hand. I was reaching for Jesus Crucified, reaching out of the flames. I even find it significant that the picture reveals my weaker hand as being the one to rise first toward Christ.

It took a few years, but I think I have discerned the meaning of that image, and sketching it was a doorway that lead into further contemplation. The sketch itself was a prayer, although I didn't realize it at the time. I was begging for mercy. I was deserving of condemnation...but reaching towards our Savior.

This week, we should all take stock of our lives, and reach upward from the flames that consume us, lest they become the true flames of Hell that will seperate us from our Lord for eternity. Jesus was not crucified so that we might live in comfort; he suffered so that we would be free. That requires us to make a choice.

Even our tears are not enough to quench the eternal fires that seek to consume us; so we reach to Christ, who, in His mercy and compassion, will respond to our contrite hearts and lift us into His enternal embrace. God never spurned a contrite heart...ever. And when others refused to forgive, Jesus provided the example. Even if all we have to offer is His own blood, Jesus will recognize our true poverty and He will pull us from the flames.