I Will Stay with You, Lord

For Good Friday, I was lucky enough to find a parish that offered Confession for two hours before noon. 

The church was barren, save for an empty wooden cross crowned with a ring of thorns.  I wanted to kiss the cross as I waited for confession, but it was in the sanctuary so I could not. 

This church had also removed all the kneelers which I thought was interesting.  I didn't mind kneeling on the floor and thought it was a good idea that we could now offer up this slight mortification in union with Christ. 

All the fonts were either empty of draped in purple.  It almost felt wrong that the sunlight poured in through the gorgeous stained glass windows.  Did nature somehow forget that Jesus was suffering death?  Did the sun forget that we were to remember His Passion today?

No - nature didn't forget.  That same sun shone down upon Christ as He followed the Via Dolorosa.  That burning sun tried so hard to light His way... to warm His Body that must've been shivering dreadfully for lack of Blood.  It poured its rays of warmth over Our Lady to offer her even the simplest of condolences.  It offered itself to the people - the same people who angrily kicked, spit upon and mocked the Savior.  If the sun could think, would it have let loose torrential solar flares in an effort to enlighten these ignorant people that they were cruelly murdering the innocent and mighty Hand of Creation?  Would it have spun faster to strengthen its gravitational pull in order to pull its God closer to itself in a protective embrace?

That sun - our sun - was the same sun that shone down on Christ's hanging Body upon the Cross.  It didn't forget... maybe it just knows better than we do the power of Christ's resurrection and wants to remind us that though our hearts are black with grief, His Light will prevail and will work Itself into even the darkest of tombs. 

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Then I began thinking about Our Lady and the grief she must've carried along that same trail of tears.  To stand at the foot of His Cross and to fully understand that this was the Sacrifice she was born to offer in union with Her Son... incredible.  The same Baby she cradled in her arms and nursed at her breast... the same Child who picked her wild flowers and proudly crafted His first wood project into a gift for her... the same Man who she watched heal, love and unite - now she watched His final, passionate act of Love during His earthly Life.

I cannot even imagine that pain.  When I think of the Blessed Mother and the other women who were forced to watch their children be sacrificed (for early martyrs, this was common- to endure witnessing the torture and death of your children before being killed yourself) my heart nearly stops.  My breath always catches because as a mother, I cannot help but put Vincent's face on each of those children.  I cannot help but imagine my own indescribable terror, pain and fury as I was shackled to a wall to endure Vincent's agonizing torture, unable to help, comfort or avenge him.  Would I be able to offer our suffering up to God as Mary did?

And I do think of this often.  I can't help myself, especially with the increasing amounts of political pressure being built up against the Catholics not only in this country, but all around the world. 

It's no secret that Christianity is the most persecuted faith in the world (actually, it might be in the US where many assume it's Islam).  Also, since I subscribe to VOM's monthly newsletter, the reality of this problem is often in my thoughts.

My husband has often questioned why I continue reading these things as they tend to make me upset.  I respond that my ignorance doesn't help, and at the very least, these folks deserve to have people aware of their plight... even if the only thing we can do is offer prayers for them.  I'm not willing to ignore the suffering of others in order to spare myself a few sleepless nights.  It doesn't seem right. 

I won't lie - there have been times where I've wanted to put down books or newsletters.  I've wanted to ignore particular headlines because of the emotional stress I'd end up with, but I typically end up reading on.  I have to.  How would I feel if someone ignored me?  How would I feel if someone had the ability to help me and shut the door because it was just "too painful" to even acknowledge my pain's existence?

It's why I forced myself to endure learning about the different methods of abortion.  For weeks I'd burst into tears, dropping to my knees to beg God to force us to stop these heinous murders.  I didn't care if that meant the world would end, I just wanted the suffering of these innocent children to stop.  This was actually during a period that John tried "forbidding" me from accessing the internet.  Heh - he knew he couldn't really forbid me, and I doubt he wanted to, but he was so upset for me that he didn't know what else to do.  He didn't understand why I kept trying to learn more about abortions.  He said, "You know they happen, and you learning about how they happen isn't going to make abortions happen less."

I said, "You're right.  My understanding won't stop abortions because I already made the decision to never participate, but I bet if others who haven't made that decision learned about abortion it would happen less!"

And it's true - so many people who are "pro-choice" really don't understand all that goes into an actual abortion.  For all the philosophical waxing pro-choicers do, they never once get into the hard-science of what an abortion physically does to both a child and the mother who carries it. 

But I digress.  Sorry!

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Back to Good Friday.  After confession, I went to my own Church for the silent prayer before the Crucifix before 3pm when the statue was veiled.  I tried to imagine how God the Father felt - He willingly handed Jesus over.  He understood that His Sacrifice was necessary, but the cost!  How much He loves us to do this!

Would I be willing to hand over Vincent for such a slaughter?

I mean, let's say that 1 million people were in jail.  I'm not talking about the US jail system that allows inmates to watch TV, hang out in a cell, and be provided with 3 meals a day.

No... I'm talking about a hellish, hard labor camp akin to Auschwitz or worse. 

Now let's say these million people aren't just random strangers... they're family.  Yes, they are family that's guilty of every offense possible ranging from cursing all the way through murder, but they're family.  Would I be willing to sacrifice Vincent for the lot of them? 

Let's take it one step further... let's say these million family members aren't just distance relationships.  They're a million Maria's and Shannon's... a million Raymond's and yes, even a million Evelyn's... my true brothers and sisters.  What then?  Would I be willing to hand Vincent over to save them?

And finally - even more than being my brothers and sisters - what if they were my children?  What if these jailed souls were my children?  Would I be able to hand over Vincent, my first, only and beloved son over for a torturous death so that they might be freed from jail?

What if I knew that even if I offered Vincent's life for theirs that they'd ridicule our sacrifice?  That they'd scorn him? 

How could God the Father ever consent to this sacrifice???  How could Christ, knowing full well what the future would hold for His wayward children???

Yes, we indeed crucified the entire Trinity that first Good Friday.  We continue to crucify Them each time we are negligent in our duties as Christians... as dignified human beings made in His Image.

May God have mercy on us, and may we remember the Love shown to us through the truest Sacrifice ever made.

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