Monday, September 15, 2014

Is there one who would not weep?

Is there one who would not weep?...


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Today we celebrate in the Catholic Church the feast of Our Lady of Sorrows. 

 This moving video - displaying beautiful artwork, poetry, and vocals - is a tremendous meditation on the sorrows of the one person who most understood and felt Christ's pain on the Cross.  

I think if we knew sorrow like that we would die...  

Mary is called Queen of Martyrs because of the spiritual martyrdom she experienced when her heart was crucified with her Son's broken body. God in rent flesh (flesh given to Him by her very own flesh.)

"Bone of my bones, and flesh of my flesh!" was undoubtedly the litany of sorrow rushing forth in a river of tears from her pierced heart. (From Genesis 2:23. Note the complete reversal from the first creation to the new creation from the Cross. The first? Adam's joy and excitement at the Woman being taken from his own body. The new? The Woman's sorrow and desolation over the suffering of the New Adam who came forth from *her* body.)

"And your own heart a sword shall pierce.." ( Luke 2:35 Simeon's prophecy to Mary during Christ's presentation in the Temple as a helpless baby. At the crucifixion she still sees her helpless baby..)

How will your life console God?

Love.  Please.. please love!

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"Stabat Mater" (english translation from latin)

At the cross her station keeping, 
Stood the mournful Mother weeping,
Close to Jesus to the last.

Through her heart, His sorrow sharing, 
All His bitter anguish bearing, 
Now at length the sword had pass'd.

Oh, how sad and sore distress'd 
Was that Mother highly blest 
Of the sole-begotten One!

Christ above in torment hangs; 
She beneath beholds the pangs 
Of her dying glorious Son.

Is there one who would not weep, 
Whelm'd in miseries so deep
Christ's dear Mother to behold?

Can the human heart refrain 
From partaking in her pain, 
In that Mother's pain untold?

Bruis'd, derided, curs'd, defil'd, 
She beheld her tender child
All with bloody scourges rent.

For the sins of His own nation, 
Saw Him hang in desolation, 
Till His spirit forth He sent.

O thou Mother! fount of love! 
Touch my spirit from above; 
Make my heart with thine accord.

Make me feel as thou hast felt; 
Make my soul to glow and melt
With the love of Christ our Lord.

Holy Mother! pierce me through; 
In my heart each wound renew
Of my Saviour crucified.

Let me share with thee His pain, 
Who for all my sins was slain, 
Who for me in torments died.

Let me mingle tears with thee, 
Mourning Him who mourn'd for me, 
All the days that I may live.

By the cross with thee to stay, 
There with thee to weep and pray, 
Is all I ask of thee to give.

Virgin of all virgins best, 
Listen to my fond request
Let me share thy grief divine.

Let me, to my latest breath, 
In my body bear the death
Of that dying Son of thine.

Wounded with His every wound, 
Steep my soul till it hath swoon'd 
In His very blood away.

Be to me, O Virgin, nigh, 
Lest in flames I burn and die, 
In His awful Judgment day.

Christ, when Thou shalt call me hence, 
Be Thy Mother my defence, 
Be Thy cross my victory.

While my body here decays, 
May my soul Thy goodness praise, 
Safe in Paradise with Thee

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