PASSION SUNDAY
Readings: Is 50:4-7; Phil
2:6-11; Mk 14:1-15,47.
Lord,
I MARVEL at you. You are incomparable. In infancy you startled a king; in
boyhood you puzzled the learned doctors; in manhood you walked upon the waves
and hushed the sea to sleep; and finally you hung upon the cross and remove the
string of death. Great men have come and gone but you live on. Herod could not
kill you, Satan could not seduce you, death could not destroy you and the grave
could not hold you. You are incredible. You never wrote a book but more books
have been written on you than on anyone else. You never practiced medicine but
you have healed more broken hearts than any other physician. All this, by your death on the cross. Like the
flower that blooms and in blooming it dies, you died giving
life.
Lord,
I THANK You. I thank you for the poverty, the pains and the passion you
suffered for me. You slept in a manger that was not your own, you cruised on the
lake in a boat that was not your own and were buried in a tomb that was not your
own. You are the maker of the universe and yet you were made a curse on the
cross. Your holy fingers made the meadows, yet they grew the thorns that crowned
your head. You made the forests,
yet they gave the tree upon which you hung. You made the sky, but it darkened
over your head when you died. It was for love of me that you suffered all these.
I can see upon the cross inscribed in shining letters: “God is Love”. Yes, your
love is so great, so vast and so
mighty.
Lord,
I am SORRY. Evil men put you to death but that dark evil sleeps in me as
well. Like the crowd that was jubilant singing “Hosanna”, but soon turned into
an angry mob shouting “Crucify him”, I too have praised you with songs and
pained you with sins. I have often twisted you with the fickleness of my human
nature that cannot be consistent for two days in a row. It was the Judas in me
that betrayed my commitments to you. Like Pilate who blew hot and cold in the
same breath declaring you innocent but condemning you death, I too have been a
bundle of contradictions, believing one thing and practicing another. Like St.
Peter, I have been weak and cowardly. As he wept I want to weep: indeed, there
are many tears in my heart but they never reach my eyes. Lord, give me true
repentance. I cannot repent too soon because I do not know how soon it would be
too late. I know I am a sinner, but do not know how great; you alone know, for
you died for my sins.
Lord,
I PRAY. You have often pierced my mind with the arrows of your words; now
pierce my heart with the arrows of your love. Let my love for you be
selflessness: whenever I loved you right I was virtuous but whenever I loved you
wrong, I sinned. Mend me, a bruised reed, so that this poor reed is tuned for
you. Enter into my life more deeply; my life will be filled with meaning only
when you enter into it. Hold me fast as I journey in faith. As I can’t let go of
the rope while I climb a mountain, so I can’t let go of your hand as I climb the
everlasting hills. You did not come to explain away suffering or remove it but
you came to fill it with your presence. Be with me, therefore, when I suffer. I
have heard you whispering in my pleasures but even when you shout in my pains. I
have failed to hear you. Sharpen the ears of my heart so that I may hear you
saying, “I am with you”, and open the eyes of my soul, that I may see the Easter
morning that lies just beyond Calvary.
Readings: Is 50:4-7; Phil
2:6-11; Mk 14:1-15,47.
Lord,
I MARVEL at you. You are incomparable. In infancy you startled a king; in
boyhood you puzzled the learned doctors; in manhood you walked upon the waves
and hushed the sea to sleep; and finally you hung upon the cross and remove the
string of death. Great men have come and gone but you live on. Herod could not
kill you, Satan could not seduce you, death could not destroy you and the grave
could not hold you. You are incredible. You never wrote a book but more books
have been written on you than on anyone else. You never practiced medicine but
you have healed more broken hearts than any other physician. All this, by your death on the cross. Like the
flower that blooms and in blooming it dies, you died giving
life.
Lord,
I THANK You. I thank you for the poverty, the pains and the passion you
suffered for me. You slept in a manger that was not your own, you cruised on the
lake in a boat that was not your own and were buried in a tomb that was not your
own. You are the maker of the universe and yet you were made a curse on the
cross. Your holy fingers made the meadows, yet they grew the thorns that crowned
your head. You made the forests,
yet they gave the tree upon which you hung. You made the sky, but it darkened
over your head when you died. It was for love of me that you suffered all these.
I can see upon the cross inscribed in shining letters: “God is Love”. Yes, your
love is so great, so vast and so
mighty.
Lord,
I am SORRY. Evil men put you to death but that dark evil sleeps in me as
well. Like the crowd that was jubilant singing “Hosanna”, but soon turned into
an angry mob shouting “Crucify him”, I too have praised you with songs and
pained you with sins. I have often twisted you with the fickleness of my human
nature that cannot be consistent for two days in a row. It was the Judas in me
that betrayed my commitments to you. Like Pilate who blew hot and cold in the
same breath declaring you innocent but condemning you death, I too have been a
bundle of contradictions, believing one thing and practicing another. Like St.
Peter, I have been weak and cowardly. As he wept I want to weep: indeed, there
are many tears in my heart but they never reach my eyes. Lord, give me true
repentance. I cannot repent too soon because I do not know how soon it would be
too late. I know I am a sinner, but do not know how great; you alone know, for
you died for my sins.
Lord,
I PRAY. You have often pierced my mind with the arrows of your words; now
pierce my heart with the arrows of your love. Let my love for you be
selflessness: whenever I loved you right I was virtuous but whenever I loved you
wrong, I sinned. Mend me, a bruised reed, so that this poor reed is tuned for
you. Enter into my life more deeply; my life will be filled with meaning only
when you enter into it. Hold me fast as I journey in faith. As I can’t let go of
the rope while I climb a mountain, so I can’t let go of your hand as I climb the
everlasting hills. You did not come to explain away suffering or remove it but
you came to fill it with your presence. Be with me, therefore, when I suffer. I
have heard you whispering in my pleasures but even when you shout in my pains. I
have failed to hear you. Sharpen the ears of my heart so that I may hear you
saying, “I am with you”, and open the eyes of my soul, that I may see the Easter
morning that lies just beyond Calvary.
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