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As the winter trees bare their limbs
to receive the blanket of pure white snow,
So my cold winter soul bares itself
before the Lord God
to receive the warm covering of
His Pure and Holy Presence.
"I say to myself, I will not mention His name, I will speak in His name no more. But then, it becomes like a fire burning in my heart, imprisoned in my bones, I grow weary holding it in, I cannot endure it." Jeremiah 20:7-10
Mary complains that she doesn’t have any friends and nobody will play with her at recess. Some of the third grade girls tease in a sneering tone: “Why do you go to Mass, Mary?” Mary tries to sneer back: “Because I’m Cath-o-lic!” Walking away, all alone, she shakes her head and wonders why her classmates at a Catholic School would even ask her that question.
Thirteen-year-old Joe stretches out on his parents bed as mom sorts through mail at the end of the day. “I hate to tell you this Mom, but it happened again today. Please don’t feel bad, but almost every day, someone teases me because I go to daily Mass. If I don’t behave perfectly, if I say something mean, or get in trouble with the teacher, it always comes out… “Nice Christian witness, Joe! Is that what you learn at daily Mass? What would your holy Mom say? And by the way, did she used to be a nun?” Joe grimaces at the snide remarks and holds his temper in check until I come home and he tries to release it without hurting his sensitive mother.
Wondering if Jack was getting the same treatment, I questioned my quiet son. Unsure of the details, all he remembers is a question from his teacher at the beginning of the year… “Do you really go to Mass every day Jack? Who else is there, any other students?” Jack replied in the negative, “The only other people there all have grey hair.”
Gentle Jesus,
We love You and try to serve You in all we say and do. Our time with You each day at Mass is a treasure beyond cost, even the cost of painful remarks. Let the power of our daily reception of Your precious Body and Blood soothe the hurts of these humble believers who choose to begin our days in Your Holy Presence. Amen.
I’m afraid that I will never know what it is like
to be whole and peaceful this side of heaven.
Whenever fresh pain enters my heart,
the remnant of a voice from the past comes back to haunt me,
“It’s your Good Friday, Anne, get on the cross."
I cry softly in the early morning hours of darkness,
desperately hoping God will hear me,
and release me from this pain,
but silence is the only reply.
Lonely, empty, long-lasting silence.
And when the help does finally come,
in the form of friends and family who really do care,
and put their arms around me and tell me that they love me,
I find that their love hurts, too.
I don’t believe that I deserve it.
Unworthiness and low self-esteem are my constant companions.
With a sigh, I ask God,
“This too, Lord? Do you want me to accept this pain too?
Do you want to take all of what I am, all of what I am not and all that I will never be?”
I’ve tasted resurrection; I’ve had joy after the sorrow of the past.
Now, I am here on the other side of that hill again,
standing before the cross that is waiting for me once more.
It beckons to me with the knowledge
that Jesus died because He loves me
and if I truly love Him in return,
I must also die to myself.
Like a child, I greedily beg to hold on to the joy for a little while longer.
I bite my lip to hold back the tears.
The blood dries hard on my lip like the happiness that is shriveling in my heart.
Lip biting is useless; the tears come anyway.
Never-ending tears.
I walk the familiar pavement that leads to my cross,
face to the ground hoping my tears will go unnoticed.
Cold November wind stings my damp face.
I hear the Spirit’s reply;
"This too, Anne. I want all of you.”
I bravely surrender my desires and reach out for my cross.
“This too, Lord. I give you my all.”
"Mary recaptures woman's vocation from the beginning namely, to be to humanity the bearer of the Divine. Every mother is this when she gives birth to a child, for the soul of every child is infused by God. She thus becomes a co-worker with Divinity; She bears what God alone can give. As the priest in the order of Redemption, at the moment of Consecration, brings the crucified Savior to the altar, so the mother in the order of creation brings the spirit which issues from the Hand of God to the cradle of the earth. With such thoughts in mind, Leon Bloy once said: "The more a woman is holy, the more she becomes a woman."
"The World's First Love"
You are all beautiful, Mary,
and the original stain [of sin] is not in you.
Your clothing is white as snow, and your face is like the sun.
You are all beautiful, Mary,
and the original stain [of sin] is not in you.
You are the glory of Jerusalem, you are the joy of Israel, you give honour to our people.
You are all beautiful, Mary.