On Saturday mornings we go to the 7:00am Latin Mass. During the week I'm not able to get to Mass unless one is offered at night, which right now my parish is doing, 7:00pm Tuesdays and Thursdays during Lent. I've only been to one, after our shortened Knight of Columbus meeting. Right now, in this time of my life, if I have the choice, I do not attend a Norvus Ordo Mass. Believe me, not attending Mass is not easy for me, as it is not easy for any of you. But this night, that is not what I'm writing about. Whatever Mass we attend is our own business. In the end it is between us and God, and only he knows where we've been on our journey to Him. This morning, before Mass, during my Rosary, He made His presence very known to me, really for the first time during my Rosary. I would have to describe my spiritual life as quiet; mostly me speaking to Him, or to His Son, or to our Blessed Mother. More to Her, lately, as we finish our consecration. Me speaking, and they listening. But really, it is , the desert. And that's ok, I understand that, I really do. He gives me many insights, answers to questions I don't even ask. And yes, every once in awhile He does make His presence known in a big way, but very rarely. This morning, He came. As I began my Rosary in the early morning darkness of the Church it was as if He were next to me in the pew, saying the Rosary with me. St. Martha's has a Crucifixion scene set up near the communion rail, off to one side. Beautiful statues in bright colors, depicting the death of Our Lord. The soldiers, Mary Magdalen, weeping on the ground, Blessed Mary, supported by John, his head covered by his hooded cloak. Jesus, between the two thieves, His eyes aimed to heaven. But what struck me, what burned into my mind was the thoughts that had to be going through the minds of the people there that loved Jesus dearly, to see Him hanging from the cross after all that had happened to him since His arrest. The anguish, the confusion, the sorrow in their hearts. I knew as I said each Hail Mary that Jesus Himself, although scourged, beaten, crowned with thorns and hanging from a tree, He knew what was happening. It was all Him and the Father by then. But the pain felt by the one's who loved Him I felt, really, for the first time. The Father, for whatever reason, turned my stony heart to a loving heart. For the first time in my life I truly and honestly loved Our Lord Jesus Christ. How would you feel if that was your good friend hanging on that cross? Somebody you loved beyond all telling? And this happened to him? In an instant the door was opened just a crack, and He gave me a peek, and a peek was all I could handle. It was if a stopper had been pulled out. So many unspoken thoughts made sense. Unspoken and unwritable here. And then, not one revelation but another, as I knelt, beads in hand. A scene of our elderly, perhaps of some I know, but it didn't matter. The intense loneliness of some of those men and women, who had lived good productive lives, then retired. Perhaps they lost a spouse, and their children cooked for them then. Still love and family there. But later, as they get older, probably a nursing home. No more home cooked meals by a daughter or daughter in law. Unknown food cooked by unknown hands. That is were my vision started and ended, in a flash. Why I was given that, I don't know. Why did He show this to me now? I will pray about these two startling gifts that He gave me today, graces poured out by the Blessed Virgin Mary. I will pray about that unbelievably strong yearning of love that I felt this morning, and why do I have such a stony heart. I will pray to God to allow our Mother to tear me down to nothing, to the nothing that I really am, to strip me of every vicious excess. I will let the vision of the elderly linger with me, for that is what it should do, because for some reason, unknown to me, the two scenes He pointed out to me this morning, in the silence of His church, mean something more than what I can understand now. He may do something for nothing, but I don't think He ever does anything without a reason.
Oh Lord, hear my cry
deep in this desert.
You, who in so many words, said,
"Come, follow me," stretch out Your hand
to us who yearn for light.