Inspired during my morning rosary -May 6, 2020

The sun is beaming. It’s a hot and arid day.  I’m walking up a dusty road to a simple house of mortar and stone. Mother Mary, you see me through your kitchen window– I’m pacing back and forth – hesitating to go in and see your son, Jesus.  You open your door and pull me into the doorway.  You give me a big hug and a gentle kiss on my forehead.  It is cool within the house and I feel refreshed. Without letting go of me, you walk me into your home and closer to Jesus.  Like a good mother who knows what’s best for me, you lightly nudge me towards Him, while assuring me that I will be “just fine”.  You start walking away back towards your kitchen – telling me to go on and speak with Jesus.  You whisper, “In the meantime, I’ll be right here preparing something special.”  I feel at ease as I begin to tell Jesus all the things in my heart.  My joys and sadness.  Some of the things I tell Him are difficult to say and I hesitate, but you catch my eye from where you stand in the kitchen.  “Go on, keep telling Him.  He loves you”, you say.  Jesus hears me out and I slowly rise – ready to leave.  Mother Mary reaches me before I make it out of the house, bringing me back into the warmth of her kitchen.  She has made a space for me, tea and freshly baked biscuits waiting on a table.  “Sweet daughter, sit.  I’m so glad you came in.”

there are not many choices

really there are only two to be exact

to suffer in union with Christ, or not

for to suffer not is not a choice

at least not while we are passing through

so, we lift up our tired eyes

we strain our necks elevating our chins

we become like David

we strum our harps

for kings are not the only ones who sing sad psalms

David is not the only musician of pain

for just this morning I saw several on their way to work

one drove a van, another a box truck, a third carried a broom

each had a song, each strummed along

each is of the house of David, each a spouse of Mary

which ones however, if any, offered up the pain

that I do not know

only our Father above knows who it is that unites his suffering to Christ’s

only the silent Christ in each one of us could make such a noble choice

—yet another man named Joseph, a son of David

(Howard Hain)

http://www.howardhain.com

Taddeo Gaddi, “Tree of Life, Last Supper and Four Miracle Scenes”, (c. 1360), Refectory, Santa Croce, Florence

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Go to the foot of the Cross, stay at the foot of the Cross, and the Precious Blood of Christ Crucified will drip straight down upon you.

It will mingle with the blood that drips from your open wounds.

This is the “bloodline” that breathes life into “dry bones” and brings forth the new family tree.

It is the Tree of Salvation—the tree watered by His mercy—the mercy he promised “to our fathers, to Abraham and his children for ever.”

———

Glory be to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit…

—Howard Hain