Brokenness

    I've heard a cry from other churches against the Catholic Church - "Christ died but once! How then do you call Him down from heaven, to crucify Him again?"  I have wept bitter tears to gaze at the altar and watch Him, my darling and my Lord,  be broken yet again for me.  It makes my heart ache.

     But having wept these tears, I begin to see the great comfort of these words: "This is My Body, which is broken for you".  What solace! What understanding! These are the words of suffering --- not needless, empty suffering, but a kind of moment when I, lost in a crowd of unfeeling strangers, meet eyes with Him.  And we see each other.  It's like all my secrets are already there in His heart. And all my lonely tears have already fallen onto His chest.  And the kind of pain that only victims can recognize in each other - He knows.  We know each other. 

     And neither of us will ever weep alone again.

     For when he asked me to come and die, He never meant that I'd do it alone.
When he bids me to take up my own cross and follow Him, He never walks behind me.  He leads the way.

     So when I gaze upon His broken Body, mystical and strangely hidden in the hands of the priest, all I need do is glance down at my own broken heart.  Oddly mangled, messy, nothing like the paintings of saints.  All I need is look at my own brokenness to feel Him nearer.  He will never leave me or forsake me.  Even in this pain.  And as we are broken together by the hands of the world, may we mingle so close that no one can distinguish us.

     I am my Beloved's
     And He is mine.
     And His banner over me is love.

     Here I will stand, weepy and broken, unashamed of my injuries and my weakness, because my incredibly strong Jesus did it first.  And if I can't stand, I will kneel.  And if I can't kneel, I will fall.  Falling, I will die.  Jesus did it all first.

My I be consumed by His love, His tears, His brokenness, until that blessed day when I, too, can say with Him "It is Finished".