Promises of Jesus to those who pray and meditate with the Hours of the Passion of Our Lord Jesus Christ can be found   HERE

Benefits of meditating on the Hours of the Passion of Our Lord Jesus Christ   HERE

Preperation Prayer for Each Hour

O my Lord Jesus Christ, prostrate in your divine presence, I implore your most loving heart to allow me to enter into the sorrowful meditation of the twenty-four hours of your passion, in which, for love of us you wanted to suffer so much in your adorable body and in your most holy soul, even to death on the cross. O give me help, grace, love, profound compassion, and understanding of your sufferings as I now meditate this Hour.

For those hours which I cannot meditate, I offer you the will I have to meditate them; and I propose to meditate them with my intention during all the hours in which I must dedicate myself to my duties, or sleep.

Accept, O merciful Lord, my loving intention, and let it be beneficial for me and for all, as if I effectively and in a saintly way accomplished what I desire to do.

I give You thanks, O my Jesus. I thank You for calling me to union with You in prayer.

To please You, I take your thoughts, your tongue, and your Heart. I want to pray with them. I want to fuse myself in your Will and in your Love. I extend my arms to embrace You, I rest my head on your Heart— and I begin….

THANKSGIVING PRAYER FOR EACH HOUR....

My Beloved Jesus, You have called me to this Hour of your Passion to keep You company—and I have come. I seem to have heard you, anguished and sorrowful, praying, making reparation and suffering. With the most loving, eloquent voices you were pleading for the salvation of souls. I tried to follow You in everything. Now, I owe You my heartfelt “Thank You” and “I bless You.”

Yes, O Jesus, I repeat my “Thank You” thousands and thousands of times. I bless You for all that You have done and suffered for me and for everyone. I thank You and I bless You for every drop of Blood You shed. I thank You for every breath, for every heartbeat, and for every step. I thank You for every word, glance, affliction, and outrage that You had to endure. In everything, O my Jesus, I intend to give You my “Thank You” and “I bless You.” O my Jesus, let my soul send forth a continuous flow of thanksgiving and blessings to You—to draw down upon all of us the abundant flow of your blessings and graces. Please, O Jesus, press me to your Heart, and with your most holy hands seal every particle of my being with your “I bless you”, so that nothing other than a continuous hymn to You may come from me.

So I leave my being within Yours, to follow you in all you do; better still, you will be so alive in me that I will leave my thoughts in you to defend you from your enemies, my breaths as a faithful companion, my heartbeat to recall my “I love you,” and to give you the love that the others refuse to give you; I will give you the drops of my blood to atone and make up the honor and regard that your enemies deny you with their insults and offenses. I will leave my entire being as a guard.

My dear love, while I must go about my duties, I will remain in your heart. I am afraid to leave It. Is it not true that You will keep me here? Our heartbeats will continually touch so that You will give me life, love, and close and inseparable union with You.

Jesus, if You see that I am about to run from You at times, let your heartbeat hasten in mine. Let your hands press me closer to your Heart; let your eyes look at me and pierce me with rays of fire so that I may feel your presence and immediately return to union with You.

O my Jesus, be on guard so that I may not exhaust You. I beg You to watch over me. O give me a kiss, embrace me, and bless me! Give me your most holy hands so that I can do all that I must do united with You! My Jesus, give me the kiss of Divine Love, embrace me and bless me; I will kiss your intoxicating Heart, and take my rest in You.

O heavenly Mother, the hour of separation draws near, and I come to You, O Mother, give me your love, your reparations, and your sorrows. Together with You, I want to follow Jesus step by step.

Here Jesus comes. With your soul overflowing with love, you run to meet him. But your heart aches with grief to see him so pale and sad. Your strength fades away, and you are about to fall at his feet. O my sweet Mother, do You know why Jesus has come to You? Ah, He has come to say good-bye to You for the last time, to impart His last Word, to share with you this last embrace! O Mother, I cling to You with all the tenderness of which my poor heart is capable, so that holding You tightly, I too may receive the embraces of Jesus. Would you perhaps look down on me, or isn't it perhaps a comfort to your heart to have a soul near you, to share your pains, affections and reparations?

Jesus, in this hour so bitter for your tender Heart, what instruction You give us of innocent, loving obedience to your Mother! What a sweet enchantment of love rises up to the throne of the Eternal One, extending salvation to all creatures of the earth!

O my heavenly Mother, do You know what Jesus wants from You? Nothing but your last blessing. From every particle of your being only blessings and praises flow to your Creator; but, in taking leave of You, Jesus wants to hear the sweet words, I bless You, O Son. That I bless You deflects every blasphemy from his hearing and descends sweetly and gently into his Heart. Jesus wants your “I bless You” to shield against all the offenses of creatures.

I too join with you, O sweet mother. On the wings of the wind, I want to travel through heaven to ask the Father, the Holy Spirit, all the angels for an I bless you for Jesus, so that, going to him, I can bring their blessings. I want to go to all creatures here on earth and ask from every whisper, heartbeat, step, breath, glance, thought, and word—blessings and praises for Jesus. And, if anyone does not want to give them to me, I will do it on their behalf.

O sweet Mother, after going round and round, to ask the Most Holy Trinity, the Angels, all creatures, the light of the sun, the fragrance of the flowers, the waves of the sea, every breath of wind, every spark of fire, every moving leaf, the twinkling of the stars, every movement of nature, for an “I bless You”, I come to You and I place all my blessings together with yours. My sweet Mother, I see that You are comforted by them, and I offer Jesus all my blessings to atone for the blasphemies and curses that He receives from creatures.

But, while I offer You everything, I hear your trembling voice saying, “Son, bless Me too!” My sweet Love, bless me with your Mother. Bless my thoughts, my heart, my hands, my steps, my deeds, and—with your Mother—all creatures. O my Mother, You gaze upon the Sorrowful Face of Jesus, so pale, sad, and tormented, and You envision the sorrow that He will soon have to suffer. You see his Face covered with spit, and You bless It.  You see his head pierced by thorns, his eyes blindfolded, his body tortured by lashings, his hands and feet pierced by nails, and you follow him with your blessings everywhere he is about to go. And I too will follow Him together with You. When Jesus is struck with the whips, pierced by the nails, slapped, crowned with thorns, he will find my I bless you everywhere, together with yours. O Jesus, O mother, I give you compassion.

Your sorrow is immense in these last moments. It seems that the heart of one rends the heart of the other. O mother, tear my heart from the earth and bind it tightly to Jesus, so that pressed to him, I can take part in your pains. And being between your two hearts, I will receive your last kisses and your last embraces while you look at each other for the last time. Don’t You see that I cannot be without You, in spite of my misery and my coldness? Jesus, Mother, keep me close to You; give me your love, your Will. Pierce my poor heart with arrows, and hold me in your arms. Together with you, O sweet mother, I want to follow Jesus step by step, with the intention of giving him comfort, relief, love and reparation for everyone.

O Jesus, with your Mother, I kiss your left foot, and I beg You to forgive me and all creatures for the many times we have not walked toward God. [Glory be to the Father, etc.].

I kiss your right foot. Forgive me and everyone for the many times we have not sought the perfection that You desired for us. [Glory be to the Father, etc.]

I kiss your left hand. Communicate your purity to us. [Glory be to the Father, etc.]

I kiss your right hand. Bless all my heartbeats, thoughts, and affections so that all may be confirmed by your blessing, and all may be sanctified. And as you bless me, bless all creatures as well, and seal the salvation of their souls with your blessing. [Glory be to the Father, etc.]

O Jesus, I embrace You together with your Mother, and kissing your Heart, I pray You to place my heart between your two Hearts, that it may be nourished continuously by your love, by your sorrows, by your very affections and desires, and by your own Life. Amen. [Glory be ...]

 

Reflections and Practices.

Reflections and applications regarding the Hours of the Passion, so that we may copy the life of Jesus within ourselves, aligning our life with His in everything: His breath, His heartbeat, etc. so that He once again lives among His creatures.

Before entering his Passion, Jesus goes to his Mother to ask for her blessing In this act he teaches us how we must be obedient, with both interior and exterior obedience, in order to correspond to the inspirations of grace. Sometimes we are not ready to put into practice a good inspiration, either because we are held back by love of self united to temptation, or because of human respect, or in order not to use holy violence on ourselves. But rejecting the good inspiration of exercising a virtue, of accomplishing a virtuous act, of doing a good work, or of practicing a devotion, makes the Lord withdraw, depriving us of new inspirations. On the other hand, the prompt correspondence, pious and prudent, to holy inspirations attracts more lights and graces upon us. In the cases of doubt, one should turn promptly and with righteous intention to the great means of prayer and to upright and experienced advice.

In this way, God will never withhold light from our souls so that we can pursue our good inspirations and multiply them, reaping the greatest possible benefits. Our prayers, actions, and the Hours of the Passion should be done with Jesus’ own intention his Will, sacrificing ourselves as He did for the glory of the Father and for the good of all souls. We should be disposed to sacrifice ourselves in everything out of love for our beloved Jesus, surrendering to his Spirit, acting with his own sentiments, and abandoning ourselves to Him—not only in all our sorrows and external misfortunes, but even more in our interior lives. In this way, in any situation, we will be ready to suffer. When we act in this spirit, we give our Jesus little sips of sweetness. If all that we do remains in the Will of God—which contains all sweetness and delight to an infinite degree—we will console the Divine Heart of Jesus and give Him big sips of sweetness to ease the effects of the poison that other creatures give Him.

Before starting any action, let us always invoke the blessing of God, so that our actions may have the touch of the Divinity, and may attract His blessings not only on us, but upon all creatures.

My Jesus, may your blessing precede me, accompany me and follow me, so that everything I do may carry the seal of your I bless you.

 

My tender love, you are never satisfied in your love. I see that once you have finished the legal supper, you get up from the table together with your beloved disciples; and together with them you raise up a hymn of thanksgiving to the Father for the food he has given you, making reparation for all the souls who fail to thank You for the many ways our lives are sustained by You. This is why, O Jesus, in anything You do, touch or see, You always have on your lips the words, “Thanks be to You, O Father”. I too, Jesus, united with You, take the words from your very lips, and I will say, always and in everything: “Thank You for myself and for everyone”, to continue atoning for the lack of thanksgiving.

 

My Jesus, your love seems untiring. You have your beloved disciples sit down again. Then, taking a basin of water, and girding yourself with a white towel, you kneel at their feet in such a humble way that it draws the attention of all heaven, turning it rapturous. The apostles themselves, seeing you kneeling at their feet, are almost motionless.

But tell me, my Love, what do You want? What do You intend to do with this act so humble? Humility never before seen, nor will ever be seen again!

“O my little child, I want every soul. So, as a poor beggar kneeling humbly before them, I ask, I beg, I insist; with my tears, I construct snares of love to catch them.. Prostrate at their feet, with this basin of water mixed with my tears, I want to cleanse them of any imperfection and prepare them to receive me in this sacrament.

I so much cherish this act of receiving Me in the Eucharist, that I do not want to entrust this office to the angels, and not even to my dear Mama, but I Myself want to purify them, down to the most intimate fibers, in order to dispose them to receive the fruit of the Sacrament; and in the Apostles I intended to prepare all souls.

I intend to make reparation for all holy works, for the administration of the sacraments, and especially for all those things that priests do with the spirit of pride, empty of the divine spirit, and filled with self-interest. How many good works reach me more to dishonor me than to give me honor, more to embitter me than to please me, more to give me death than to give me life! These are the sins which sadden me most. Yes, my child, go over all the most intimate sins by which I am offended, one by one, and satisfy me with my own reparations, and console my embittered heart.”

My tormented love, I make your life my own; and together with you I intend to make reparation to you for all these offenses. I want to enter into the most intimate hiding places of your Divine Heart and repair with your own Heart for the most intimate and secret offenses with which your dearest ones offend You. O my Jesus, I want to follow You in everything, and together with You I want to make present all the souls who are about to receive You in the Eucharist, enter into their hearts, and place my hands together with yours, to purify them.

O Jesus, with your tears and with the water with which You washed the feet of the Apostles, let us wash the souls who will receive You. Let us purify their hearts. Let us inflame them; let us shake them free of the dirt that soils them, so that when they receive You, You will find joy in them instead of bitterness.

But, my affectionate Good, while You are all intent on washing the feet of the Apostles, I look at You, and I see another sorrow which pierces your Most Holy Heart. These Apostles represent all the future sons of the Church. And in each one You see the variety of all the evils that will arise in the Church, each a continuation of your sorrow. In one you see weakness, in another deception; in this one, hypocrisy; in that one, love of interests. In Saint Peter you see the lack of determination, and all the sins of the leaders of the Church. In Saint John you see the sins of your most trustworthy. In Judas you see all the apostate, with the series of all the grave evils which are caused by them. Ah, your Heart is so flooded with sorrow and Love that You cannot bear it, and You pause at the feet of each Apostle. Your tears flow, as you pray and atone for each of these offenses, asking for the remedy corresponding to each need.

My Jesus, I too unite myself to You; I make your prayers, your reparations and your appropriate remedies for each soul, my own. I want to mix my tears with yours so that you may never be alone, but may always have me with you to share your pains.

My gentle love, while you continue to wash the feet of the apostles, you now come to Judas' feet. I hear your labored breathing; You not only cry —You sob. And, while You wash those feet, You kiss them. You press them to your Heart. Unable to speak—your voice choked by weeping—You look at him through eyes swollen with tears. With your Heart, You say to him:

My son! I beg you, with the voice of my tears, do not go to Hell! Give Me your soul. I lie prostrate at your feet, and I am begging you… Tell Me what you want. What do you ask of Me? I will give you everything —only do not join the lost. I am your God —spare Me this pain!”

And you again press those feet to your heart. It aches, seeing Judas fixed in his hardness. Your suffocating love almost causes you to faint. My Heart and my Life, let me hold You in my arms. I understand that these are the loving ways that You use with each hardened sinner. Please, my heart, as I share your sorrow and atone for the sins you receive from the souls that obstinately refuse to convert, I pray you to let us travel around the earth together. Wherever there are obstinate sinners, let us give them your tears to soften them, your kisses and your embraces of love to chain them to you so they cannot escape. I want to do this to console you for your pain at the loss of Judas.

My Jesus, my joy and delight, I see that your love runs, and runs rapidly. Though suffering greatly, You rise and quickly approach the Altar where the bread and wine have been prepared for the Consecration.

My Love, I see you take on a tender and affectionate demeanor—one never seen before. Your eyes shine more brightly than the sun. Your Face is resplendent. Your lips smile and burn with Love.   My Love, You are completely transfigured. Your Divinity seems to overflow from your Humanity. O Jesus, my Heart and my Life, your entirely new appearance commands everyone’s attention. A sweet rapture steals over the Apostles and leaves them breathless. Our sweet Mother runs in spirit to the foot of the Holy Table to witness the wonders of your Love.

The Angels descend from Heaven and ask one another, “What is this? What is this? This is the folly of follies and the excess of excesses: a God who creates not Heaven or earth, but Himself! And where? In the humblest of things—some bread and some wine.”

O unquenchable Love, surrounded by the Apostles, You take bread into your hands and offer it to the Father. With your gentle voice I hear You say:

"Thank You, Holy Father, for always answering the prayer of your Son. Holy Father, concur with Me. One day, You sent Me from Heaven to earth to be incarnated in the womb of my Mother, to come and save Our children. Now, permit me to incarnate myself in each host, to continue their salvation and to be the life of each of my children. Do You not see, O Father? Few hours of my life remain: who would have the heart to leave my children orphaned and alone? Many are their enemies —the darkness, the passions, the weaknesses to which they are subject. Who will help them?  I will rout their enemies, and will be their light, strength and help in everything. Otherwise, where will they go? Who will guide them? Our works are eternal. My Love is irresistible; I cannot—nor do I want—to leave my children."

Moved at the Son’s tender, loving voice, the Father descends from Heaven. He unites Himself with the Holy Spirit on the altar to concur with his Son. Jesus pronounces the words of the consecration with a powerful and moving voice; and without leaving himself he creates himself in that bread and wine. Then he gives communion to the apostles; and I believe that our heavenly mother does not remain without receiving him. Ah, Jesus, the heavens bow down and all send to You an act of adoration in your new state of profound annihilation.

But, sweet Jesus, while your love remains pleased and satisfied, lacking in nothing, I see, O my Good, on this altar, all the consecrated hosts which will exist until the end of the ages. I see all your painful passion formed in each host, because to the excesses of your love, creatures respond with excesses of ingratitude and of enormous crimes. Heart of my heart, I want to be with You always, in each tabernacle, in all the pyxes, and in every consecrated Host that will be until the end of the world. I want to offer You my acts of reparation for all the offenses that You receive. Therefore, my heart, I come beside you and kiss your majestic forehead. But as I kiss you, I feel my lips pricked by the thorns which surround your head. I see, O my Jesus, that you are not spared the thorns in this holy host, just as you are not spared them in your passion.

I see how many creatures come before You and instead of offering You the homage of their good thoughts, send You evil thoughts. That is why You bow your Head once again, as in the Passion, to receive and suffer the thorns of their evil thoughts. O my Love, I draw near You to share your pain. I place all my thoughts in your Mind to drive out the thorns that cause You so much sorrow. May my every thought flow in every thought of Yours to make up for all the evil thoughts of creatures and, in this way, to console your afflicted thoughts. My Good Jesus, I kiss your beautiful eyes. In this holy host I see your loving eyes looking with anticipation, waiting for all those who come into your presence, to look at them with your glances of love, and receive the exchange of their loving glances. But how many come before you, and instead of looking at you and seeking you, they look at things which distract them from you, and so deprive you of the pleasure of an exchange of glances between you and them. You weep. So, kissing you, I feel my lips bathed by your tears. My Jesus, do not cry; I want to place my eyes in yours to share in these pains with You, and to cry with You. And wanting to repair for all the distracted gazes of creatures, I offer You my gazes, always fixed in You. Jesus, my Love, I kiss your most holy ears. Ah, I see You listening intently to the needs of souls so that You can console them. In spite of this, they fill your ears with badly recited prayers, full of distrust, lacking true confidence; they are lifeless prayers said mostly out of habit. And your ears are aggravated more in this holy host than in the passion itself.

O my Jesus, I want to take all of the harmonies of Heaven and release them into your ears to make reparation to You. I want to place my ears in Yours, not only to share these sufferings with You, but also to offer You my continuous and instantaneous act of reparation and consolation. Jesus, my Life, I kiss your most holy Face; I see it bleeding, bruised and swollen. The creatures, O Jesus, come before the Holy Host, and with their indecent postures and evil discourses, instead of giving You honor, seem to send You slaps and spittle. Yet, as in the Passion, You receive them with perfect peace and patience and endure everything.

O Jesus, not only do I want to put my face near yours to caress you and kiss you as you receive these slaps, and to take away the spit, but I also want to put my face in yours in order to share these pains with you.  I want to transform all my movements into continuous prostrations to make up for all the irreverence You receive from creatures. Jesus, my all, I kiss your most sweet mouth. I see that as you descend into the hearts of creatures, the first contact you make is on their tongue. Oh, how embittered you are to find many biting, impure and evil tongues! Yes, you feel as if poisoned by those tongues, and it is even worse when you descend into their hearts.

My tired Lord, I kiss your most holy neck. I see you are tired and exhausted, and all absorbed in your crafting of love. Tell me, what are you doing? And Jesus replies:

“My child, in this host I work from dawn till dark, forming continuous chains of love, so that as souls come to me they find my chains of love ready to chain them to my heart. But, do you know what they do? Many do not want these chains of mine, and by means of force they free themselves and break them to pieces. But because these chains are bound to my heart, I remain tortured unto delirium. And, as these souls shatter my chains and ruin the work that I do in this Sacrament, they seek the chains of creatures. And they do this even in my presence, using Me in order to reach their own ends. The pain from this is so intense that it brings on a violent fever which makes me faint and become delirious.”

O Jesus, how I give you compassion!  In order to relieve you from the offenses You receive from these souls, I ask You to chain my heart with those chains broken by them, in order to give You my requital of love in their place. The fire that it contains is so intense that, in order to give a little relief to your flames which shoot up too high—while wanting to take a little pause in your work—you also want to play in this sacrament. Your game is to form arrows and darts so that when creatures come before you, you begin to play with them by shooting arrows from your breast to wound them. When they receive them, you celebrate, and so it is that your game is played.

But many, O my Jesus, deflect them, reciprocating with arrows of coldness, darts of lukewarmness, and arrows of ingratitude. This saddens you to tears, because creatures make your game of love fail.

O Jesus, here is my breast, ready to receive not only the arrows destined for me but also those which the others refuse. This way, your games will not be frustrated any more. And in exchange, I want to make reparation to you for the coldness, lukewarmness and ingratitude you receive. O Jesus, I kiss your left hand, and I intend to make reparation for all the illicit and unholy touches made in your Presence. I beg You to always hold me close to your Heart! O Jesus, I kiss your right hand. I intend to make reparation for all sacrileges, especially for all badly-celebrated Masses. How many times, my love, you are compelled to descend from heaven into the hands of priests who, in virtue of the authority given to them, call you. But you find those hands full of mud, and oozing decay. And although you feel the nausea of those hands, your love compels you to remain.

In reality, it is worse in certain priests. In these, you find the priests of your passion who, with their enormous crimes and sacrileges, renew the deicide. My Jesus, it is terrifying just to think of it. Again, as in the passion, you find yourself in those unworthy hands, like a meek little lamb, waiting for your death once more. O Jesus, how you suffer! And how you would like to have a loving hand to free you from those bloody hands! Yes, when you find yourself in such hands, I pray you to make me be there to make reparation to you. I want to cover you with the purity of the angels, perfume you with your virtues to lessen the stench of those hands, and offer you my heart for an escape and a refuge. And while you are in me, I will pray to you for priests so that they may be your worthy ministers, and no longer endanger your sacramental life.

O Jesus, I kiss your left foot. And I intend to make reparation to you for those who receive you by habit and without the proper dispositions. O Jesus, I kiss your right foot, and I intend to make reparation to you for those who receive you to outrage you. Please, when they dare to do that, I pray you to renew the miracle you worked when Longinus pierced your heart with the lance: with the blood that flowed out and touched his eyes you converted him and healed him. Similarly, with your sacramental touch, convert offenses into love.

O Jesus, I kiss your heart, the center into which all offenses are poured. I intend to make reparation to you for everything and for everyone; to love you in exchange for your love; and always united with you, to share your pains. Please, heavenly archer of love, if I fail to make reparation to you for some offense, I pray you to imprison me in your heart and in your Will so that nothing can escape me.

I will pray our sweet mother to keep me alert; and together with her we will make reparation to you for everything and for everyone. Together, we will kiss you; and, sheltering you, we will drive away the waves of bitterness which, unfortunately, you receive from creatures. O Jesus, remember that I too am a poor prisoner. It is true that your prisons, which consist of the tiny space of the host, afford less space than mine. So, enclose me in your heart, and with the chains of your love not only imprison me, but tie my thoughts, affections and desires [to yours], one by one. Shackle my hands and my feet to your heart, so that I may not have any other hands or feet but yours.

And so, my Love, my prison will be your Heart, my chains will be made of love; your flames will be my food, your breath will be mine, the fences preventing me from going out will be your Most Holy Will. So I will see nothing but flames, I will touch nothing but fire; and while they give me life, they will give me death, like that You suffer in the Holy Host. I will give You my life, and so, while I remain imprisoned in You, You will be released in me.

Isn't this why you imprisoned yourself in the host: to be released from your prison by the souls that receive you, and to take life in them? Now, as a sign of love, bless me and give me a kiss. And I embrace you and remain O my sweet heart, I see that after you have instituted the Blessed Sacrament, and have seen the enormous ingratitude and the offenses of creatures before the excesses of your love, although you are wounded and embittered, still you do not retreat. Indeed, you want to drown everything in the immensity of your love. Jesus, I see that you give yourself in communion to your apostles. Afterwards, you add that what you have done, they also must do. With this, you give them the power to consecrate. And so you ordain them priests, and institute other sacraments.

In this way, you take care of everything, and make reparation for everything: the faulty sermons; the sacraments administered and received without the proper dispositions, and therefore, without effects; the mistaken vocations of priests, caused by the failure to use all the means necessary to discern true vocations—both on the part of the priests and on the part of those who ordain them. No, nothing escapes you, O Jesus. And I intend to follow you and to make reparation to you for all these offenses. Then, once you have finished with everything, you take your apostles with you and set out for the Garden of Gethsemane to begin your painful passion. I will follow you in everything to keep you faithful company.

 

Reflections and Practices.

Jesus is hidden in the host to give life to everyone, and in this hidden state he embraces all ages and gives light to everyone. Similarly, by hiding ourselves in him, through our prayers and reparations we will give light and life to everyone, even to heretics and infidels, because Jesus does not exclude anyone. What are we to do while hiding in him? In order to become similar to Jesus, we must hide everything in him: our thoughts, glances, works, heartbeats, affections, desires, steps and works. We must even hide our prayers themselves in Jesus' prayers.

And just as our loving Jesus in the Eucharist embraces all ages, together with him we will embrace them as well. United to him, we will be the thought of every mind, the word of every tongue, the desire of every heart, the step of every foot, the work of every arm. With this, we will repel from Jesus' heart all the wrongs that creatures would like to do him, and we will try to substitute them with all the good that we can possibly do, and so urge Jesus to give salvation, holiness and love to all souls. In order for our life to correspond to Jesus' life, it must be completely conformed to his.

The soul must have the intention of being in all the tabernacles of the world, to keep him company continuously and to give him perpetual relief and reparation. And with this intention we must do all our actions of the day. The first Tabernacle exists within us, in our hearts. So, we should attend closely to everything that good Jesus wants to do in us. Many times, abiding in our hearts, Jesus makes us feel the need to pray. Yes, it is Jesus who wants to pray, and he wants us with him. He makes himself practically one with our voice, with our affections, with our whole heart, so that our prayer may be one with his. And so, to honor Jesus' prayer, we will be careful to give him our entire being so that loving Jesus may raise his prayer to heaven, to talk to the Father and to renew the effects of his own prayer in the world.

We must be attentive to all the movements of our interior, because now good Jesus makes us suffer, now he wants us at prayer, now he puts us into one state of soul or another, in order to be able to repeat his own life in us. Let's suppose that Jesus gives us the occasion to exercise patience. He receives so many offenses from creatures that he feels compelled to pick up some scourge and strike creatures with it; and so he gives us the occasion to exercise patience. Now, we must honor him by patiently supporting everything, just as he does. This way, our patience will snatch from his hand the scourges that other creatures draw down on themselves, because he will be exercising his own divine patience in us. And as with patience, so too with all the other virtues.

In the Blessed Sacrament, loving Jesus exercises all the virtues; and it is from him that we will draw strength, meekness, patience, tolerance, humility, obedience. Good Jesus gives us his flesh for food; and we will give him our love, our will, our desires, thoughts and affections to nourish him. This way, we will compete with Jesus' love. We won't let anything enter into us that is not him. So, everything we do must serve to nourish our beloved Jesus. Our thoughts must nourish the divine thought. That is, realizing that Jesus is hidden in us and that he wants the food of our thoughts, by thinking holy thoughts we come to nourish the divine thought. The same goes for our glances that must nourish the divine glance, and for our words, heartbeats, affections, desires, steps, and works. In a word, all must serve to nourish Jesus, and, in doing so, we must have the intention of nourishing creatures in Jesus.

My sweet Love, in this hour You transubstantiated Yourself in bread and wine. O Jesus, please grant that everything I say and do may be a continual consecration of Yourself in Me and in souls.

My sweet Life, when You enter into Me, grant that my every heartbeat, desire, affection, thought, and word may endure your sacramental consecration, in such a way that, with my entire, tiny being consecrated, it may become so many hosts to give You to souls. And by virtue of your consecration.

O Jesus, may I consecrate all of You into all souls. O Jesus, my sweet Love, may I be your tiny host in order to enclose within myself, as within a living Host, your entire Being.

 

O my divine redeemer, Jesus, please take me with you, together with your three dear apostles, to assist at your agony in the Garden of Olives. Admonished by the sweet rebuke You gave to Peter and the other two sleeping disciples, I want to stay awake for at least an hour with You in Gethsemane; I want to feel at least one sharp pain of your agonizing Heart, one sigh of your labored breathing.

I want to fix my eyes on your divine face and contemplate how it turns pale, how it becomes troubled, how it is oppressed by anguish, how it bends low, even to the dust! O my suffering Jesus, I already see you staggering and falling, now to the left and now to the right. I see you join your loving, crippled hands. I begin to hear your moans, your cries of incomprehensible pain which you raise to heaven. O my Jesus, agonizing in the dreary Garden of Gethsemane, during this hour in which I will keep you company, make a splash, a stream of that adorable blood flow on me, which is streaming from all your adorable members.

O most precious bath of my greatest good, Jesus, who is agonizing for me, let me drink you to the last drop, and with you, drink at least one sip of the bitter chalice of my beloved. Let me feel inside of me the pains of his divine heart. Indeed, let me feel my heart broken by the sorrow of having offended my Lord, who reduces himself to the agony of death for me.

Yes, my Jesus, give me grace, help me to suffer, to sigh and to cry with you, at least for one hour in the Garden of Olives. O Sorrowful Mother, Mary, make me feel the compassion of your pierced heart for Jesus agonizing in Gethsemane. Amen.

My afflicted Jesus, I feel drawn into this garden as if by an electric current. I understand that you, powerful magnet of my wounded heart, call me. And I run, thinking to myself: What are these attractions of love which I feel in myself? Oh, perhaps my persecuted Jesus is in such a state of bitterness that he feels the need for my company. And I fly. But I don't believe it. I am terrified as I enter this garden.

The darkness of the night, the intensity of the cold, the slow movement of the leaves—as mournful voices—announce pains, sadness and death for my sorrowful Jesus. The gentle twinkling of the stars—which, as crying eyes, are watching attentively and echoing Jesus' tears—reproach me for my ingratitude. I tremble; and groping about, searching for him, I call him: “Jesus, where are you? You call me but don't show yourself? You call me, and then hide?” Everything is terrifying and frightening, and deeply silent. But, straining my ears I hear a labored breath: it is Jesus himself whom I find.

But what a woeful change! It is no longer the gentle Jesus of the Eucharistic Supper, on whose face there shone a dazzling and enrapturing beauty. Instead, it is sad, with a mortal sadness that disfigures his natural beauty. He is already agonizing, and I feel troubled thinking that maybe I won't hear his voice again, because it seems like he is dying. So I embrace his feet. I become more daring and go up to his arms and put my hand on his forehead to support it. Then whispering, I call him: “Jesus, Jesus.”

Shaken by my voice, he looks at me and says:

“My child, are you here? I was waiting for you, since this is the sadness which most oppressed me: the total abandonment of everyone. I was waiting for you to make you the spectator of my pains, and to have you drink together with me the chalice of the bitterness which my heavenly Father will soon send me by means of an angel. We will sip from it together, because it will not be a chalice of comfort, but of intense bitternesses, and I feel the need of a few loving souls who would drink at least a few drops of it. This is why I have called you: to accept it, to share my pains with me, and to assure me that you will not leave me alone in complete abandonment.”

Yes, my anguished Jesus, we will drink the chalice of your bitterness together, we will suffer your pains [together], and I will never leave your side.

So, assured by me, saddened Jesus enters into mortal agony, and suffers pains unheard of, pains never before seen. Unable to bear it, and wanting to sympathize with him and comfort him, I say to him:

“Tell me, why are you so sad, afflicted, and alone in this garden and on this night? It is the last night of your life on earth; only a few hours remain before your passion begins. I thought that I would at least find your heavenly mother, beloved Mary Magdalene, and the faithful apostles here. Instead, I find you all alone, and overwhelmed by a sadness which gives you cruel death, without making you die. O my good and my all, won't you answer me? Speak to me!”

But it seems you cannot talk, oppressed as you are by such sadness. But, oh my Jesus, that gaze of yours, full of light, yes, but afflicted and searching, such that it seems to be looking for help; your pale face, your lips parched with love, your Divine Person, trembling from head to foot, your Heart, beating so intensely — and those heartbeats search for souls and cause You such labor that it seems that, any moment now, You are about to breathe your last — everything tells me that You are alone, and therefore You want my company.

Here I am, O Jesus, together with You. But I don’t have the heart to see You cast on the ground. I take You in my arms, I press You to my heart. One by one, I want to number your pains; and one by one, the sins which present themselves before you. I want to give you relief for everything, reparation for everything, and at least an act of compassion for everything.

O my Jesus, while I am holding you in my arms, your sufferings increase. O my life, I feel a fire flowing in your veins; I feel your blood boiling, and that it wants to burst your veins and run out. Tell me, my Love, what is it? I see neither whips, nor thorns, neither nails, nor a cross. Yet, as I rest my head on your Heart, I feel cruel thorns piercing it. I feel cruel whips that spare no part of your sacred Humanity, neither inside nor out. I see your hands contracted and contorted, worse than if they were nailed. Tell me, my sweet Good, who has so much power, also in your interior, as to torment You and make You suffer as many deaths for as many torments as he gives You?

Oh, it seems that blessed Jesus opens His lips, faint and dying, and says to me:

“My child, do you want to know what it is that torments Me more than the very executioners? Rather, those are nothing compared to this! It is the Eternal Love, which, wanting primacy in everything, is making Me suffer, all at once and in the most intimate parts, what the executioners will make Me suffer little by little. Ah, my child, it is Love which prevails in everything, over Me and within Me. Love is nail for Me, Love is scourge, Love is crown of thorns – Love is everything for Me. Love is my perennial passion, while that of men is in time. Ah, my child, enter into my Heart, come to be dissolved in my love, and only in my love will you comprehend how much I suffered and how much I loved you, and you will learn to love Me and to suffer only out of love.”

O my Jesus, since You call me into your Heart to show me what love made You suffer, I enter into It. But as I enter, I see the portents of love, which crowns your head, not with material thorns, but with thorns of fire; which scourges You, not with lashes of ropes, but with lashes of fire; which crucifies You with nails, not made of iron, but of fire. Everything is fire, which penetrates deep into your bones and into your very marrow; and distilling all of your Most Holy Humanity into fire, it gives You mortal pains, certainly greater than the very Passion, and prepares a bath of love for all the souls who will want to be washed of any stain and acquire the right of children of love.

O Love without end, I feel overwhelmed before such an immensity of Love. I see that to enter into Love and to understand it, I should be all Love. O my Jesus, I am not! But, since you want my company, and want me to enter into you, I pray you to make me become all love. So, I beg you to crown my head and every thought of mine with the crown of love. I beseech you, O Jesus, to whip me with the whip of love. Let my soul, my body, my powers, my sentiments, my desires, my affections, in a word, everything, be scourged and sealed by love. O love without end, let there be nothing in me which does not receive its life from love.

O Jesus, center of all loves, I beg you to nail my hands and my feet with the nails of love, so that entirely nailed by love, I may become love, understand love, dress myself with love, nourish myself with love. May love keep me all nailed in you, so that nothing inside or outside of me dare to pull me away and distract me from love, O Jesus!

 

Reflections and Practices.

Abandoned in this hour by his eternal Father, Jesus Christ suffered such a blaze of fiery love, that he could destroy all sins, even possible and imaginable ones. He could inflame with his love all creatures of millions and millions of worlds, and all the damned in hell, if they weren't eternally fixed in their wickedness.

Let us enter into Jesus, and after penetrating into the most intimate parts of his whole interior, into those heartbeats of fire, into his intelligence (which was, as it were, inflamed), let us take this love and dress ourselves inside and out, with the fire that inflamed Jesus. Then, going out of him, and pouring ourselves into his Will, we will find all creatures. Let us give the love of Jesus to each, and retouching their hearts and their minds with this love, let us try to transform them all into love. Then, with the desires, the heartbeats and the thoughts of Jesus, let us form him in the heart of every creature.

After this, we will bring all creatures to him with Jesus in their heart, and we will place them around him, saying: “Jesus, we bring you all creatures with Jesus in the heart of each, to give you comfort and relief. We don't have any other way to relieve your love than to bring all creatures into your heart!” With this, we will give true relief to Jesus, for the flames that burn him are so many, that he is continually repeating, “I am burning, and there is no one to take my love. Please, relieve me: take my love and give me love!” To conform to Jesus in everything, we must go back into ourselves and apply these reflections to ourselves.

In all that we do, can be say that it is a continual flowing of love between God and ourselves? Our life is a continual flow of love which we receive from God: if we think, it is a flow of love; if we work, it is a flow of love; the word is love; our heartbeat is love. We receive everything from God. But do all our actions run toward God with love? Does Jesus find in us the sweet enchantment of his love which flows to him, so that, enraptured by this enchantment, he may lavish more abundant love on us?

If, in all that we have done, we did not made the intention of running together in the love of Jesus, let us enter into ourselves and ask his forgiveness for having made him lose the sweet enchantment of his love toward us.

Do we let ourselves be modeled by the divine hands, like the humanity of Jesus Christ did? With the exception of sin, we must receive everything that happens in us as the divine doings. Otherwise, we deny the Father his glory, we let the divine life escape us, and we lose holiness. Everything we feel within ourselves ­inspirations, mortifications, graces­ is nothing other than a crafting of love. Do we take them in the way God wants us to? Do we leave Jesus free to work in us? Or, by taking everything in a human sense and as indifferent things, do we reject the divine action and force Jesus to cross his arms? Do we abandon ourselves in his arms as if we were dead, to receive all those blows which our Lord disposes for our sanctification?

My love and my all, let your love flood me on all sides and burn everything in me which is not yours. And make my love always flow toward you to burn everything that could sadden your heart.

My dear Jesus, my heart can't bear it any longer: I look at you and see that you continue to agonize. Streams of blood are flowing from all over your body, and so profusely that, unable to stand any longer, you fall into a pool of blood. O my love, my heart breaks to see you so weak and exhausted! Your adorable face and your creative hands rest on the ground and become stained with blood. It seems to me that at the rivers of iniquity which creatures send you, you want to give rivers of blood to drown these offenses in it, and with this, give each creature the assurance of your pardon.

But, please, O my Jesus, rise; what You suffer is too much. Let it be enough for your Love! And while my lovable Jesus seems to be dying in His own Blood, Love gives Him new life. I see Him move with difficulty. He stands up, and soaked as He is with blood and mud, He seems to want to walk, but not having strength, He can barely drag Himself.

Sweet Life of mine, let me carry You in my arms. Are You perhaps going to your dear disciples? But what is not the sorrow of your adorable Heart in finding them asleep again! And You, with trembling and feeble voice, call them:

“My sons, do not sleep! The hour is near. Do you not see how I have reduced Myself? Oh please, help Me, do not abandon Me in these extreme hours!”

And almost staggering, You are about to fall near them, while John extends his arms to sustain You. You are so unrecognizable that if it were not for the gentleness and tenderness of your voice, they would not have recognized you. Then, recommending that they watch and pray, you return to the garden, but with a second wound in your heart. In this wound, O my love, I see all the sins of those souls that, in spite of the manifestation of your favors in the form of gifts, kisses and caresses, in the nights of trial forget about your love and your gifts, and remain as it were, drowsy and sleepy, thus losing the spirit of continuous prayer and watchfulness.

My Jesus, how true it is that after having seen you and having tasted your gifts, great strength is necessary to stand firm when deprived of them. Only a miracle can make such souls endure the test. So, while I sympathize with you for these souls, whose neglect, levity and offenses are the most bitter to your heart, I beg you: If they should take even a single step which could displease you in the least, surround them with so much grace that will stop them, so that they may not lose the spirit of continuous prayer.

My gentle Jesus, as you return to the garden, it seems that you cannot go on. Your face is covered with blood and dirt, but you raise it to heaven and repeat for the third time:

“Father, if it is possible, let this chalice pass from me. Holy Father, help me! I need comfort. It is true that, because of the sins taken upon myself, I am nauseating, loathsome and the least among men before your infinite majesty. Your justice is roused to anger against me. But look at me, O Father: I am always your Son, who is one with you Please, Father, help me, have pity on me! Do not leave me without comfort!”

Then I seem to hear you, O my tender love, calling your dear mother for help:

“Sweet mother, hold me tightly in your arms as you did when I was a child. Give me that milk I used to take from you, to refresh me and to sweeten the bitterness of my agony. Give me your heart which was perfect contentment for me. My mother, Mary Magdalene, dear apostles, all you who love me: help me! Comfort me! Do not leave me alone in these extreme moments. Everyone, gather around me. Comfort me with your company and your love.”

Jesus, my love, who can bear to see you in such extremes? What heart could ever be so hard that it would not break, seeing you so drowned in your own blood? Who would not shed streams of bitter tears, hearing the sorrowful words with which you seek help and comfort? My Jesus, console yourself. Now I see the Father who is sending you an angel for comfort and help, so that you can come out of this state of agony and be able to turn yourself over to the Jews. While you are with the angel, I will go around heaven and earth. You will permit me to take this blood which you have shed, so that I can give it to all men as the pledge of the salvation of each, and bring back to you in exchange, the comfort of their affections, heartbeats, thoughts, steps and deeds.

My heavenly mother, I come to you so that together we may go to all souls to give them Jesus' blood. Gentle mother, Jesus wants comfort, and the greatest comfort we can give him is to bring him souls. Mary Magdalene, come with us. All you angels, come and see how Jesus has been reduced. He wants comfort from everyone, and he finds himself in such a state of prostration that he will not refuse anyone.

O light of the sun, come to cast out the darkness of this night to give Jesus comfort. O stars, with your flickering rays, come down from Heaven. Come, to give Jesus comfort. Flowers of the earth, come with your fragrances. Birds, come with your singing. Come, elements of the earth, to comfort Jesus. Come, O sea, to refresh and wash Jesus. He is our Creator, our Life, our All. Come, all, to comfort Him, to give Him homage as our sovereign Lord.

But, oh, Jesus is not looking for lights, stars, flowers and birds. He wants souls, souls! My gentle good Jesus, here is everyone together with me. Your dear mother is near you. Please do rest in her arms. It will be a comfort for her as well, to press you to her bosom, for she has shared abundantly in your sorrowful agony. Mary Magdalene is here too, as well as all the loving souls of all centuries. O Jesus, please accept them, and say a word of forgiveness and of love to everyone. Bind them all in your love so that no soul may ever escape you again.

But, ah, it seems to me that You say, O daughter, how many souls flee Me by force and fall into eternal ruin! So how can my sorrow be soothed—if I love a single soul as much as I love all souls together?

 

Conclusion of the Agony

Agonizing Jesus, while it seems that your life is about to be extinguished, I can already hear the death-rattle of the agony. Your beautiful eyes are eclipsed by approaching death; all your most holy members have gone limp. Many times I can hear that you are not breathing. I feel my heart break for the pain. I embrace you and feel you are cold. I shake you but you give no signs of life. Jesus, are you dead?

Afflicted Mama, Angels of Heaven, come to cry over Jesus, and do not permit that I continue to live without Him. Ah, I cannot! I press Him more tightly to myself, and I hear Him taking another breath —and then, again, He gives no sign of life! I call Him: “Jesus, Jesus, my Life, do not die!”

But I already hear the clamor of your enemies, who are coming to take You. Who will defend You in your state?

Roused, He seems to rise from death to life. He looks at me and says:

“Child, are you here? Have you not been a witness of my pains and of the many deaths I suffered? Then know, O daughter, that in these three hours of most bitter agony, I have enclosed in Myself all the lives of creatures and have suffered all their pains and their very deaths, giving to each one my own Life. My agonies will sustain theirs; for their sake, my suffering and death will change into a fountain of sweetness and of life. How much souls cost Me! Were I at least requited! You have seen that while I was dying, I would return to breathe again: those were the deaths of the creatures that I felt within Me!”

My panting Jesus, since You also wanted to enclose my life in You, and therefore also my death, I pray You, for this most bitter agony of yours, to come to my assistance at the moment of my death. I have given You my heart as refuge and rest, my arms to sustain You, and all of my being at your disposal; and — oh, how gladly I would give myself into the hands of your enemies, to die in your place!

Come, O life of my heart, at that moment, to return to me all I have given You: your company, your Heart as bed and rest, your arms as support, your labored breath to alleviate my labors; in such a way that, in breathing, I will breathe through your breath which, like purifying air, will purify me of any stain, and will dispose me to enter the eternal beatitude.

Even more, my sweet Jesus, then You will give your very Most Holy Humanity to my soul, so that, in looking at me, You may see me through Yourself; and in looking at Yourself, You may find nothing for which to judge me. Then You will bathe me in your Blood; You will clothe me with the candid garment of your Most Holy Will; You will adorn me with your Love, and giving me the last kiss, You will let me take flight from earth unto Heaven.

And now I pray you to do for all the dying, what I have asked for myself. Hug them all in your embrace of love. And giving them the kiss of union with yourself, save them all and do not permit anyone to be lost.

My saddened, good Jesus, I offer you this hour in memory of your passion and death, to disarm the just wrath of God for so many sins, to obtain the conversion of all sinners, for peace among peoples, for our sanctification, and in suffrage for the souls of purgatory.

Now I see that your enemies are approaching, and you want to leave me to go meet them. Jesus, permit me to impress a kiss on your lips, which Judas will dare to kiss with his infernal kiss. Let me wipe your face, bathed in blood, which is about to be struck repeatedly and covered with spit. Press me close to your heart, and never permit me to be separated from you. I will follow you. Bless me.

 

Reflections and Practices.

In this third hour in the Garden of Gethsemane, Jesus asked for help from heaven, and his pains were so numerous that he even asked for comfort from his disciples. Now, do I always ask for help from heaven in any circumstance, pain or misfortune? And if I turn to creatures as well, do I do so in an orderly way, going to those who can piously comfort me? Am I at least resigned if I don't receive those comforts I was hoping for, making use of the indifference of creatures to abandon myself even more in Jesus' arms?

Jesus was comforted by an angel. Now, can I say that I am Jesus' angel, by being near him to comfort him and take part in his bitternesses? In order to be able to be a true angel to Jesus, I must receive my pains as pains sent to me by him, and so, as divine pains. Only then can I dare to comfort a God so embittered. Otherwise, if I take pains in a human way, I cannot use them to comfort this Man-God, and therefore I cannot be His angel.

In the sufferings that Jesus sends me, it seems like he sends me the chalice too, into which I must pour the fruit of these sufferings. And these pains, suffered with love and resignation, will be transformed into the sweetest nectar for Jesus. And I will go to my suffering Jesus and offer the chalice that He sent me, and my sorrows now turned into sweetness. Like an Angel, I will bring it to his lips that He may drink it, to comfort Him and soothe Him. In every sorrow I will then say to myself, “Jesus is calling me to be an Angel close to Him. He wants my comfort and, for this reason, He makes me share in his sorrows.

Jesus, my Love, in my suffering, I search for your Heart to rest, and in your suffering I wish to make reparation with mine. In this exchange, may I be your Angel of consolation.

 

My Jesus, we have already reached midnight. I hear your enemies approaching. Composing Yourself, drying your Blood, and feeling strengthened by the comfort You have received, You return to your disciples. You call them and admonish them; and, taking them with You, You go to meet your enemies. In this way with your promptness You make reparation for my slowness, unwillingness, and laziness in working and suffering for your Love.

But, O my gentle love, what a moving scene I see! The first to meet you is wicked Judas who comes up to you, throws his arms around your neck, greets you and kisses you. And you, my ardent love, do not refuse to kiss those infernal lips. You embrace him and press him to your heart, wanting to snatch him from hell by giving him new demonstrations of love.

My Jesus, how is it possible not to love You? The tenderness of your Love is so great that it should jerk every heart into loving You —and yet You are not loved! My Jesus, with this kiss, You make reparation for all the betrayals, pretenses, and deceptions worked under the cloak of friendship and sanctity, especially by consecrated souls. And with this kiss, You ask and obtain pardon for every and any penitent sinner that returns, humbled, to your most holy Heart.

O how sweetly the words that You spoke to Judas descend into my Heart:

“Friend, why have you come?”

Ah, it seems as though You address the same words to me—not in calling me “Friend,” but with the sweet name of “child,” saying, My daughter, for what have you come? You say it to hear me answer You, “Jesus, I come to love You.” “Why have you come?”, You repeat to me when I wake up in the morning; “Why have you come?”, if I pray; “Why have you come?”, You repeat to me in the Holy Host, if I come to receive You into my heart. What a beautiful call for me and for all!

But how many, to your “Why have you come?”, answer: “I come to offend You!” Others, pretending not to hear You, give themselves to all kinds of sins, and answer your “Why have you come?” by going to hell! How much compassion I feel for You, O my Jesus! I would like to take the very ropes with which your enemies are about to bind You, in order to bind these souls and spare You this sorrow.

But, again, I hear your most tender voice which says, as You go to meet your enemies:

“Who are you looking for?”

And they answer:

“Jesus the Nazarene”.

And You, to them:

“I Am”

Oh, what wickedness and ingratitude! Instead of humbling themselves and lovingly throwing themselves at your feet to ask your forgiveness, abusing your goodness and despising your graces and miracles, they lay their hands on you, and with ropes and chains, tie you and immobilize you. They throw you to the ground, trample you under their feet and tear out your hair. And, with inconceivable patience, You remain silent—suffering in atonement for the offenses of sinners, who do not surrender, but harden their hearts still more in spite of your miracles. With your ropes and chains, You rend the chains of our sins and bind us with the sweet chains of love.

You lovingly correct Peter who wants to defend You even by cutting off Malchus’ ear. In this way, You want to make reparation for good works done without holy prudence and for those who fall into sin through excessive zeal.

My most patient Jesus, these ropes and chains seem to add something more beautiful to your Sacred Humanity. Your Forehead becomes more majestic, so much so that it even attracts the attention of your enemies. Your eyes radiate more light—and your Holy Face reflects a supreme peace and sweetness that even charms your executioners. With a few gentle and penetrating words, You make them tremble, and if they dare to offend You it is only because You permit it.

O bound and enchained love, are you going to be tied for me, to show an even greater love for me, and then permit that I, your little child, be without chains? No, no. Tie me with your most holy hands, using your own ropes and chains. So, while I kiss your divine forehead, I pray you to bind my whole being: all my thoughts, my eyes, my ears, my tongue, my heart, my affections. And at the same time, tie all creatures, so that, feeling the sweetness of your loving chains, they will not dare to offend you any more.

My most tender Jesus, You have already handed Yourself over to your enemies, giving them the power to do whatever they wish with You. My Jesus, I, also, put myself in your Hands so that You may freely do with me whatever pleases You. United with You, I want to follow your Will, share in your reparations, and suffer your pains.

I want to remain always in your Presence so that there is no offense I do not repair, no bitterness I do not soothe, no spittle or insult that You receive that I do not cover with my kisses and caresses.

In your falls, my hands will always be ready to lift You. I want to be with You always and I do not wish to leave You abandoned. And to be sure of this, fuse me with Yourself. Then I will be in your mind, in your gaze, in your Heart, and in all of You—so that what You do, I will also do. In this way, I will always have You for a faithful companion and none of your pains will be able to elude me, so that I can give You my love on behalf of all creatures.

My dear good Jesus, it is already one o'clock in the morning, and my mind is beginning to drift asleep. I will do all I can to stay awake, but if sleep should take me by surprise, I will leave myself in you to follow whatever you do. What is more, you yourself will do it for me. So, my Jesus, I leave my thoughts in you to defend you from your enemies; my breath as escort and company; my heartbeat to always tell you that I love you, and to make good for the love which the others do not give you; the drops of my blood to make reparation, and to give back to you the honors and the esteem that the others will take from you with their insults, spit and slaps.

O my Jesus, embrace me and bless me. If You want me to sleep, make me sleep in your adorable Heart. As your heartbeats intensify in Love and suffering, may they awaken me often, so that our communion will never be broken.

 

Reflections and Practices.

Seeing the Will of the Father in his enemies, Jesus readily handed himself over to them.

When I am deceived or betrayed by creatures, am I as ready to forgive as Jesus was? Do I take all the wrongs I receive from creatures, from the hands of God? Am I ready to do everything Jesus wants from me? In the crosses and the mistreatment I receive, can I say that my patience is similar to Jesus' patience?

My chained Jesus, let your chains bind my heart and keep it steadfast, ready to suffer whatever you want.

Jesus, be always with me. Sweet Mama, let us follow Jesus together.

My Jesus, divine sentinel, you are in my heart watching over me. And not wanting to remain alone without me, you wake me and make me find myself together with you in Annas' house.

You are now at that point in which Annas interrogates you concerning your doctrine and your disciples. To defend the glory of the Father, O Jesus, you open your most sacred mouth, and with a ringing and dignified voice, respond:

“I have spoken in public and everyone who is here has heard me.”

At your dignified words everyone trembles. But, oh, what wickedness! Wanting to honor Annas, a servant with an ironclad hand comes up to you and slaps you so hard that you stagger, and your most holy face turns livid.

Now, my gentle life, I understand why you woke me. You were right; who would sustain You at this moment, as You are about to fall? Your enemies burst into satanic laughter, whistling and clapping, applauding an act so unjust. And You, staggering, have no one to lean on. My Jesus, I embrace You. And forming a wall with my body to support You, I offer You my cheek—to come quickly and boldly to bear any pain for your Love. I suffer this outrage with You, and I make reparation with You for the cowardice of so many souls who easily become discouraged; for those who fail to speak the truth out of fear; for the lack of respect due to priests, and for all murmuring.

My suffering Jesus, I see that Annas is sending you to Caiphas. Your enemies shove you down the stairs. My love, in this painful fall you make reparation for those who fall into sin at nighttime, taking advantage of the darkness. And you call heretics and unbelievers to the light of the faith.

I want to follow you in these reparations as well, and I send you my sighs to defend you from your enemies, until you reach Caiaphas. Continue to watch over me while I am asleep, and wake me when you need me. Now, give me a kiss, and bless me; and I will kiss your heart and continue my sleep in it.

 

Reflections and Practices.

Jesus, brought before Annas, is questioned by him about His doctrine and about His disciples. To glorify the Father, he answered regarding his doctrine, but to avoid offending charity he did not touch on his disciples.

Now when I am asked to glorify the Lord, am I fearless and courageous, or am I subject to human respect? I must always speak the truth, even in the presence of those who are influential.

In my conversations, do I always seek the glory of God? Do I seek God’s glory by enduring everything patiently as Jesus did? Do I always avoid speaking badly of my neighbors, excusing their faults when I hear others speaking ill of them?

Jesus watches over our heart. But do I keep watch over Jesus’ Heart so that He receives no offense for which I am unwilling to make reparation? In everything I do, am I always alert so that my every thought, glance, word, affection, heartbeat, and desire stay like sentinels around Jesus, keeping watch over his Heart and offering reparation for all the offenses It receives? To make this reparation to his Heart, do I ask Jesus to keep watch over our every act and to help us keep watch over our hearts?

Every act that we perform in God is a Divine Life that we acquire within us. Since we are very limited and God is immense, we are incapable of enclosing God within our menial acts. It is necessary, then, that we multiply these acts as much as possible at least to increase our capacity to understand and love.

When my Jesus calls me, am I ready to respond? God’s call can be heard in many ways: through inspiration, reading good books, and by good example. One may even feel it tangibly through the attraction of grace and even in intemperate changes of weather.

My sweet Jesus, may your voice always echo in my heart. May everything that surrounds me both internally and externally be a continuous voice that always calls me to love You. And may the harmony of your divine voice keep me from listening to any distracting human voice.

My afflicted and abandoned Good, while my weak nature sleeps in your sorrowful Heart, my sleep is often interrupted by the pangs of love and sorrow of your Divine Heart. Between vigil and sleep, I hear the blows that they give You, so I wake up and

I say:

"My poor Jesus, abandoned by everyone! There is no one who takes your part. But from within your Heart I offer You my life as support for You, as they knock You about."

Then I drowse off again. But another pang of love of your divine heart wakes me, and I feel my ears deafened by the insults they give you, by the whisperings, the shouts and the stirring of people.

My love, why is everyone against you? What have you done, that, like so many rabid wolves, they want to tear you apart? I feel my blood freeze as I hear the preparations your enemies are making. I tremble and become sad, while thinking about what I can do to defend you.

Having me in his heart, my sad Jesus presses me closer to himself, and says:

“My child, I have done no wrong, and [at the same time] I have done everything. I have committed the “crime” of love which contains all sacrifices—love, which is of immeasurable cost. We are still at the beginning. Remain in my heart, observe everything, love me, be silent, and learn. Make your chilled blood flow in my veins to give relief to my blood which is all ablaze. Make your shivering flow in my members so that, unified in me, you may become steadfast; and warm yourself so you can feel part of my pains, as well as acquire strength by seeing me suffer so much. This is the best way to defend me. Be faithful and attentive.”

My dear love, your enemies are making so much noise that I cannot go back to sleep. The shoves are becoming more violent. I can hear the rattling of the chains. They have bound you so tightly that blood is dripping from your wrists, and it stains those streets. Remember that my blood flows in yours, and as yours is poured out mine kisses it, adores it, and makes reparation. May it be light to all who offend you at nighttime, and magnet to draw all hearts around you.

My love and my all, as they drag you, and the air is deafened by shouts and whistles, you now come before Caiaphas. You are all meek, modest, humble; your sweetness and patience is such as to terrorize even your enemies; and Caiphas, full of rage, would want to devour You. O how easily sin and innocence are distinguished!

My Love, You stand before Caiphas to be condemned as the guiltiest of criminals.

Caiaphas now asks the witnesses what your crimes are. Oh, he would have done better to ask about your love! Someone accuses you of one thing and another accuses you of something else, blundering and contradicting each other. While they are accusing you, the soldiers at your side pull your hair. They slap your most sacred face so hard that it echoes in all the room. They twist your lips. They beat you. You remain silent and suffer. When you look at them, the light of your eyes descends into their hearts, and unable to resist, they go away from you. But others take their place to torture you more.

 

Peter's three denials

In the midst of so many accusations and outrages, I see You become more attentive. Your Heart pounds violently as if it were going to burst for the pain. Tell me, my afflicted Good, what is it? I see that your love is so great that You anxiously await that which your enemies are doing to You, and You offer it for our salvation. With perfect calmness, your heart makes reparation for slander, hatred, false testimony, the wrong done to the innocent with premeditation, for those who offend you by instigation of their leaders, and for the offenses of the clergy.

United to You, I join in your reparations, and I feel a new sorrow grieving your most tender Heart—one never felt before. Tell me, tell me, what is it? Share everything with me, O Jesus.

“My child, do you want to know what it is? I hear Peter's voice saying that he does not know me. Then he swears again and again that he does not know me; and finally, vehemently cursing, he affirms he does not know me.

O Peter, how is it that you do not know me? Don't you remember how many goods I have showered on you? If the others make me die of pain, you make me die of sorrow! Oh, what a mistake it was to follow me from a distance, and then expose yourself to the occasions of sin!”

My denied Good, how quickly the offenses of your dearest ones can be recognized! O Jesus, I want to make my heartbeat flow within Yours to soothe the harrowing spasm that You suffer. And my heartbeat in Yours swears loyalty and love to You, and repeats and swears thousands and thousands of times that I know You. But your love still has not calmed down, and you are seeking out Peter with your eyes. Before your loving gazes, your eyes swollen with tears for his denial, Peter is moved, and he weeps as he goes away. Having saved him, you calm down again, and you make reparation for the sins of the popes and of the leaders of the Church, especially for those who expose themselves to the occasions of sin.

Meanwhile, your enemies continue to accuse you. Seeing that you do not answer their accusations, Caiaphas says to you:

“I solemnly order you under oath to the living God, tell me: Are you really the true Son of God?”

My Love, you always have the word of truth on your lips. And so, assuming an attitude of supreme majesty, with a resonant but gentle voice that strikes everyone and makes the demons themselves plunge into the abyss, you respond:

“You have said it. Yes, I am the true Son of God. And one day I will descend on the clouds of heaven to judge all nations.”

At your creative words, everyone becomes silent. They are shuddering and frightened. But Caiphas, after a fearful moment, recovers. More furious than a wild beast, he says to everyone:

“What need have we of more witnesses? He has uttered a grave blasphemy. Why should we wait to condemn Him? He is already deserving of death!”

To give greater force to his sacrilegious words, he rends his garments with such rage and fury that all scream together, as one man, “He is guilty and must die! He is guilty and must die!” They attack You, my good Jesus. One hits You and slaps You, while another spits in your face. Still others trample You under their feet. They torment You in so many ways that the earth trembles and the heavens are shaken.

My Love and my Life, how they torment You! My heart breaks for sorrow... Oh, permit me to come out of your sorrowful heart to face all these outrages in your place. Yes, if it were possible, I would snatch you from the hands of your enemies, but you do not want me to because the salvation of everyone demands this. So I am compelled to resign myself.

My sweet love, permit me to clean you, arrange your hair, remove the spit and wipe away the blood, to then enclose myself in your heart, because I see that Caiaphas is tired and wants to retire, and that he is turning you over to the soldiers.

So, I bless you. And I ask your blessing on me, and that you give me the kiss of love. I enclose myself in the furnace of your divine heart to go to sleep. I place my mouth on your heart so that as I breathe I may kiss you. And by the difference of your heartbeats—more or less suffering—I will notice whether you suffer or rest. And now, forming wings with my arms to defend you, I embrace you, press myself close to your heart, and fall asleep.

 

Reflections and Practices.

Jesus is brought before Caiphas and unjustly accused. He is subjected to unprecedented torture and when He is interrogated, He speaks only the truth. When the Lord permits others to calumniate and unjustly accuse me, do I seek God alone who knows my innocence, or do I beg for the esteem and honor of other creatures? Do my lips always speak the truth? Am I the enemy of all deception and lies? Do I patiently endure the mockery and humiliations that others cause me? Am I ready to offer my life for the sake of their salvation?

My sweet Jesus, how different I am from You! I humbly ask You, grant that my lips always speak the truth, to wound the hearts of those who hear me and to guide all souls to You!.

My most sweet Life, Jesus, while sleeping, clinging to your Heart, I often felt the pricks of the thorns which pierce your Most Holy Heart. Wanting to wake up together with You, that You may have at least one who notices all of your pains and feels compassion for You, I cling more tightly to your Heart; and feeling your prickings more vividly, I wake up. What do I see? What do I hear? I would like to hide you in my heart to offer myself in your place and to receive upon myself such terrible pains, such incredible insults and humiliations. Only your love could endure such outrages. My most patient Jesus, what can you expect from such inhuman people!

Now I see that they are making fun of you. They cover your face with thick spit, and the light of your beautiful eyes is obscured by it. Then, shedding streams of tears for our salvation, you clear your eyes of that spit. But in the wickedness of their heart they cannot bear to see the light of your eyes, and so they cover them with spit again.

Others, becoming more daring in evil, open your most sweet mouth and fill it with disgusting spit, to the point that they themselves feel nausea. And since some of that spit flows away, revealing, in part, the majesty of your Face and your superhuman sweetness, they shudder and feel ashamed of themselves. In order to feel more free, they blindfold You with a miserable rag, to be able to hurl themselves, unrestrained, at your adorable Person. And so they beat You up without pity; they drag You; they trample You under their feet; they repeat blows and slaps to your Face and over your head, scratching You, tearing your hair, and pushing You from one point to another.

Jesus, my love, my heart cannot bear to see you in such pains. You want me to witness everything, while I would rather cover my eyes to avoid seeing such sorrowful scenes, capable of tearing the heart from every breast. But your love compels me to observe what is happening to you. I see that You utter not a breath, that You say not a word to defend Yourself; that You are in the hands of these soldiers like a rag, and they can do with You whatever they want. And in seeing them jumping on You, I fear You may die under their feet.

My Good and my All, the sorrow I feel for your pains is so great, that I would like to shout so loudly as to be heard up there in Heaven, and call the Father, the Holy Spirit and all the Angels; and here on earth, from one point to another, call sweet Mama first, and all the souls who love You, so that, forming a circle around You, we may prevent these insolent soldiers from drawing near You to insult You and torment You more. Together with you, we will make reparation for all the various kinds of sins committed during the night, especially for those committed during the night hours on your sacramental person, by those belonging to sects, as well as for all the sins of those souls that do not remain faithful in the night of the test.

My insulted Jesus, I see that the soldiers, drunk and tired, want to rest. My poor heart, oppressed and lacerated by all these pains of yours, does not want to remain alone with you, and feels the need for another companion.

Yes, my gentle mother, you be my inseparable companion. I clasp your maternal hand tightly and kiss it, while I ask you to strengthen me with your blessing. While together we embrace Jesus, let us rest our head on his sorrowful heart to console it. O Jesus, together with Mother Mary I kiss you and bless you. And now she and I will sleep the sleep of love on your adorable heart.

 

Reflections and Practices.

In this hour, Jesus stands in the midst of soldiers with composure and undaunted determination. Being the God that He is, He suffers all the abuses given by the soldiers and looks at them with so much Love that He seems to invite them to inflict even more pain.

Am I constant in the face of persistent suffering, or do I complain, become troubled, and lose peace—that peace of heart that is necessary for Jesus to dwell happily in me?

Steadfastness is the virtue that enables one to know whether God truly reigns in him. If our virtue is genuine, we will be steadfast in trials, with a constancy that is not subject to change. Only this kind of steadfastness can communicate peace to us. The more we remain steadfast in doing good, in suffering, and in working, the more we increase the space around us, wherein Jesus communicates his graces. So, if we fail to be constant, our space will be restricted and Jesus will have little or no room in which to move. But if we remain steadfast and constant, Jesus will find abundant space and will find his support and assistance in us—He will find a place to increase his grace.

If we want beloved Jesus to rest in us, let us surround Him with the same steadfastness with which He won the salvation of our souls. Defended in this manner, He will remain in our hearts to take his sweet rest.

Jesus lovingly gazed at those who mistreated Him. Do I gaze with the same love at those who offend me? Is the love that I show them so intense that, like a powerful voice penetrating their hearts, it converts them to Jesus?

My Jesus, boundless Love, grant me this love and let every pain I suffer lead souls to You.

My suffering Jesus, you are now out of prison, but are so exhausted that you waver at every step. I want to be by your side to hold you up when I see you are about to fall.

I see that the soldiers bring you before Caiaphas. O my Jesus, you reappear in their midst like a sun, and though disfigured, you radiate light everywhere. Now I observe that Caiaphas is overjoyed to see you reduced to such a pitiful state. The rays of your light blind him even more, and in his fury he questions you again:

“So, you are really the true Son of God?”

And you, my love, your voice full of grace, with supreme majesty and your usual sweet and moving words that captivate hearts, answer:

“Yes, I am the true Son of God.”

Then, although they feel all the force of your words in themselves, suffocating everything and not wanting to know more, they cry out with one voice:

“He deserves to die! He deserves to die!”

Caiaphas confirms the death sentence and sends you to Pilate. My condemned Jesus, you accept this sentence with such love and resignation that you almost snatch it from the wicked pontiff. And you make reparation for all the sins committed deliberately and with sheer malice, and for those who instead of being sorry for the wrong they have done, rejoice and are glad for the sin itself—which blinds them and brings them to suffocate all light and grace. My life, your reparations and prayers echo in my heart, and I make reparation and pray together with you.

My tender love, having lost what little esteem they had of you, now that you have been sentenced to death, I see that the soldiers grab you. They add more ropes and chains, and tie you so tightly that your divine person can hardly move. Then, pushing and dragging you, they remove you from Caiaphas' palace.

Throngs of people are waiting for you, but not one of them to defend you. My divine sun, you go out into their midst, wanting to envelop them all in your light.

As you take your first steps, with the intention of enclosing all the steps of creatures in yours, you pray and make reparation for those who take their first steps to do wrong: In one instance to take revenge; in another to kill, to betray, to rob, or to do even worse. Oh, how all these sins wound your heart! To prevent so much evil you pray, make reparation, and offer up your whole self.

As I follow you, my sun, Jesus, I see that as you begin to descend from Caiaphas' palace you meet with Mary, our beautiful and gentle mother. Your eyes meet, wounding both of you. And although you are comforted by seeing each other, this encounter causes still new pains. For you it is a new pain to see our beautiful mother pierced, pale, and clothed in mourning. For your dear mother it is also a new suffering to see you, the divine sun, eclipsed and covered with so many outrages, weeping and shrouded in blood. But you are not able to enjoy your exchange of glances for long. With the pain of not being able to exchange even one word, your hearts say everything. You fuse yourselves in each other, but stop looking at each other because the soldiers press you on. And so, trampled and dragged you come before Pilate.

My Jesus, I join our pierced mother in following you, and I want to fuse myself together with her in you. And giving me a look of love, you bless me.

 

Reflections and Practices.

Jesus is brought at dawn before Caiphas and He courageously declares that He is the Son of God. When I go somewhere, do I allow Jesus to direct me? Is my conduct an example for others, and do my steps, like magnets, attract other souls to Jesus? Jesus’ entire life is a continuous calling to souls. If we conform ourselves to his Will—that is, if our feet call souls as we walk, if our heartbeats, echoing the divine heartbeats, harmonize together and call souls, and so on with all the rest—by doing this, we will form the same humanity of Jesus in ourselves. So, each time we call souls, it is another imprint that we receive from our Jesus. Is our life always the same, or do we change for the worse according to the encounters we have?

My Jesus, holiness beyond compare, guide me and make even my outward demeanor manifest all your divine life..

My bound Jesus, together with the priests, your enemies present you to Pilate. In view of celebrating the Passover, they remain outside in the courtyard, giving the false impression of holiness and scrupulosity. And you, my love, seeing to the heart of their malice, make reparation for all the hypocrisies of those consecrated to you. I too make reparation together with you.

Now, while you are doing this for their good, they instead, begin to accuse you to Pilate, vomiting all the poison they have in themselves against you.

Showing himself unsatisfied with their accusations, in order to be able to condemn you on good grounds, Pilate calls you aside to examine you alone, and asks you:

“Are you the king of the Jews?”

And you, my true king, Jesus, respond:

“My kingdom is not of this world. If it were, thousands of legions of angels would defend me.”

Pilate is surprised; and moved by the gentleness and dignity of your words, he says to you:

“What? You are king?”

And you:

“I am as you say; and I have come into the world to teach the truth.”

Not wanting to know more, and convinced of your innocence, Pilate goes out on the terrace and says:

“I find no fault at all in this man.”

The Jews are enraged, and they accuse you of many other things, but you remain silent and do not defend yourself. You make reparation for the weaknesses of judges when they find themselves before the domineering, and for their injustices; and you pray for the innocent, the oppressed and the abandoned. Then Pilate, seeing the fury of your enemies, and wanting to rid himself of you, sends you to Herod.

 

My divine king, I want to repeat your prayers and reparations, and go with you to Herod. I see that your infuriated enemies would like to devour you. While they are taking you, they heap insults, taunting and ridicule on you, and so they bring you before Herod. Swelling up with pride, Herod asks you many questions, but you don't answer. You don't even look at him. Then, irritated because he doesn't see his curiosity satisfied, and humiliated by your long silence, he declares publicly that you are crazy and out of your mind; and he orders you to be treated accordingly. To mock you, he has you dressed in a white garment; and he turns you over to the soldiers so that they will abuse you as much as they can.

My innocent Jesus, no one finds any fault in you. Only the Jews do, because their false religiosity does not merit that the light of the truth shine in their minds.

My Jesus, infinite Wisdom, how dearly it costs you to have been declared crazy. The soldiers, taking advantage of you, throw you to the ground, trample you, cover you with spit, ridicule you and beat you with sticks. Being struck like this, you feel yourself dying. The pains, the abuses and the humiliations are so numerous that the angels weep, and they cover their faces with their wings so they won't have to see them.

My peculiar Jesus, I too want to call you crazy—but crazy with love. Your loving madness is such, that, instead of taking offense, you pray and make reparation for the ambition of kings aspiring to kingdoms, who thus cause the ruin of peoples; for so many massacres that they cause; for all the blood they spill to satisfy their whims; for all the sins of curiosity; and for the sins committed in courts and in armies.

My Jesus, how moving it is to see you praying and making reparation in the midst of so many outrages. Your words echo in my heart, and I follow what you do. Now, let me come by your side to share in your pains, console you with my love, send your enemies away, take you in my arms to restore you, and kiss your forehead.

I kiss your Forehead, my Jesus, and I beg You to purify my thoughts for the sake of these sufferings. I kiss your beautiful eyes, shining with light. And this light surrounds me everywhere. It penetrates my thoughts, eyes, words, and heart in such a way as to make me swim in this light. I kiss your ears—sanctify mine. I kiss your Face—enchant me and all souls as well with your beauty to recover from all the insults and taunts that You receive in Herod’s palace. I kiss your mouth. Give me the grace never to say any words that could offend You. And I want to make up for all the ways that others offend You. I want to stretch out my arms to You and hold You close to my heart, praying that You impress your image in my mind, my heart, my steps, my works, and in all that I do.

I kiss your right hand. Grant efficacious graces for the conversion of all sinners and give me and everyone the good fruits of your most holy works. I kiss your left hand. Impress me with your virtues, especially Charity. I kiss your left foot—give me self-knowledge. I kiss your right foot—give me the grace to obey with promptness. Finally, I kiss your most pure Heart—consume me in the ardent flames of your Love.

My gentle love, I see that they won't leave you alone. Herod is sending you back to Pilate. If your coming was painful, your return will be more tragic because I see that the Jews are more enraged than before, and at any cost are determined to put you to death.

So, before you leave Herod's palace, I want to kiss you as a sign of my love for you in the midst of so many pains. Strengthen me with your kiss and your blessing, and I will follow you to Pilate.

 

Reflections and Practices.

Even as Jesus is presented to Pilate in the midst of many insults and much contempt, He remains ever gentle and has no contempt toward anyone, trying to make the light of truth shine in everyone. Do I feel the same toward everyone? If someone does not like me, do I try to overcome my natural opposition? When dealing with others, do I always strive to make Jesus known and to make the light of truth shine in them?

Jesus, my sweet life, place your words on my lips and Grant that I may always speak with your tongue.

Presented before Herod, Jesus remains silent. He is dressed as a madman and subjected to incredible torture. When I am slandered, mocked, insulted, and jeered at, do I realize that Our Lord wants to give us his divine likeness? In my sorrow, derision, and all that my poor heart experiences, do I consider that it is Jesus who initiates our sorrow with his touch, transforming us into Himself and producing his likeness in us? And when suffering revisits us, do I consider that Jesus, looking at me, is still not content with me and, holding me closely, seeks to make me completely like Himself? Following Jesus’ example, can I say that I have mastered myself, that instead of responding when angry, I prefer to remain silent? Do I ever allow myself to be overcome by curiosity?

In every affliction I encounter, I should make the intention to offer it as a life for Jesus, to pray for and obtain souls. When we place souls in the Will of God, our sorrows make a circle, and within that circle we enclose both God and the souls, and join the souls to Jesus.

My Love and my all, may You alone take total possession of this heart of mine. Keep it in your hands so that in my encounters with others I reproduce within me your surpassing patience.

My tormented Jesus, among anxieties and pains my poor heart follows you. Seeing you clothed as a madman, knowing who you are—infinite Wisdom, who gives judgment to all—I go into a frenzy, and say: What! Jesus is mad? Jesus is a criminal?

And now the greatest criminal, Barabbas, will be preferred to you. My Jesus, holiness that has no equal, now you are before Pilate again.

Seeing you so pitifully reduced and clothed as if insane, and that Herod didn't condemn you either, he is more angered with the Jews, more firmly convinced of your innocence, and decided not to condemn you. But at the same time, wanting to give some satisfaction to the Jews, and, as it were, extinguish the hate, the fury, the rage and the burning thirst which they have for your blood, he presents you together with Barabbas. But the Jews cry: “We want Barabbas freed, not Jesus!”

So, Pilate, not knowing what to do to calm them down, condemns you to the scouring. My rejected Jesus, my heart breaks to see that while the Jews are all busy about putting you to death, absorbed in yourself, you are intent on giving life to everyone. Straining my ears, I can hear you say:

“Holy Father, look at your Son clothed as a madman. This makes reparation to you for the madness of so many creatures fallen into sin. Let this white garment be before you as forgiveness for so many souls that clothe themselves in the gloomy garment of sin. O Father, see the hatred, the fury, the rage they have against me, and their thirst for my blood, which makes them almost lose the light of reason. I want to make reparation to you for all hatred, vengeance, anger and homicides, and obtain the light of reason for everyone.”

“My Father, look at me again. Could there be a greater insult than to prefer the worst criminal to me? I want to make reparation to you for all the preferences committed. Yes, the whole world is full of preferences. Some people prefer a miserable self­interest to us; others honors, vanities, pleasures, attachments, dignities, immoderate eating and drinking, and even sin itself. All creatures unanimously reject us, even putting us after every foolish little thing. I am ready to accept Barabbas' being preferred to me, to make reparation for the preferences of creatures.”

My Jesus, seeing your great love in the midst of so many sufferings, and the heroism of your virtues in the midst of so many pains and insults, I feel myself die of pain and confusion. Your words and reparations, like so many wounds, echo in my poor heart; and in my grief I repeat your prayers and your reparations. I cannot separate from you even for an instant, otherwise many things that you do would escape me.

Now, what do I see? The soldiers are leading you to a column to scourge you. My love, I follow you. I ask you to look at me with your look of love, and to give me the strength to assist at your painful butchery. My most pure Jesus, now you are by the column. The furious soldiers loose you to tie you to it. But this is not enough. They strip you of your garments so they can cruelly butcher your most holy body. My love, my life, I feel myself faint for the pain of seeing you nude. You are trembling from head to foot, and your most holy face reddens with a virginal blush. You are so confused and exhausted, that, unable to stand on your feet, you are about to fall at the foot of this column, but the soldiers don't let you. They hold you up, not to help you, but to be able to tie you.

Now they take the ropes and tie your arms so tightly that they swell up right away, and blood spurts from the tips of your fingers. Then, from the iron ring on the column they pass the ropes and chains around your most holy person to your feet. And in order to freely unleash themselves on you they tie you to the column so tightly that you can't make a move. My stripped Jesus, let me pour out my feelings, otherwise I won't be able to continue to see you suffer so. How is it that you who dress all created things—the sun with light, the sky with stars, the plants with leaves, the birds with feathers—are stripped? What boldness! With the light that comes forth from his eyes, my loving Jesus says to me:

“Be silent, my child. It was necessary for me to be stripped, to make reparation for so many who strip themselves of every modesty, purity and innocence; who strip themselves of every good and virtue, of my grace, and dress themselves with every bestiality, living after the manner of beasts. With my virginal blush, I want to make reparation for all the indecencies, loose lifestyles and bestial pleasures. So, be attentive to what I am doing, pray and make reparation together with me, and calm down.”

Scourged Jesus, your love goes from excess to excess. I see that the torturers take up the whips and beat you so mercilessly that all your most holy body turns black and blue. They have beaten you so furiously that they are already tired, but two others take their place. These take up thorny rods and beat you so much that the blood immediately begins to flow in streams from your most sacred body. Then they pound it all over, forming furrows, and turning it into one big wound.

But this is still not enough. Two others take their place and with chains of hooked iron continue the painful butchery. At the first blows, that beaten and wounded flesh is shredded even more and falls to the ground, leaving the bones bare. The blood is streaming so profusely that it forms a pool around the column. My Jesus, my naked love, while you are under this storm of blows, I embrace your feet so that I may share in your pains and be entirely covered with your most precious blood. O Jesus, scourge my mind and drive out every thought that could distance me from You. Scourge my eyes, and if they want to look at earthly things, strike them with your scourges and make them look only at You. O Jesus, the sound of your whips reaches my ears! When You see me listening to things that distract me from You, my Jesus, strike me with your whips and entice me to listen only to your voice.

O Jesus, scourge my face—and if some act of complacency or self­importance should make an impression upon me, let the blows of your whips detach me from the earth and spur me to look only at Heaven. O Jesus, scourge my tongue and my lips—and if they should dare to pronounce a word that is not for your love and glory, may your scourges strike me and cast fire and flames upon me to ignite with love not only me, but all those who listen to me as well. O Jesus, scourge my hands. May every movement I make and every work that I do be signed with the seal of your love. O Jesus, may your whips strike my feet. I beg You to bind them tightly to your feet to keep me from taking a single step that is not for You—and so that I might lead others to love You. O Jesus, scourge my heart with your dispositions, affections, and desires so that every blow I receive leaves a wound in my heart.

And may these blows give birth to a living love in me. My Jesus, as I stretch my ears, I hear your moans, unheard by the others, because the storm of blows deafens the air around You. In those moans you say:

“All you who love me, come to learn the heroism of true love. Come to extinguish in my blood the thirst of your passions, the thirst of so many ambitions, of so many vanities and pleasures, of so many sensualities! In this blood of mine you will find the remedy for all your evils.”

Your moans continue to say:

“Look at me, O Father, all wounded under this storm of the lashes. But this is not everything. I want to form so many wounds in my body to make enough dwellings for all souls in the heaven of my humanity so as to form their salvation in myself, and then make them pass into the heaven of my divinity. My Father, let every lash of these scourgings make reparation before you, one by one, for every kind of sin. And as they strike me, let them excuse those who commit them. Let these lashes strike the hearts of creatures, speaking to them of my love, and so compel them to surrender to me.”

As you say this, your love is so intense that you almost encourage the torturers to beat you more. My torn and lacerated Jesus, your love overwhelms me and makes me feel like I am going crazy. Although your love is not tired, the executioners don't have the strength to continue the painful butchery. Now they cut the ropes; and almost dead, you fall in your own blood. Seeing the shreds of your flesh, you feel yourself die for the pain of seeing the condemned souls torn from you in those bits of flesh. The pain is so intense that you are gasping in your own blood, and seeing your flesh being lacerated you feels like dying of sorrow and in those pieces of flesh you see the souls who tear themselves away from your humanity. This suffering is so deep that you seem to drown in your own blood.

My Jesus, let me take you in my arms to restore you some with my love. I kiss you, and with my kiss I enclose all souls in you so that no others will be lost. Meanwhile, you bless me.

 

Reflections and Practices.

At this time, Jesus is stripped naked and subjected to cruel beating. But am I stripped of everything? Jesus is bound to a column. Do I allow myself to be bound by Love? Jesus is bound to a column, while I, with my sins and attachments—sometimes even in matters that are indifferent or good in themselves—add my own ropes as though I were unsatisfied with the ropes the Jews used to bind Him. Meanwhile, with his merciful gaze, Jesus calls me to remove his bonds.

Do I not see in that gaze another reproach intended for me for having helped to bind Him? If I am to relieve afflicted Jesus, I must remove my own chains before removing the chains of others. These little chains are frequently seen in my small attachments to my own will, to my self¬love that is often offended, to my small vanities that weave a subtle web, sorrowfully binding my beloved Jesus.

Overwhelmed by Love for my soul, Jesus Himself sometimes wishes to remove my chains so that I will not make Him endure this sorrowful enchainment once more.

Ah, I complain because I do not want to be bound alone with Jesus, I want to keep something that is not His, and so I force Him mournfully to withdraw from me. As my tormented Jesus suffers, He offers reparation for all sins against modesty.

Am I pure in my thoughts, glances, words, and affections, so that I do not inflict more blows on that innocent Body? Am I always bound to Jesus, in such a way that I find myself ready to defend Him whenever others strike Him with their offenses?

My enchained Jesus, may your chains be mine—so that I always feel You in me and You always feel me in You.

My tormented Jesus, among anxieties and pains my poor heart follows you. Seeing you clothed as a madman, knowing who you are—infinite Wisdom, who gives judgment to all—I go into a frenzy, and say: What! Jesus is mad? Jesus is a criminal? And now the greatest criminal, Barabbas, will be preferred to you. My Jesus, holiness that has no equal, now you are before Pilate again.

Seeing you so pitifully reduced and clothed as if insane, and that Herod didn't condemn you either, he is more angered with the Jews, more firmly convinced of your innocence, and decided not to condemn you. But at the same time, wanting to give some satisfaction to the Jews, and, as it were, extinguish the hate, the fury, the rage and the burning thirst which they have for your blood, he presents you together with Barabbas. But the Jews cry: “We want Barabbas freed, not Jesus!”

So, Pilate, not knowing what to do to calm them down, condemns you to the scouring. My rejected Jesus, my heart breaks to see that while the Jews are all busy about putting you to death, absorbed in yourself, you are intent on giving life to everyone. Straining my ears, I can hear you say:

“Holy Father, look at your Son clothed as a madman. This makes reparation to you for the madness of so many creatures fallen into sin. Let this white garment be before you as forgiveness for so many souls that clothe themselves in the gloomy garment of sin. O Father, see the hatred, the fury, the rage they have against me, and their thirst for my blood, which makes them almost lose the light of reason. I want to make reparation to you for all hatred, vengeance, anger and homicides, and obtain the light of reason for everyone.”

“My Father, look at me again. Could there be a greater insult than to prefer the worst criminal to me? I want to make reparation to you for all the preferences committed. Yes, the whole world is full of preferences. Some people prefer a miserable self­interest to us; others honors, vanities, pleasures, attachments, dignities, immoderate eating and drinking, and even sin itself. All creatures unanimously reject us, even putting us after every foolish little thing. I am ready to accept Barabbas' being preferred to me, to make reparation for the preferences of creatures.”

My Jesus, seeing your great love in the midst of so many sufferings, and the heroism of your virtues in the midst of so many pains and insults, I feel myself die of pain and confusion. Your words and reparations, like so many wounds, echo in my poor heart; and in my grief I repeat your prayers and your reparations. I cannot separate from you even for an instant, otherwise many things that you do would escape me.

Now, what do I see? The soldiers are leading you to a column to scourge you. My love, I follow you. I ask you to look at me with your look of love, and to give me the strength to assist at your painful butchery. My most pure Jesus, now you are by the column. The furious soldiers loose you to tie you to it. But this is not enough. They strip you of your garments so they can cruelly butcher your most holy body. My love, my life, I feel myself faint for the pain of seeing you nude. You are trembling from head to foot, and your most holy face reddens with a virginal blush. You are so confused and exhausted, that, unable to stand on your feet, you are about to fall at the foot of this column, but the soldiers don't let you. They hold you up, not to help you, but to be able to tie you.

Now they take the ropes and tie your arms so tightly that they swell up right away, and blood spurts from the tips of your fingers. Then, from the iron ring on the column they pass the ropes and chains around your most holy person to your feet. And in order to freely unleash themselves on you they tie you to the column so tightly that you can't make a move. My stripped Jesus, let me pour out my feelings, otherwise I won't be able to continue to see you suffer so. How is it that you who dress all created things—the sun with light, the sky with stars, the plants with leaves, the birds with feathers—are stripped? What boldness! With the light that comes forth from his eyes, my loving Jesus says to me:

“Be silent, my child. It was necessary for me to be stripped, to make reparation for so many who strip themselves of every modesty, purity and innocence; who strip themselves of every good and virtue, of my grace, and dress themselves with every bestiality, living after the manner of beasts. With my virginal blush, I want to make reparation for all the indecencies, loose lifestyles and bestial pleasures. So, be attentive to what I am doing, pray and make reparation together with me, and calm down.”

Scourged Jesus, your love goes from excess to excess. I see that the torturers take up the whips and beat you so mercilessly that all your most holy body turns black and blue. They have beaten you so furiously that they are already tired, but two others take their place. These take up thorny rods and beat you so much that the blood immediately begins to flow in streams from your most sacred body. Then they pound it all over, forming furrows, and turning it into one big wound.

But this is still not enough. Two others take their place and with chains of hooked iron continue the painful butchery. At the first blows, that beaten and wounded flesh is shredded even more and falls to the ground, leaving the bones bare. The blood is streaming so profusely that it forms a pool around the column. My Jesus, my naked love, while you are under this storm of blows, I embrace your feet so that I may share in your pains and be entirely covered with your most precious blood. O Jesus, scourge my mind and drive out every thought that could distance me from You. Scourge my eyes, and if they want to look at earthly things, strike them with your scourges and make them look only at You. O Jesus, the sound of your whips reaches my ears! When You see me listening to things that distract me from You, my Jesus, strike me with your whips and entice me to listen only to your voice.

O Jesus, scourge my face—and if some act of complacency or self­importance should make an impression upon me, let the blows of your whips detach me from the earth and spur me to look only at Heaven. O Jesus, scourge my tongue and my lips—and if they should dare to pronounce a word that is not for your love and glory, may your scourges strike me and cast fire and flames upon me to ignite with love not only me, but all those who listen to me as well. O Jesus, scourge my hands. May every movement I make and every work that I do be signed with the seal of your love. O Jesus, may your whips strike my feet. I beg You to bind them tightly to your feet to keep me from taking a single step that is not for You—and so that I might lead others to love You. O Jesus, scourge my heart with your dispositions, affections, and desires so that every blow I receive leaves a wound in my heart.

And may these blows give birth to a living love in me. My Jesus, as I stretch my ears, I hear your moans, unheard by the others, because the storm of blows deafens the air around You. In those moans you say:

“All you who love me, come to learn the heroism of true love. Come to extinguish in my blood the thirst of your passions, the thirst of so many ambitions, of so many vanities and pleasures, of so many sensualities! In this blood of mine you will find the remedy for all your evils.”

Your moans continue to say:

“Look at me, O Father, all wounded under this storm of the lashes. But this is not everything. I want to form so many wounds in my body to make enough dwellings for all souls in the heaven of my humanity so as to form their salvation in myself, and then make them pass into the heaven of my divinity. My Father, let every lash of these scourgings make reparation before you, one by one, for every kind of sin. And as they strike me, let them excuse those who commit them. Let these lashes strike the hearts of creatures, speaking to them of my love, and so compel them to surrender to me.”

As you say this, your love is so intense that you almost encourage the torturers to beat you more. My torn and lacerated Jesus, your love overwhelms me and makes me feel like I am going crazy. Although your love is not tired, the executioners don't have the strength to continue the painful butchery. Now they cut the ropes; and almost dead, you fall in your own blood. Seeing the shreds of your flesh, you feel yourself die for the pain of seeing the condemned souls torn from you in those bits of flesh. The pain is so intense that you are gasping in your own blood, and seeing your flesh being lacerated you feels like dying of sorrow and in those pieces of flesh you see the souls who tear themselves away from your humanity. This suffering is so deep that you seem to drown in your own blood.

My Jesus, let me take you in my arms to restore you some with my love. I kiss you, and with my kiss I enclose all souls in you so that no others will be lost. Meanwhile, you bless me.

 

Reflections and Practices.

At this time, Jesus is stripped naked and subjected to cruel beating. But am I stripped of everything? Jesus is bound to a column. Do I allow myself to be bound by Love? Jesus is bound to a column, while I, with my sins and attachments—sometimes even in matters that are indifferent or good in themselves—add my own ropes as though I were unsatisfied with the ropes the Jews used to bind Him. Meanwhile, with his merciful gaze, Jesus calls me to remove his bonds.

Do I not see in that gaze another reproach intended for me for having helped to bind Him? If I am to relieve afflicted Jesus, I must remove my own chains before removing the chains of others. These little chains are frequently seen in my small attachments to my own will, to my self¬love that is often offended, to my small vanities that weave a subtle web, sorrowfully binding my beloved Jesus.

Overwhelmed by Love for my soul, Jesus Himself sometimes wishes to remove my chains so that I will not make Him endure this sorrowful enchainment once more.

Ah, I complain because I do not want to be bound alone with Jesus, I want to keep something that is not His, and so I force Him mournfully to withdraw from me. As my tormented Jesus suffers, He offers reparation for all sins against modesty.

Am I pure in my thoughts, glances, words, and affections, so that I do not inflict more blows on that innocent Body? Am I always bound to Jesus, in such a way that I find myself ready to defend Him whenever others strike Him with their offenses?

My enchained Jesus, may your chains be mine—so that I always feel You in me and You always feel me in You.

My Jesus, infinite love, the more I look at you the more I realize how much you suffer. You are lacerated all over; there is no sound part left in you. You torturers are enraged to see that despite all your pains you look at them with so much love.

Your loving gaze forms a sweet enchantment, almost like so many voices that are praying and begging for more pains and new pains. So, these torturers—not only because they are inhuman, but forced as well by your love—get you to your feet.

But, being unable to stand, you fall again in your own blood. Angered by this, with kicks and shoves, they make you reach the place where they will crown you with thorns. My love, if you don't sustain me with your look of love, I won't be able to continue to see you suffer.

I can already feel my bones shuddering. My heart is pounding. I feel I am dying. Jesus, Jesus, help me! My gentle Jesus says to me:

“My child, take courage. Do not lose anything of all that I have suffered. Be attentive to my teachings. I must completely make man over. Sin has taken away his crown, and has crowned him with such disgrace and confusion that he cannot come before my majesty. Sin has dishonored him, making him lose every right to honor and glory. So, in order to put the crown back on the forehead of man and give back to him all rights to every honor and glory, I want to be crowned with thorns. Before my Father, my thorns will be reparations and voices of forgiveness for so many sins of thought, especially those of pride, and voices of light to every created mind and of entreaty that they not offend me. So, join with me, and pray and make reparation together with me.”

Crowned Jesus, your pitiless enemies make you sit down, and they put a purple rag on you. They take the crown of thorns and with infernal fury put on your adorable head. Then, beating it with a stick they make it penetrate into your forehead; and part of the thorns go into your eyes, your ears, your head and even the back of your neck. My love, what agony! What unspeakable pains! How many cruel deaths you suffer! So much blood is already running down your face that nothing but blood can be seen. But under those thorns and blood I can see your most holy face radiant with gentleness, peace and love.

Wanting to complete the tragedy, your torturers blindfold you, put a reed in your hand as a scepter and begin their jests. They greet you, saying, “King of the Jews!” They hit the crown, they slap you and say, “Guess who struck you!” Your response is to remain silent, and to make reparation for the ambition of those who aspire to kingdoms, dignities and honors; for those who, finding themselves in such positions, by their wrong­doing cause the ruin of the peoples and of the souls entrusted to them; and for those whose bad example lead others into evil and cause the loss of souls.

With this reed you are holding in your hand, you make reparation for so many good works which are empty of interior spirit and are even done with evil intentions. In the insults you receive, you make reparation for those who ridicule the most sacred things, discrediting them and profaning them.

With the blindfold you have on, you make reparation for those who blindfold the eyes of their intelligence so they won't see the light of the truth. At the same time, you obtain for us the grace to remove the blindfolds of passions, riches and pleasures. My king, Jesus, your enemies continue to insult you. There is so much blood flowing from your most holy head that, entering even into your mouth, it keeps you from letting me hear your gentle voice clearly, and so I can't do what you are doing. Therefore, I come into your arms. I want to support your pierced and suffering head; and I want to put my head under those thorns to feel their punctures. As I am saying this, my Jesus calls me with his look of love—and I run. I cling to his heart, and do my best to support his head.

Oh! How wonderful it is to be with Jesus, even in the midst of a thousand torments! He says to me:

“My child, these thorns say that I want to be made king of every heart. All dominion is mine by right. Take these thorns, pierce your heart and make everything go out of it that does not belong to me. Leave a thorn in your heart as the seal to show I am your king and to keep anything else from entering into you. Then, go around to all hearts, piercing them to drive out all the smoke of pride and rottenness which they contain, and make me king of everyone.”

My love, it makes my heart ache to leave you. So, I pray you to deafen my ears with your thorns so that I may only hear your voice. Cover my eyes with your thorns so that I can look at you alone. Fill my mouth with your thorns so that my tongue may be mute to all that could offend you, and free to praise and bless you in everything. O my king, Jesus, surround me with thorns; and may these thorns keep me, defend me and make me all intent on you.

Now I want to dry the blood on you and kiss you, because I see that your enemies are taking you to Pilate who will condemn you to death. My love, help me to continue along your sorrowful way, and bless me. My crowned Jesus, my poor heart, wounded by your love and pierced by your pains, cannot live without you. So I search for you, and I find you again before Pilate. What a moving spectacle I see! The heavens are horrified and hell trembles with fear and rage! Life of my heart, I cannot bear to see you like this without feeling myself die, but the driving force of your love compels me to look at you, to make me thoroughly understand your pains.

Among tears and sighs I contemplate you. My Jesus, you are nude. Instead of clothes, I see you dressed in blood. Your flesh is torn, your bones are laid bare, your most holy face is unrecognizable. The thorns are fixed in your most holy head, and even reach into your eyes and your face. I see nothing but blood which runs to the ground, forming a pool around your feet.

My Jesus, I can't recognize you anymore! Oh, how you are reduced! Your state has reached the most profound excesses of humiliations and torments! No, I can't bear such a painful sight any longer! I feel myself dying! I would like to snatch you away from Pilate's presence and enclose you in my heart to give you rest. I would like to heal your wounds with my love. With your blood I would like to flood the world to enclose all souls in it and bring them to you as the conquest of your pains.

O patient Jesus, it seems as though you are trying to look at me through the thorns; and you say to me:

“My child, come into these tied arms of mine. Rest your head on my breast and you will see more intense and bitter pains, because those you see on the outside of my humanity are but the overflowing of my interior pains. Pay attention to the heartbeats of my heart and you will hear that I am making reparation for the injustices of those who command; for the oppression of the poor; for the putting of the innocent after the guilty; for the pride of those who, to keep high offices, positions and riches, do not hesitate to break any law and to wrong their neighbor, closing their eyes to the light of the truth.”

“With these thorns I want to shatter the haughty spirit of their domination. With the openings they form in my head, I want to make my way into their minds to reorder all things in them according to the light of the truth. By being humiliated like this, before this unjust judge, I want to make everyone understand that virtue alone is what makes man king of himself. And I teach those who are in command that virtue, together with right knowledge, is alone worthy and capable of governing and ruling others, while all other dignities, without virtue, are dangerous and should be rejected. My child, repeat my reparations, and continue to pay attention to my pains.”

My love, I see that Pilate shudders to see you so pitifully reduced; and deeply impressed, he exclaims:

“Is such cruelty possible in human hearts? No, this was not my intention when I condemned him to the scourging.”

Overwhelmed, Pilate turns his eyes away because he can't bear to see such a painful sight. Then, wanting to free you from the hands of your enemies, in order to find more solid grounds he questions you again:

“Tell me: What have you done? Your people have turned you over to me. Tell me: Are you king? What is your kingdom?”

O my Jesus, you give no answer to Pilate's storm of questions; and, enclosed in yourself, you turn your thoughts to saving my poor soul at the cost of so many pains. Seeing that you don't answer him, Pilate adds:

“Don't you realize that it is in my power to free you or to condemn you?”

O my love, wanting to make the light of the truth shine in Pilate's mind, you answer:

“You would have no power over me if it had not been given to you from above. But those who have turned me over to you have committed a sin graver than yours .”

Then, moved by the gentleness of your voice, irresolute as he is, with his heart in a turmoil, Pilate decides to show you from the terrace, thinking that the hearts of the Jews are more compassionate, hoping that they will be moved to compassion to see you so lacerated. My suffering Jesus, my heart aches as I watch you following Pilate. You can hardly walk, curved under that horrible crown of thorns. Blood marks your steps. As you go outside you hear the riotous crown that is anxiously waiting for you to be condemned. Pilate imposes silence to get everyone's attention so he can be heard. With repugnance he takes the two edges of the purple rag that is covering your chest and your back, lifts them up to show everyone how you are reduced, and in a loud voice, says:

“Ecce homo!” Look at him: he no longer has the appearance of a man. Observe his wounds: he is unrecognizable. If he has done wrong, he has already suffered enough, even too much. I already regret having made him suffer like this. So, let us free him!”

Jesus, my love, let me hold you up, because I see that you are wavering, unable to stand under the weight of so many pains.

Now, in this solemn moment, your fate is decided. At Pilate's words a profound silence is heard in heaven, on earth and in hell. And then, as if they had a single voice, I hear everyone shout:

“Crucify him! Crucify him! At any cost we want him dead!”

Jesus, my life, I see you tremble. The cry of death descends into your heart. And in these voices you perceive the voice of your dear Father, who says:

“My Son, I want you dead, and dead by crucifixion!”

Yes, you hear the voice of your dear mother as well, who, though transfixed and desolate, echoes the voice of your dear Father:

“Son, I want you dead!”

The angels, the saints, hell, everyone in a unanimous voice shouts:

“Crucify him! Crucify him!”

So, there is no one who wants you alive. And oh, oh, to my greatest shame, pain and horror, I too feel compelled by a supreme force to cry:

“Crucify him!”

My Jesus, forgive me if I too, a miserable sinful soul, want you dead. But I pray you to make me die together with you. Meanwhile, O my anguished Jesus, moved by my pain, you seem to say to me:

“My child, press yourself to my heart and share in my pains and reparations. The moment is solemn. It must be decided: either my death, or the death of all creatures. In this moment two currents are poured into my heart. In one there are the souls, who, if they want me dead, it is because they want to find life in me. And so, by accepting death for them, they are absolved from eternal condemnation; and the gates of heaven are opened to receive them.

In the other current are those who want me dead out of hatred, and in confirmation of their condemnation. My heart is lacerated and feels the death of each of them, and the very pains of hell! My heart cannot bear these bitter pains. I feel death at every heartbeat and at every breath. And I repeat: Why will so much blood be shed in vain? Why will my pains be useless for many? Please help me, my child, because I can't take it any longer. Share my pains, and let your life be a continuous offering to save souls, to make such excruciating pains less painful for me.”

My heart, Jesus, your pains are mine, and I repeat your reparations. I see that Pilate is astonished, and he hurries to say:

“What? Must I crucify your king? I don't find any fault in him to condemn him!”

But the Jews shout, deafening the air:

“We have no king but Caesar; and if you don't condemn him you are no friend of Caesar. Take him away! Take him away! Crucify him! Crucify him!”

Not knowing what else to do, for fear of being removed from power, Pilate has a wash basin brought to him, washes his hands, and says:

“I am innocent of the blood of this just man.”

And he condemns you to death.

But the Jews cry out:

“His blood be upon us and upon our children!”

Then, seeing you condemned to death, they make merry, clap their hands, whistle and shout. Meanwhile, O Jesus, you make reparation for those who, finding themselves in high positions, for vain fear and to avoid losing their positions, break the most sacred laws, not caring about the ruin of entire peoples, favoring the wrongdoer and condemning the innocent. You also make reparation for those who, after sinning, instigate the divine wrath to punish them.

But as you are making reparation for these things, your heart bleeds for the pain of seeing the people chosen by you struck by the curse of heaven, which they themselves with full will have wanted, sealing it with your blood which they have called down upon themselves. Yes, your heart is fainting! Let me sustain it in my hands by making your reparations and pains mine. Now your love drives you still higher, and you are already impatiently seeking the cross!

My Life, I will follow You, but for now rest in my arms; then, we will reach Mount Calvary together. Therefore, remain in me, and bless me.

 

Reflections and Practices.

Crowning Him with thorns, they treat Jesus like a buffoon king, hurling insults and inflicting untold pains upon Him. He makes reparation especially for sins of pride. Do I allow feelings of pride to seep into me? Do I take credit for the good that I do? Do I believe that I am better than others? Is my mind always empty of other thoughts, so that grace may form in me? Often we do not allow grace to form because our mind is chock¬full of other thoughts, and when our mind is not wholly filled with God, we are ourselves the cause of the devil’s harassment, as if indeed we encouraged his temptations. But a mind filled with God he leaves befuddled, because holy thoughts form a strong bulwark against the devil. When he makes his approach, it’s as if many swords wounded him, and so the devil is afraid of drawing near, wanting to avoid sharp pains.

I am wrong, therefore, to complain when my mind is troubled and tempted by the enemy, for it is my weak guard (because I am not occupied with Jesus) that drives the enemy to attack me, as if he spied on my mind to find small empty spaces where he could attack me. And yet, instead of succoring Jesus with holy thoughts and almost wanting to break his thorns, I, ungrateful that I am, drive them even further into his head and make him feel their sharp stings even more, so that grace is frustrated because it cannot accomplish in my mind the work of holy inspiration.

Sometimes, I do even worse: when I feel the weight of temptations, instead of bringing them to Jesus, making a bundle out of them and burning them at the feet of his love, I grow worried, I become sad, and even calculate my temptations.

Therefore, not only is my poor mind filled with bad thoughts, but all my wretched being is as it were, soaked in them, and I almost need a miracle from Jesus to extricate myself. And Jesus, looking through those thorns, glances at me and, calling to me, says: Ah, my daughter, you yourself refuse to stay close to Me. Had you come to Me right away, I would have helped you free yourself from the troubles that the enemy brought into your mind. Instead, you left Me pining for your return; and since I wanted your help to free Me from these sharp thorns, in vain did I wait, while you were busy in the work that your enemy had prepared for you.

O you would have been tempted much less had you come right away into my arms, so that fearing Me, not you, the enemy would have left immediately! My Jesus, may your thorns be like a seal to my thoughts, which, sealing them in your mind, prevent anything to enter unless it breaks up your thorns. When Jesus makes Himself felt in my mind and my heart, do I answer his inspiration, or do I let it fall into oblivion? Jesus is treated like a buffoon king: do I respect all that is holy? Do I use all the reverence that is appropriate, as if I were touching Jesus Christ Himself?

My crowned Jesus, may I feel your thorns so that from your wounds I may understand how much You suffer, and may You become king of all of me. Displayed on the terrace, Jesus is sentenced to death by the people that He most loved and assisted.

To give me my life, my loving Jesus accepted death on my behalf; am I ready to accept any pain to keep pain and insults away from my Jesus? For Jesus not to suffer, we must accept our sentence; and because Jesus in his Humanity suffered sufficiently, we ought to continue his life on earth, and compensate with our suffering for the Humanity of Jesus Christ.

What compassion do I have for the affliction Jesus suffered on seeing so many souls torn from his Heart? Do I make his pains my own to refresh Him in all that He suffers? The Jews want Jesus crucified so that He will die disgracefully and so as to erase his Name from the face of the earth. Do I strive to make Jesus live on earth? With my acts, with my example, with my steps, I ought to leave a divine impression on the world to make Jesus recognized by everyone. With my works, I ought to produce a divine echo of his life from one end of the earth to the other. Am I ready to give up my life so that beloved Jesus may be refreshed from all the offenses He receives? Or do I imitate the Jews—the people so favored by God who almost resemble my poor soul so loved by God—who cried out, “Let Him be crucified!”?

My condemned Jesus, may your condemnation, which I accept for love of You, be mine. I do through my soul what I cannot do through nature: I continually pour myself into You, to carry You into the hearts of all creatures, to make You known to everyone, and to give your Life to all.

My most patient Jesus, I see you are taking your first steps under the enormous weight of the cross. I join my steps to yours. When you are weak, bleeding, staggering and about to fall, I will be by your side to raise you up. I will put my shoulders under the cross to share its weight with you. Do not turn me away, but accept me for your faithful companion. O Jesus, you look at me; and I see that you are making reparation for those who do not carry their own cross with resignation, who instead curse, become angry, commit homicides and suicide. And with your entreaties you obtain love and resignation for everyone, for their own cross. The pain is so intense that you feel as if your were being crushed under the cross. You have taken but the first steps, and already you fall under it. As you fall you hit against the rocks. The thorns are driven deeper into your head, while your pains are sharpened and all your wounds let more blood. And since you don't have the strength to get up, your enemies become angry and try to get you to your feet with kicks and shoves.

My fallen love, let me help you to your feet, kiss you, wipe away the blood, and together with you make reparation for those who sin out of ignorance, frailty and weakness. And I pray you to give help to these souls. My life, Jesus, with unspeakable torments, your enemies manage to bring you to your feet. As you stagger on, I hear your labored breath. Your heart pounds harder, and new intense pains transfix it. Now you shake your head to free your eyes of the blood that fills them, and anxiously look. Yes, my Jesus, now I understand perfectly: It is your mother, who, like a mournful dove is searching for you. She wants to say a last word to you and receive one last look from you. You feel her pains, and her heart lacerated in yours and moved to compassion and wounded by her love and yours. Now you see her making her way through the mob. At any cost she wants to see you, embrace you and give you her last goodbye.

But you are more transfixed to see her deathly paleness and all your pains reproduced in her by force of love. If she lives it is only by a miracle of your almighty power. Now you are directing your steps toward her, but you can hardly look at each other. Oh, what a rent to the heart of both! The soldiers become aware, and with knocks and shoves keep mother and son from saying goodbye. The anguish of both is so immense that your mother is petrified by the sorrow, and is about to faint, while you again fall under the cross. Faithful John and the pious women hold her up. Then, what your sorrowful mother does not do bodily because she can't, she does with her soul. She enters into you, making the Will of the Eternal One her own; and associating herself with all your pains, she mothers you, kisses you, makes reparation, soothes you, and pours the ointment of her sorrowful love on all your wounds.

My suffering Jesus, I too join with your transfixed mother. I make all your pains mine. I want to mother you in every drop of your blood and in every wound. Together with you and with her I want to make reparation for all the dangerous encounters and for those who expose themselves to the occasions of sin, or being constrained by the necessity to expose themselves, become entangled in sin. Meanwhile, fallen under the cross, you moan.

The soldiers are afraid you may die under the weight of so many martyrdoms and for the shedding of so much blood. So, by means of lashes and kicks they manage to get you to your feet. With this, you make reparation for the repeated falls into sin and for the grave sins committed by every class of person; and you pray for obstinate sinners, weeping tears of blood for their conversion. My exhausted love, while I am following you in your reparations, I see you cannot bear the enormous weight of the cross any longer. You are now trembling from head to foot. With the continual knocks you receive, the thorns penetrate ever deeper into your most sacred head. The heavy weight of the cross makes it sink deeper into your shoulder, forming a wound so deep that the bones are laid bare. It seems to me that you die at each step, and so it is impossible for you to go on.

But your love, which can do everything, gives you strength. As you feel the cross sinking into your shoulder you make reparation for hidden sins, which, not having been satisfied for, increase the bitterness of your torments. My Jesus, let me put my shoulder under the cross to relieve you and to make reparation with you for all hidden sins. Fearing that you may die under the cross, your enemies force the Cyrenian to help you carry it. Unwilling and grumbling, he helps you, not out of love but by force. Then, in your heart there echo all the complaints of those who suffer, the lack of resignation, the rebellions, the anger and the contempt in suffering. But you are transfixed much more to see that the souls consecrated to you, whom you call as companions and help in your suffering, escape from you. If you draw them to yourself through suffering, unfortunately they free themselves from your arms to go in search of pleasures, leaving you like this, to suffer alone. My Jesus, while I am making reparation with you, I pray you to clasp me so tightly in your arms that there won't be any pain you suffer which I do not share with you, to transform myself into them, and to compensate you for the abandonment of all creatures.

My exhausted Jesus, you can hardly walk, and you are bent low. I see that you stop, and try to look. My heart, what is it? What do you want? Yes, it is Veronica, who, fearing nothing, courageously wipes your blood-covered face with a cloth, while you leave your impression on it as a sign of gratitude. My generous Jesus, I too want to dry you, not with a cloth, but by offering my whole being to relieve you. O Jesus, I want to enter into your interior and give you heartbeat for heartbeat, breath for breath, affection for affection, desire for desire. I intend to cast myself into your most holy intelligence. And making all these heartbeats, breaths, affections and desires flow in the immensity of your Will, I intend to multiply them to the infinite. O my Jesus, I want to form waves of heartbeats so that no evil heartbeat will echo in your heart, and in this way soothe all your interior bitternesses. I intend to form waves of affections and of desires to drive away all the evil affections and desires that could sadden your heart in the least. Furthermore, I intend to form waves of breaths and of thoughts to drive away any breath or thought that could displease you in the least. I will be on guard, O Jesus, so that nothing else may afflict You, adding more bitterness to your interior pains.

O my Jesus, please, let all of my interior swim in the immensity of yours; in this way I will be able to find enough love and will, so that no evil love may enter your interior, nor a will which may displease You. O my Jesus, to be more certain, I pray You to seal my thoughts with Yours, my will with Yours, my desires with Yours, my affections and heartbeats with Yours; so that, being sealed, they may take no life but from You. I ask You, again, O my Jesus, to accept my poor body which I would want to tear to shreds for love of You, and reduce it to tiny little pieces, to place over each one of your wounds. On that wound, O Jesus, which gives You pain from so many blasphemies, I place a little piece of my body, wanting it to say to You constantly: “I bless You”. On that wound that gives You so much pain from the many ingratitudes, I intend, O Jesus, to place a portion of my body, to prove my gratitude to You. On that wound, O Jesus, which makes You suffer so much from coldness and lack of love, I intend to place many little bits of my flesh, to say to You constantly: “I love You, I love You, I love You!” On that wound which gives You so much pain from the so many irreverences to your Most Holy Person, I intend to place a piece of myself, to tell You always: “I adore You, I adore You, I adore You!” O my Jesus, I want to diffuse myself in everything, and in those wounds embittered by the many misbelieves, I desire that the shreds of my body tell You, always: “I believe ­I believe in You, O my Jesus, my God, and in your Holy Church, and I intend to give my life to prove my Faith to You!” O my Jesus, I plunge myself into the immensity of your Will, and making It my own, I want to compensate for all, and enclose the souls of all in the power of your Most Holy Will.

O Jesus, I still have my blood left, which I want to pour over your wounds as balm and soothing liniment, in order to relieve You and heal You completely. Again, I intend, O Jesus, to make my thoughts flow in the heart of every sinner, to reprimand him continuously, that he may not dare to offend You. And I pray to You with the voice of your Blood, so that all may surrender to my poor prayers. In this way I will be able to bring them into your Heart! Another grace, O my Jesus, I ask of You: that in everything I see, touch and hear, I may see, touch and hear always You; and that your Most Holy Image and your Most Holy Name, always be impressed in every particle of my poor being.

Meanwhile, your enemies look with contempt at Veronica's deed, and they whip you, shove you and make you move on. A few more steps, and you stop again. your love does not stop under the weight of so many pains. seeing the pious women weeping over your pains, you forget yourself and console them with these words:

“Daughters, do not weep over my pains, but over your sins and over your children.”

What a sublime lesson! How gentle is your word! O Jesus, I make reparation with you for the lacks of charity, and I ask you for the grace of making me forget myself so that I will remember nothing but you alone. Hearing you speak, your enemies go into a rage. They jerk you with the ropes and angrily shove you, so you fall. As you fall you strike against the rocks. The weight of the cross torments you, and you feel yourself dying. Let me hold you up and protect your most holy face with my hands. I see you on the ground, gasping in your blood. Your enemies want to get you on your feet: They pull you with the ropes, they raise you up by the hair, they kick you—but all in vain. You are dying, my Jesus. What grief! My heart breaks for the sorrow.

Practically dragging you, they bring you to Mount Calvary. While they are dragging you I perceive that you are making reparation for all the sins of the souls consecrated to you, who weigh you down so heavily, that, in spite of all your efforts to get up, you can't. And so, dragged and trampled, you reach Calvary, leaving red traces of your precious blood wherever you pass. New sufferings are waiting for you here. They strip you again, tearing off your garments and the crown of thorns. Yes, you groan as you feel the thorns being torn from your head. As they tear off your clothes they rip off the lacerated flesh stuck to them as well. The wounds are torn open; blood flows in little streams to the ground, and the pain is so intense that, almost dead, you fall. But no one is moved to compassion for you, my Jesus. On the contrary, with the fury of wild beasts, they again put the crown of thorns on you and drive it onto your head. You are so tormented by the lacerations and by the tearing of your hair, all stuck together in the dried blood, that only the angels could say what you suffer, while horrified, they turn away their heavenly gazes and weep. My stripped Jesus, let me press you to my heart to warm you, for I see you are trembling, and that a cold mortal sweat spreads over your most holy humanity. How I would like to give my life and my blood to substitute yours, which you have lost to give me life!

Meanwhile, looking at me with his fading and dying eyes, Jesus seems to say to me:

“My child, how much souls cost me! Here is the place where I am waiting for everyone in order to save them. This is the place where I want to make reparation for the sins of those who go so far as to degrade themselves below the beasts, and who persist so much in offending me that they even reach the point of not being able to live without committing sins. Their reason is blinded and they sin madly. This is why they crown me with thorns for the third time. And by being stripped, I am making reparation for those who wear luxurious or indecent dress; for the sins committed against modesty; and for those who are so bound to riches, honors and pleasure that they make a god of them for their hearts. Oh, yes, each of these offenses is a death I feel, and if I do not die it is because the Will of my eternal Father has not yet decreed the moment of my death.”

My stripped Jesus, while I am making reparation with you, I pray you to strip me of everything with your most holy hands, and not to permit any evil affections to enter my heart. Keep watch over it for me, surround it with your pains and fill it with your love. May my life be none other than the repetition of your life; and confirm my dispossession with your blessing. Bless me from the heart, and give me the strength to assist at your sorrowful crucifixion, to remain crucified together with you.

 

Reflections and Practices.

Jesus’ love for the Cross and his eager desire to die on it to save souls were immense! But do I love suffering like Jesus? Can I say that my heartbeats form the echo of his divine heartbeats and that I too ask for the Cross? When I suffer, do I have the intention of keeping Jesus company and of lightening the burden of his Cross? How do I accompany Him? With respect to the insults He receives, am I ready to offer Him a hand to lift Him up, and give Him my small sufferings to ease his pain? Are my eyes always fixed on Jesus, that I may wipe his mortal sweat and the Blood pouring from his Wounds, like an inseparable companion who never leaves Him? As I work, pray, and experience the weight of the intense pain and adversity of my suffering, do I allow my suffering to soar to Jesus to refresh Him like a veil wiping away his sweat? Do I make his difficulties my own?

O my Jesus, always call me to be at your side, and grant that You may always remain by me, walking with me through the whole sad pilgrimage of this life. Soar with me up the holy mountain of your Will—for You want me to reach it— and there we shall rest together. Grant that my pains and Yours may always merge—so that we hold each other—as I continuously wipe the Blood that pours from your most holy Wounds.

My Jesus, unquenchable love, I see you take no rest. I hear your ravings of love and your pains. Your heart is pounding; and in every beat I hear bursts, tortures and violences of love. Unable to contain the fire that is devouring you, you become anxious, you groan, you sigh. And in every groan I hear you say, Cross! Each drop of your blood repeats, Cross! You are swimming in the endless sea of all your pains which repeat among themselves, Cross! And you exclaim:

“O beloved and longed¬for cross, you alone will save my children; and in you I concentrate all my love.”

Meanwhile, your enemies make you enter the praetorium again. Wanting to put your garments back on you, they remove the purple mantle. But, oh, what pain! It would be sweeter for me to die than to see you suffer so! The garment snags on the crown and they can't remove it. So, with cruelty never before seen, they tear off together both the clothing and the crown. At the cruel pull many thorns break and remain fixed in your most holy head. Blood runs down in little streams, and the pain is so intense that you groan. But not caring about your torments, your enemies put your garment back on you. Again they put the crown on you; and pressing it deep into your head, the thorns enter your eyes and your ears, such that there is no part of your most holy head which does not feel their punctures. The pain is so intense that you stagger under those cruel hands, and you tremble from head to foot. Among atrocious spasm you are about to die. Your eyes being weak and filled with blood, you can hardly look at me to ask my help in so much pain.

My Jesus, king of sorrows, let me hold you up and press you to my heart. I would like to take the fire that is devouring you to reduce your enemies to ashes and so free you. But you don't want this, because your longings for the cross are increasing, and you want to immolate yourself on it at once, even for your very enemies! As I press you to my heart, you press me to your, and say to me:

“My child, let me vent my love. Together with me, make reparation for those who dishonor me in the good they do. These Jews dress me in my garments in order to further discredit me before the people and to convince them that I am a criminal. The act of dressing me apparently was good, but in itself it was evil. Yes, how many do good works, administer sacraments and receive them with human and even evil purposes. But to do good in a malicious way hardens the person. And I want to be crowned a second time, with pains more biting than the first, to break this hardness, and so with my thorns, draw them to me. Yes, my child, this second crowning is much more painful for me. I feel my head, as it were, swimming in thorns; and at every movement I make or shove they give me, I suffer so many cruel deaths. With this, I make reparation for the malice of sins; I make reparation for those who, regardless of the state of soul they are in, instead of occupying themselves with their own sanctification, dissipate themselves and reject my grace, thus giving me thorns all over again, which are even more biting. Meanwhile, I am forced to groan, to weep with tears of blood and to long for their salvation. O I do everything to love them and creatures do everything to offend Me! Yes, I do everything to love them, and creatures do everything to offend me! At least you be one who does not leave me alone, to suffer and make reparations by myself.”

My tortured Jesus, I make reparation and suffer with you. I see that your enemies push you down the steps, while the mob is waiting for you with fury and eagerness. They have you find the cross already prepared, which you are seeking with great longing. You look at it with love, and go straight to it, to embrace it. But first you kiss it; and as a shiver of joy surges through your most holy humanity, you look at it with the utmost contentment, measuring its length and width. You now establish the portion in it for each creature. You endow them with sufficient cross in order to bind them to the divinity with a nuptial bond and make them heirs of the kingdom of heaven. Then, unable to contain the love with which you love them, you kiss the cross again, and say to it:

“Adorable cross, I embrace you at last! You were the longing of my heart, the martyrdom of my love. You, O cross, lingered until now, while my steps were always directed toward you. Holy cross, you were the goal of my desires, the purpose of my existence here below. In you I concentrate my whole being; in you I place all my children. You will be their life and their light, their defense, their guard and their strength. You will come to their assistance in everything and will bring them to me glorious, in heaven. O cross, seat of wisdom, you alone will teach true holiness; you alone will form heroes, athletes, martyrs and saints. Beautiful cross, you are my throne; and having to depart from the earth myself, you will remain in my place. I give all souls to you as your dowry. Keep them for me, save them for me; I entrust them to you.”

With this, you anxiously receive the cross on your most holy shoulders. Yes, my Jesus, for your love it is too light; but to the weight of the cross there is added that of our sins, enormous and immense as the expanse of the heavens. My overwhelmed Jesus, you feel crushed under the weight of so many sins. Your soul is horrified by their sight, and you feel the pain of each sin. In the face of so much ugliness, your holiness is shaken. Therefore, as you take the cross on your shoulders, you stagger, you gasp; and a mortal sweat trickles from your most sacred humanity. No, my love, I don't have the heart to leave you alone. I want to share the weight of the cross with you. To relieve you of the weight of sins, I embrace your feet. In the name of all creatures I want to give you love for those who do not love you; praise for those who despise you; blessings, thanksgiving and obedience for everyone. I promise that in any offense you receive, I intend to offer you my whole being to make reparation to you, to do the act contrary to the offense creatures commit against you and to console you with my kisses and continual acts of love.

But I see I am too miserable. I need you in order to truly make reparation to you. So, I unite myself to your most holy humanity. Together with you, I join my thoughts to yours to make reparation for my evil thoughts and those of everyone. I join my eyes to yours to make reparation for evil glances. I join my mouth to yours to make reparation for blasphemies and evil discourses. I join my heart to yours to make reparation for evil tendencies, desires and affections. In a word, I want to make reparation for all that your most holy humanity does, by uniting myself to the immensity of your love for everyone and to the immense good that you do to everyone.

But I am not yet content. I want to unite myself to your Divinity, and I dissolve my nothingness in It, and in this way I give You everything. I give You your Love to quench your bitternesses; I give You your Heart to relieve You from our coldness, lack of correspondence, ingratitude, and the little love of the creatures. I give You your Harmonies to cheer your hearing from the deafening blasphemies it receives. I give You your Beauty to relieve You from the ugliness of our souls, when we muddy ourselves in sin. I give You your Purity to relieve You from the lack of righteous intention, and from the mud and rot You see in many souls. I give You your Immensity to relieve You from the voluntary constraints into which souls put themselves. I give You your Ardor to burn all sins and all hearts, so that all may love You, and no one may offend You, ever again. In sum, I give You all that You are, to give You infinite satisfaction, eternal, immense and infinite love.

Jesus, my love, you are already stripped of your garments. Your most holy body is so lacerated that it seems to me like a fleeced lamb. I see you trembling from head to foot, and that you can't stand up at all. You fall [and remain lying] on this mount until your enemies have finished preparing the cross. My good Jesus, my all, my heart aches with sorrow to see blood streaming from every part of your most holy body, and to see you lacerated from head to foot. Your enemies are tired but not satisfied. In stripping you, they have torn the crown of thorns from your most holy head with inexpressible pain, only to drive it on again with unheard­of torments. The thorns pierce your most sacred head with new wounds, while you make reparation for the wickedness and the obstinacy of sin, especially that of pride.

Jesus, I see that if love did not continue to drive you on, you would have already died for the bitterness of the pain suffered in this third crowning of thorns. But I see that you cannot bear the pain; and, your eyes veiled with blood, you look to see if at least someone comes near you to support you in so much sorrow and confusion. My gentle Jesus, my dear life, you are not alone here as on the night of your passion. Your sorrowful mother is here. Her heart torn, she suffers as many deaths as you do pains. O Jesus, both loving Mary Magdalene, who appears out of her senses because of your pains, and faithful John, who seems to be struck dumb by the force of the sorrow of your passion, are also here.

This is the mount of lovers; you cannot be alone. But tell me, my love, who do you want to sustain you in so much pain? Please, let me come and hold you up. I need to do this more than anyone else. So, your dear mother and the others let me take their place. O Jesus, I come beside you, embrace you, pray you to rest your head on my shoulder and to make me feel your thorns in my head. I want to put my head close to yours, not only to feel your thorns, but also to wash all my thoughts with the most precious blood that is trickling down your head. With this, all my thoughts will be in the act of making reparation to you for any offense of thought committed by creatures. Yes, my love, come close to me. One by one, I want to kiss the drops of blood that are streaming down your most holy face. And while I adore them one by one, I pray you to make each drop of this blood be light to the mind of every creature, so that no one will offend you with evil thoughts. But, while I am holding you close and you are leaning on me, I look at you, O Jesus, and see that you are looking at the cross which your enemies are preparing for you. You hear the blows of the hammer on the cross, with which they are making the holes for the nails to crucify you.

O my Jesus, I feel your heart pounding and beating violently, as you long for this most welcomed—though indescribably painful—bed of rest, by means of which you will seal the salvation of our souls in yourself. Yes, I hear you saying:

“My love, dear cross, my precious bed. You were my martyrdom in life, and now you are my rest. O cross, receive me quickly in your arms. I am waiting anxiously. Holy cross, in you I will give fulfillment to everything. Hurry, O cross, and fulfill the ardent desires that are consuming me, to give life to souls. You, O cross, will be the seal of these lives. No, don't delay any longer! I am anxiously waiting to extend myself on you, to open heaven to all my children and to close hell. O cross, though you are my struggle, you are my victory and my complete triumph as well; and in you I will give abundant inheritances, victories, triumphs and crowns to my children.”

But, who could ever repeat everything my dear Jesus says to the cross?

While Jesus is unburdening himself with the cross, his enemies command him to extend himself on it, and he promptly obeys, to make reparation for our disobediences. My love, before you extend yourself on the cross, let me press you closer to my heart and give you a kiss, and receive one from you as well. Listen, Jesus, I don't want to leave you. I want to come with you to extend myself on the cross and remain nailed together with you. True love knows no separation of any kind, so you will forgive the boldness of my love and will permit me to remain crucified with you. You see, my gentle love, I am not the only one who is asking this of you. Your suffering mother, inseparable Mary Magdalene, and beloved John also say that it would be more bearable to be crucified with you than to assist and to see you crucified alone. So, together with you, I offer myself to the eternal Father, as I make myself one with your Will, with your love, with your reparations, with your very heart, and with all your pains.

Oh! It seem that my sorrowful Jesus says to me:

“My child, you have guessed what my love wants. This is my will: that all those who love me be crucified with me. Yes, please, by all means, come to extend yourself with me on the cross. I will make you become life of my life. I will keep you as the beloved of my heart.”

Now, my sweet Jesus, you lay down on the cross. Your executioners have nails and hammers in their hands, to nail you to it; and you look at them with such love and gentleness as to invite them to crucify you without delay. Although they feel repugnance, with inhuman fury they take your right hand, hold the nail on it, and with hammer­blows drive it through to the opposite side of the cross. The pain you suffer, my Jesus, is so great and so intense that you tremble. The light of your beautiful eyes is darkened and your most holy face turns pale and ghastly. O blessed right hand, I kiss you, I sympathize with you, I adore you and I thank you for myself and for everyone.

For as many blows as you received, so many souls do I ask you to free from condemnation to hell in this moment. For as many drops of blood as you shed, so many souls do I pray you to wash in this most precious blood. And for the bitter pain you suffered, especially when they were nailing you to the cross, which pulled the nerves in your arms, I pray you to open heaven to everyone and to bless everyone.

May your blessing call sinners to conversion, and heretics and infidels to the light of the faith. O Jesus, my dear life, no sooner do your enemies finish hammering the nail through your right hand, than they take your left with unspeakable cruelty. To make it reach the hole prepared beforehand, they pull on it so hard that you feel the joints of your arms and of your shoulders dislocated. And because of the intensity of the pain, your legs retract and twist. Left hand of my Jesus, I kiss you, I sympathize with you, I adore you and I thank you.

By those blows and pains you suffered when they drove in the nail, I pray you to grant flight in this moment to many souls from purgatory to heaven. And by the blood you shed, I pray you to put out the flames that are burning those souls. May it be relief for all of them, refreshment and beneficial bath that purifies them of all their stains, and disposes them to the beatific vision. My love and my all, for the excruciating pain you suffered when they drove the nail through your left hand, I pray you to close hell to all souls and to hold back the thunderbolts of the divine justice, unfortunately irritated by our sins. Yes, Jesus, let this nail in your blessed left hand be the key that closes the door of the divine justice, to keep punishments from raining down on the earth, and to open the treasures of the divine mercy in favor of everyone. So, I pray you to clasp us in your arms.

Now it seems like you can't move to do anything, and that we are free to be able to do everything for you. Therefore, I put the world and all generations into your arms. My love, with the voices of your own blood, I pray you not to deny anyone your forgiveness; and by the merits of this most precious blood, I ask you to give salvation and grace to everyone. Don't exclude anyone, O my Jesus. My love, Jesus, your enemies are not yet satisfied. With diabolical fury they grasp your most holy feet, which were always untiring in seeking souls and are now contracted because of the pain in your hands. They pull them so hard that your knees, your ribs and all the bones in your chest are dislocated. My heart can't bear it, O my good Jesus!

Darkened and veiled in blood, I see your beautiful eyes roll because of the pain. And your lips are twisted, livid and swollen by the blows. Your cheeks are sunk; your teeth are chattering; your chest is heaving; and because of the way they have pulled your hands and feet, your heart is all pulled out of shape. My love, how willingly I would take your place to spare you so much pain. I want to extend myself over all your members to give you relief, a kiss and comfort for everyone, and a reparation for everything.

My Jesus, I see that they put one foot on the other and drive a nail through your most holy feet. And what is worse, it is blunt. Please, my Jesus, as the nail passes through them, permit me to put all priests into your right foot, especially those who do not live good and holy lives, so that they may be light for all peoples; and in your left foot, all peoples, so that they may receive light from priests, and respect and obey them. As the nail pierces your feet, so let it run through priests and all peoples, so that neither one of them can separate from you. O blessed feet of my Jesus, I kiss you, I sympathize with you, I adore you and I thank you. For these most bitter pains you have suffered, for the racking that dislocated all your bones, and for the blood you have shed, I pray you to enclose all souls in your wounds. Don't look down on anyone, O Jesus. Let your nails pierce the powers of our soul, so that they will not separate from you; and our heart, so that it will always be fixed in you alone. May all our sentiments be nailed by your nails, so that they will not find any pleasure which does not come from you. My crucified Jesus, now I see you all bathed in blood. You are swimming in a sea of blood, and these drops of blood say but one thing to you: souls. Indeed, I see souls from all the ages teeming in each of these drops of blood. So, you had us all kept in yourself.

O Jesus, by the power of this blood, I ask you not to let anyone else escape from you. O my Jesus, while the executioners finish nailing your feet, I draw near to your heart. I see that you can no longer go on, but your love cries louder: “Give me still more pains!” My Jesus, I embrace your heart, I kiss you, I sympathize with you, I adore you and I thank you for myself and for everyone. O Jesus, I want to rest my head on your heart to hear what you are suffering in this painful crucifixion. Oh, I hear that every blow of the hammer echoes in your heart! This heart is the center of everything: here your pains begin, and here they end. Yes, if it were not waiting to be pierced with a lance, the flames of your love and the blood that boils around it would have run their course and made your heart burst. This blood and these flames call the souls that love you to make a happy dwelling in your heart.

For the love of this heart and for your most precious blood, I pray you, I beg you to give holiness to those souls that love you. O Jesus, never let them go out of your heart. And with your grace, multiply the vocations of victim souls, so that they may continue your life on earth. You wanted to give a special place in your heart to the souls that love you. Never permit them to lose this place. O Jesus, make the flames of your heart burn me and consume me; your blood beautify me; and your love always keep me nailed to love, with pain and with reparation.

O my Jesus, the executioners have now finished nailing your hands and your feet to the cross. Then, turning it over to clinch the nails, they make your adorable face touch the ground bathed in your own blood. With your divine mouth you kiss the ground. My dear love, with this kiss you intend to kiss all souls and bind them to your love, sealing their salvation. O Jesus, let me take your place. And while the executioners are bending the nails over, let these blows wound me as well, and nail me entirely to your love. My Jesus, my gentle good, I put my head in yours. As the thorns sink ever deeper into your head, I want to offer you all my thoughts as affectionate kisses to console you and to lessen the torments of your thorns. O Jesus, I put my eyes in yours; and I see your enemies have not yet had their fill of insulting and mocking you. So, I want to comfort your divine gazes with my gazes of love. I put my mouth in your, O Jesus. Your tongue is almost stuck to the roof of your mouth for the bitterness of the gall and for your burning thirst. To quench your thirst, O my Jesus, you would like to have the hearts of all creatures overflowing with love, but since you don't, you burn ever more for them.

My gentle Jesus, I intend to send you rivers of love to lessen in some way the bitterness of the gall and your burning thirst. O Jesus, I put my hands in yours. At every movement you make, the wounds of your hands tear more, and the pain becomes more intense and cutting. My dear Jesus, to relieve you and to soothe this pain, I offer you the holy works of all creatures. O Jesus, I put my feet in yours. How you suffer in your most holy feet! It seems as though all the movements of your most sacred body reflect in them; and no one is near to support you and to give some relief to the bitterness of your pains. My dearest life, I would like to gather together the steps of the creatures of all generations— past, present and future—and direct them all to you, to come and console you in your intense pains. Indeed, O my Jesus, I intend to place in them the eternal, divine activity that You do with your Father and the Holy Spirit—to give real comfort to your Sacred Humanity.

O my Jesus, I put my heart in your poor heart. How torn it is! If you move your feet, you feel the nerves at the top of your heart being torn. If you move your hands, the nerves on both sides of your heart are torn more than your hands are by the nails. If you move your head, the mouth of your heart bleeds and suffers the entire crucifixion. O my Jesus, how can I comfort such pain? I will disperse myself in you. I will put my heart in yours; my desires in your ardent desires, to destroy any evil desires. I will diffuse my love in Yours so that the fire of your love may inflame the hearts of all creatures and destroy their impure loves. I will spread my love in yours, so that the hearts of all creatures may be burned with your fire, and profane loves destroyed. Your Sacred Heart will be comforted. And from now on, O Jesus, I promise always to remain nailed to this most loving heart with the nails of your desires, of your love and of your Will. O my Jesus, you are crucified, and I am crucified in you. Don't let me become unnailed from you in the least. May I always remain nailed, to be able to love you and make reparation to you for everyone, and to soothe the pain creatures give you with their sins. My good Jesus, I see that your enemies raise the heavy wood of the cross and let it fall into the hole which they have prepared. And you, my dear love, remain suspended between heaven and earth.

In this solemn moment you turn to the Father; and with your weak and feeble voice, you say to him:

“Holy Father, here I am, burdened with all the sins of the world. There is no sin which is not laid upon me. For this reason, do not pour out the punishments of your divine justice upon men, but upon me, your Son. O Father, let me bind all souls to this cross, and implore forgiveness for them with the voices of my blood and of my wounds. O Father, don't you see how I have been reduced? By this cross, in virtue of these sufferings, grant true conversion, peace, forgiveness and holiness to everyone.”

O Jesus, You are nailed to the Cross. But your soul is no longer on earth. It is in the Heavens with your Divine Father—to defend and plead the cause of our souls. My crucified love, I too want to follow you before the throne of the Eternal One, and together with you I want to disarm the divine justice. Joined with your Will, I make your most holy humanity mine. Together with you I want to do whatever you do. My life, permit me to make my thoughts flow in yours; my love, my will and my desires in yours; my heartbeat in your heart; and all my being in you, so that nothing can escape me, and I can repeat all that you do, act for act and word for word. My crucified Jesus, seeing your divine Father extremely angered with creatures, I see that you prostrate yourself before him and hide all creatures in your most holy humanity. With this, you make us safe, so that by looking at us in you, for your love, the Father won't drive the creature away from himself. And if he looks at it with anger, it is because so many souls have disfigured the beautiful image created by him, and have set their thoughts only on offending him. And instead of using their intelligence to understand him, as it was meant to be, they convert it into a den where they hide all their sins.

O my Jesus, to appease him, you call the attention of your divine Father to your most holy head, to see it pierced by thorns that cause you atrocious agonies. These torments have all the intelligences of creatures nailed, as it were, in your mind, for which, one by one, you offer an expiation to satisfy the divine justice. Oh, how these thorns are compassionate voices before the divine majesty that excuse all the evil thoughts of creatures! My Jesus, my thoughts are one with yours. So, together with you before the divine majesty, I pray, implore, make reparation, and excuse all the evil that is done by all the intelligences of creatures. Let me take your thorns and your own intelligence, and go around together with you to all creatures, to join your intelligence to theirs. And with the holiness of your intelligence I want to return to them the original intelligence you created them with. With the holiness of your thoughts, let me set all the thoughts of creatures in order in you, and with your thorns pierce all the minds of creatures, giving back to you dominion and rule over everyone. Yes, my Jesus, you alone be the ruler of every thought, of every affection, and of all the peoples. You alone rule everything. Only in this way will the face of the earth—which causes horror and terror—be changed. Crucified Jesus, I notice that you continue to see the divine Father angered, for he looks at poor creatures and finds them all stained with sins and covered with the ugliest filth, which causes revulsion to all heaven. Oh, how the purity of the divine gaze is horrified, almost to the point of no longer recognizing the poor creature as the work of his most holy hands! Indeed, creatures seem to be as so many monsters that inhabit the earth, drawing upon themselves the just anger of the paternal gaze. O my Jesus, to appease him you try to soothe his gaze by exchanging your eyes with his, making him see yours covered with blood and swollen with tears. You weep before the divine majesty, to move him to compassion for the misfortune of so many creatures.

And I hear your voice that says: “My Father, it is true that the ungrateful creature is defiling itself ever more with sins, so that it doesn't merit your paternal gaze any more. But look at me, O Father. I want to weep enough before you, to form a bath of tears and of blood to wash this filth with which creatures are covered. My Father, do you perhaps want to reject me? No, you cannot: I am your Son. And while I am your Son I am also the head of all creatures, and they are my members. Let us save them, O Father, let us save them.”

My Jesus, boundless love, I would like to have your eyes to cry before the supreme majesty over the loss of so many poor creatures, and for times so sad as these! Let me take your tears and your very gazes, which are one with mine, and go around to all creatures. To move them to compassion for their souls and for your love, I will make them see that you weep for them, and that while they are dirtying themselves, you have your tears and blood ready to wash them. Then, seeing you cry, they will surrender. Yes, with these tears permit me to wash all the filthiness of creatures. Let me make these tears descend into their hearts, soften so many souls hardened in sin, and overcome the obstinacy of all hearts. With your gazes, let me penetrate them so as to make all eyes look up to heaven to love you, and no longer roam over the earth to offend you. With this, the divine Father will not refuse to look at poor humanity.

Crucified Jesus, I see that the anger of the divine Father still has not calmed down, because, while his paternal goodness, moved by so much love for the poor creature, has filled heaven and earth with so many proofs of love and of benefits for it, that at almost every step and act it feels the love and the graces of that paternal heart flowing, the creature, always ungrateful, despising this love, does not want to recognize it. Indeed, it faces so much love by filling heaven and earth with insults, contempt and outrages, going so far as to trample it under its impure feet, even wanting to destroy it by making an idol of itself. Oh, all these offenses even penetrate the heavens and come before the divine majesty. Oh, how he is angered, seeing that the wretched creature goes so far as to insult him and offend him in every way! O my Jesus, always intent on defending us, with the enrapturing force of your love, you compel the Father to look at your most holy face covered with all these insults and contempt; and you say to him:

“My Father, do not despise poor creatures. If you reject them you reject me. Please, be appeased! I have all these offenses on my face, which responds to you for everyone. My Father, stop your fury against poor humanity. They are blind and don't know what they are doing. So, observe me well: see how I am reduced for their cause. If you are not moved to compassion for miserable humanity, be moved to pity by this face of mine, all soiled with spit, covered with blood, pale and swollen by all the slaps and blows received. Have mercy, my Father! I was the most beautiful of all, and now I am so disfigured that I no longer recognize myself. I have become the most repugnant, despised and rejected of all. So, at any cost I want the poor creature saved!”

My Jesus, is it possible for you to love us so? Your love crushes my poor heart. I want to follow you in everything, so let me take your most holy face to have it in my power to continually show it so disfigured to the Father, to move him to compassion for poor humanity, which is so oppressed under the scourge of the divine justice that it lies nearly dead. Let me go into the midst of creatures and show them this face of yours so disfigured for their sake, to move them to compassion for their souls and for your love. With the light that radiates from your face, and with the enrapturing force of your love, let me make them understand who you are and who they are, who dare to offend you. This will make their souls rise from so many sins in which they live dead to grace, and make them all prostrate themselves before you, in the act of adoring you and glorifying you. My crucified, adorable Jesus, the creature always continues to irritate the divine justice, and from its tongue there sounds the echo of horrendous blasphemies, swearing and cursing voices, evil discourses, plots to kill and to massacre. All these voices deafen the earth and even penetrate the heavens, deafening the divine ears. Weary of this poisonous echo that it sends him, the Creator would like to get rid of the creature, banishing it from himself. All these poisonous voices curse, and cry vengeance and justice against themselves. Oh, how the divine justice feels compelled to discharge punishments! Oh, how so many horrendous blasphemies arouse its fury against the creature! O my Jesus, loving us with supreme love, you face these deadly voices with your all­powerful and creative voice, in which you gather up all these voices. You make your gentle voice resound in the ears of the Father to compensate him for the annoyances that creatures cause him, and you give him as many more voices of blessings and praises. Then you cry: “Mercy, graces and love for the poor creature!”

To appease him even more you show him your most holy mouth, and say to him:

“My Father, look at me again. Do not hear the voices of creatures, but mine. I am the one who is satisfying for everyone. So, I pray you to look at the creature, but to do so in me. If you look at it outside of me, what will become of it? It is weak, ignorant, capable only of doing wrong, and full of all miseries. Mercy! Have mercy on the poor creature! I will answer for them with this tongue of mine embittered by gall, parched by thirst, burnt and scorched by love.”

My embittered Jesus, my voice in yours wants to face all these offenses. Let me take your tongue and your lips, and go around to all creatures, touching your tongue to theirs, so that in the act of offending you, by feeling the bitterness you are suffering, if not for love, at least for the bitterness they feel, they may no longer blaspheme. Let me touch their lips with yours, so that with the fire caused by sin upon everyone lips, and with your almighty voice ringing in every breast, the current of all evil voices may be stopped, and all human voices may be transformed into voices of blessings and praises. O holy, crucified Jesus, the creature still does not surrender to so much love and pain. Indeed, despising you, it continues to add sin to sin, committing enormous sacrileges, homicides, suicides, duels, frauds, deceits, cruelties and betrayals. Oh, how all these evil works weigh on the paternal arms. So, unable to sustain their weight, the Father is about to lower them, pouring out fury and destruction upon the earth.

O my Jesus, to snatch the creature from the divine fury, fearing to see it destroyed, you extend your arms to the Father so that he will not lower his to destroy the creature. Helping to sustain the weight with your arms, you disarm him and keep the divine justice from taking its course. Then, to move him to compassion and pity for miserable humanity, you say to him with the most persuasive voice:

“My Father, look at these torn hands and at these nails piercing them, that nail all these evil works to me. Yes, it is in these hands that I feel all the agonies which these evil works give me. Aren't you content, O my Father, with my pains? Aren't they, perhaps, capable of satisfying you? Yes, these dislocated arms of mine will always be chains that will keep the poor creature bound, so that it may not escape me—except someone who wants to tear himself from me by way of force. Besides this, these arms of mine will be loving chains that will bind you, my Father, to keep you from destroying the poor creatures. What is more, I will always draw you toward the creature so that you may pour out your graces and mercies on it.”

My Jesus, your love is a sweet enchantment for me, and it drives me to do what you are doing. So, give me your arms, for, together with you, at the cost of any pain, I want to prevent the divine justice from taking its course against poor humanity. With the blood that is flowing from your hands, I want to put out the fire of sin that enkindles it, and calm its fury. And to move the Father to compassion for creatures, let me put in your arms so many torn members, the groanings of so many poor wounded, and so many suffering and oppressed hearts. Let me go around to all creatures and embrace everyone in your arms to that all may return to your heart.

With the power of your creative hands, permit me to stop the current of so many evil works and to make everyone turn away from working evil.

My lovable, crucified Jesus, the creatures is still not tired of offending you. It wants to drink to the dredges, all the scum of sin, and it runs almost madly along the ways of evil, falling headlong into sin time and again. It disobeys your laws; and refusing to recognize you, it rebels against you. Almost to spite you, it wants to go to hell. Oh, how the supreme majesty is angered! O my Jesus, triumphing over everything, even over the obstinacy of creatures, to appease the divine Father, you show him all your most sacred humanity, horribly lacerated, dislocated and torn. You show him your most holy feet pierced. In them, you have all the steps of creatures, which give you such mortal pains that your feet are contorted by the atrocious spasms. I hear your voice, more touching than ever, as if in the act of dying, that wants to overcome the creature by way of love and of pain, and triumph over the heart of your Father.

You say: “My Father, look at me from head to foot: there is no whole part left in me. There is no place where I can still be wounded, in order to suffer more pains. If you are not appeased by this spectacle of love and of pain, who will ever be able to calm you? O creatures, if you do not surrender to so much love, what hope do you have of converting? These wounds and this blood will always be voices which will call down from heaven to earth, graces of repentance, forgiveness and compassion for poor humanity!”

My Jesus, I see you in a state of violence, wanting to appease the Father and to overcome the poor creature. So, let me take your most holy feet and go around to all creatures to tie their steps to your feet, so that if they should want to walk the way of evil, by feeling the chains with which you have them bound to yourself, they won't be able to do it. Yes, with your feet make them withdraw from the way of evil, and put them on the path of good, making them more docile to your laws. And with your nails, close hell so that no one else will fall into it. My Jesus, crucified lover, I see that you can't take it any more. The terrible tension you suffer on the cross; the continual grinding of your bones which are dislocated ever more at every little movement; your flesh which is torn more and more; the repeated offenses you receive, which give you a more painful passion and death; the burning thirst that consumes you; the interior pains that suffocate you with bitterness, pains and love; and all your martyrdoms, for the human ingratitude which comes before you like a violent wave, even penetrating your pierced heart. . . Yes, all these things crush you so much that your most holy humanity, unable to withstand the weight of so many martyrdoms, is about to succumb. Delirious with love and pains, it asks for help and pity.

Crucified Jesus, is it possible that you who maintain everything and give life to everyone, are asking for help? Oh, how I would like to penetrate each drop of your blood and pour out mine to soothe each of your wounds, and lessen the pain of each thorn, making their punctures less painful, and to relieve each interior pain of your heart and so lessen the intensity of your bitterness. I would like to give you life for life. And if it were possible, I would unnail you from the cross to take your place myself. But I see that I am nothing and that I can do nothing. I am too insignificant. So, give me yourself. I will take life in you, and in you I will give you to yourself. With this, you will content my longings. Lacerated Jesus, I see that your most holy humanity is coming to an end, not for your sake, but to bring our redemption to perfect fulfillment. You need divine help, and so you throw yourself into the paternal arms, asking for help and relief. Oh, how the divine Father is moved to compassion as he observes the horrendous destruction of your most holy humanity, the terrible work which sin has done to your most holy members. To satisfy your longings of love, he presses you to his paternal heart and gives you the helps necessary to complete our redemption. As he is clasping you, in your heart you feel repeated with even more severely, the blows of the nails, the lashes of the scourging, the tearing of the wounds, the punctures of the thorns. Oh, how the Father is struck! How indignant he becomes, seeing that all these pains are produced even in your heart, even by souls consecrated to you! And in his sorrow he says to you:

“My Son, is it possible that not even all of those whom you have chosen are with you? Indeed, it seems as though these souls ask refuge and hiding in your heart to embitter you and give you a more painful death. And what is worse, all these pains they give you are hidden and covered by hypocrisy. No, Son, I cannot contain my indignation any longer for the ingratitude of these souls, who cause me more sorrow than all the other creatures together.”

O my Jesus, triumphing over everything, you defend these souls. With the immense love of your heart you protect yourself from the waves of bitterness and the transfixions that these souls give you. And to appease the Father, you say to him:

“My Father, look at my heart. Let all these sorrows satisfy you. And the more bitter they are, so much more powerful may they be over your paternal heart to obtain graces, light and forgiveness for these souls. My Father, do not reject them. They will be my defenders who will continue my life on earth. O most loving Father, consider that if my humanity has now reached the extreme of its sufferings, my heart as well bursts for the bitterness and the intimate pains and unheard-of agonies which it has suffered for the duration of thirty-four years, beginning from the first instant of my incarnation. O Father, you know the intensity of these interior bitternesses which would have been capable of making me die of pure agony in every moment, if our omnipotence had not sustained me to prolong my suffering up to this extreme agony. Yes, if until now I have offered you all the pains of my most holy humanity to appease your justice which is hanging over everyone and to draw upon everyone your triumphant mercy, now, in a particular way for the souls consecrated to us that have gone astray, I present my heart to you, crushed, pressed and broken under the press of all the moments of my mortal life. Yes, my Father, observe this heart which has loved you with infinite love and has always burned in me with love for my brothers and your children. This is the generous heart with which I have longed to suffer, to give you complete satisfaction for all the sins of men. Have pity on its desolations, its continual sorrows, its anguishes, its tediums and its sadnesses in the face of death. O my Father, was there, perhaps, ever a single beat of my heart that did not seek your glory and the salvation of my brothers, at the cost of pains and of blood? Didn't there come forth from this ever­oppressed heart of mine the ardent entreaties, the groanings, the sighs and the resounding cries with which for thirty-four years I have wept and cried out for mercy in your presence?”

“O my Father, you have heard me for an infinite number of times and for an infinite number of souls, for which I thank you infinitely. But look, O my Father: See how my heart cannot be calmed in its pains if even a single soul is to escape from its love, because we love each individual soul as much as all souls together. Will it be said that I had to give my last sigh on this painful instrument of execution, even seeing souls consecrated to us, perish miserably? I am dying in an ocean of anguish and pain for the wickedness and the eternal loss of perverse Judas, who was so hard and thankless that he rejected all my loving and delicate ways. I graced him so, even to the point of making him priest and bishop, as my other apostles. Please, Father, let this abyss of pains be enough! How many souls I see, chosen by us for the double sacred vocation, who, to a greater or lesser degree, want to imitate Judas! Help me, my Father, help me! I cannot bear all these pains. See if there is one fiber of my heart which is not tormented more than my divine body with all the rents it has received. See if all the blood I am shedding does not gush more from my heart —which is destroyed by love and by pain— than from all my wounds. Have pity, my Father, have pity! Not on me, for I want to suffer even infinitely for poor souls; but have pity on all souls, especially on those, both men and women, who have been called to my holy service and to my nuptials of love. Listen, O Father, for my heart, soon to die, accelerates its inflamed heartbeats, and cries: 'For all these pains, I ask of you efficacious graces of repentance and true conversion for these unhappy souls! Do not let even one of them escape us!' I thirst, my Father. I thirst for all souls, especially for these. I thirst for more suffering for each of these souls. My Father, I have always done your Will. Now, this Will of mine which is also yours, please let it be perfectly fulfilled for love of me, your most beloved Son in whom you have found all your good pleasure!”

My Jesus, I can't stand it any longer! I unite myself to your entreaties, to your pains, to your suffering love. Give me your heart so that I may feel your own thirst for the souls consecrated to you, and with my heartbeats, return to you the love and the affections of them all. Let me go around to everyone and put your heart into them. By its contact may the cold be warmed; the lukewarm shaken; the wayward called back, to receive once again all the graces they have rejected. Your heart is suffocated by the sorrow and the bitterness of seeing that the designs you had on these consecrated souls were not realized because of their incorrespondence, and that so many other souls, which, through them, were to have life and salvation, suffer the sad consequences. I will show them your heart so embittered for their sake, I will hurl darts of fire from your heart into them, and I will present all your entreaties and all your sufferings for them [to the Father]. It won't be possible for them not to surrender to you, and so they will return repentant to your feet. Your loving designs on them will be re-established, and they will be in you and around you, no longer to offend you, but to make reparation to you and to console and defend you.

Crucified Jesus, my life, I see that you are still agonizing on the cross, for your love is not yet satisfied in its desire to give fulfillment to everything. Yes, I too agonize together with you. And I call everyone, angels and saints: Come to Mount Calvary to contemplate the excesses and the follies of the love of a God! Let us kiss his bleeding wounds and adore them, let us support those lacerated members, let us thank Jesus for the completed redemption. Let us give a glance to the transfixed mother, who feels as many pains and deaths in her Immaculate Heart for as many pains she sees in her Son-God. Her very garments are spattered with blood, and Mount Calvary is all showered with it. So, all together, let us take this blood. And praying the sorrowful mother to join with us, let us go out to all the world to help everyone. Let us help the endangered that they may not perish, the fallen that they may rise again, and those who are about to fall that they may not.

Let us give this blood to so many poor blind creatures so that the light of the truth may shine in them. In a particular way, let us go into the midst of the poor combatants to be watchful guards over them. And if they are about to be hit by bullets, let us receive them in our arms to comfort them. If they are abandoned by everyone and then are despairing for their sad lot, let us give them this blood, so that they may become resigned, and to calm the fierceness of their pains. Then, if we should see souls that are about to fall into hell, let us give them this divine blood which contains the price of redemption, to snatch them from Satan.

While I have Jesus pressed to my heart to keep him defended and sheltered from everything, I will press everyone to his heart so that all may receive the efficacious grace of conversion, and strength and salvation. O Jesus, I see blood streaming from your hands and your feet. The weeping angels, gathered around you like a crown, admire the wonders of your immense love. I see your tender mother at the foot of the cross, pierced by sorrow. Your dear Mary Magdalene and beloved John are all wrapped in an ecstasy of wonder, of love and of sorrow. O Jesus, I unite myself to you, and I embrace your cross; and taking all the drops of your blood, I pour them into my heart. When I see your justice armed against sinners, I will appease you by showing you this blood. When I want the conversion of souls set in sin, I will show you this blood. And in virtue of it you will not reject my prayer, because I have the token in my hands.

And now, my crucified Jesus, in the name of all generations, past, present and future, together with your mother and all the angels, I prostrate myself before you and say:

“We adore you, O Christ, and we bless you, because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.”

 

Reflections and Practices.

Jesus Christ obeys his executioners and lovingly accepts the insults and suffering they inflict on Him. Because of the great Love which Jesus felt for our poor souls, He discovered in the Cross his bed of rest. But, in all my pain, do I find rest in Him? With my patience and love, can I say that I am preparing a bed for Jesus in my heart? As Jesus is being crucified, every internal and external part of Him experiences some unique suffering. Do I keep myself completely crucified to Him, at least in my primary senses (of sight and hearing)? When we engage in frivolous conversation or in some other similar form of entertainment that delights us, then Jesus remains nailed to the Cross.

But if we sacrifice this same pleasure for love of Him, we remove his nails and take them upon ourselves. Do I always keep my mind, my heart, and my whole being transfixed with the nails of his Divine Will? While Jesus is crucified, He lovingly beholds his executioners. For his love, do I look with love at those who offend me?

My crucified Jesus, may your nails remain in my heart so that I experience no heartbeat or desire that does not feel their penetration. And may the blood that issues from my heart be the balm that relieves all your Wounds.

“Father, forgive them for they do not know what they are doing!”

My crucified Jesus, I see you on the cross as on your throne of triumph in the act of overcoming everything and all hearts, and of drawing them so much to yourself that everyone feels your superhuman power. Nature, horrified by such a misdeed, prostrates itself before you, and is waiting in silence for a word from you to give you homage and to make your dominion be recognized. The weeping sun withdraws its light, unable to bear the sight of such pains. Hell feels terror and is waiting silently.

So, all is silent. Your transfixed mother and your faithful ones are all mute and petrified at the terribly painful sight of your torn and dislocated humanity, and are silently waiting for a word from you. Your humanity itself, which lies in an ocean of pains amid the atrocious spasms of the agony, is silent, so that it is feared that from one breath to the next you may die.

What else? The wicked Jews and the cruel executioners themselves, who, until a short while ago were insulting you, mocking you and calling you impostor and evil­doer, and the very thieves who were blaspheming you, all fall silent and are struck dumb. They are filled with remorse. And if they try to utter you some insult, it dies on their lips. But penetrating into your interior, I see that love surges, suffocating you, and you cannot contain it. Forced by your love which torments you more than the pains themselves, with a strong and moving voice, you speak as the God you are. You raise your dying eyes to heaven and exclaim:

“Father, forgive them for they do not know what they are doing!”

And again you enclose yourself in silence, immersed in unheard­of pains.

Crucified Jesus, is so much love possible? Yes, after so many pains and insults, your first word is forgiveness, and you excuse us before the Father of so many sins. Yes, you make this word descend into every heart after sinning, and you are the first to offer forgiveness. But how many reject it, and do not accept it! Your love then becomes frenetic because you are yearning to give pardon and the kiss of peace to everyone! As it hears your words, hell trembles and recognizes you as God.

Astonished, nature and everyone recognize your divinity and your inextinguishable love, and silently wait to see how far it goes. It is not only your voice, but also your blood and your wounds that cry to every heart after sinning:

“Come into my arms, for I forgive you. And the seal of forgiveness is at the price of my blood!”

O my gentle Jesus, repeat this word again to every sinner in the world. Implore mercy for everyone. Apply the infinite merits of your most precious blood to them. O good Jesus, continue to appease the divine justice for everyone; and give grace to those who are in need of forgiving others, but do not feel the strength to do it. My adorable, crucified Jesus, in these three hours of bitter agony, you want to give fulfillment to everything. While you are on the cross in silence, I see that in your interior you want to satisfy the Father in everything. You thank him for everyone, satisfy for everyone, ask forgiveness for everyone. You plead for the grace that no one ever offend you again. And to obtain this from the Father, you review your entire life from the first instant of your conception to your last breath. My Jesus, unending love, together with you, your inconsolable mother, Saint John and the pious women, let me also review your whole life. My dear Jesus, I thank you for so many thorns that have pierced your adorable head, for the drops of blood shed from it, for the blows you have received on it and for the hair they have torn from it.

I thank you for all the good you have done and have obtained for everyone, for the lights and good inspirations you have given us, and for all the times you have forgiven all our sins of thought, arrogance, pride and self-esteem. O my Jesus, I ask forgiveness in everyone's name, for all the times we have crowned you with thorns, for all the drops of blood we have made you shed from your most sacred head, and for all the times we have not corresponded to your inspirations. For all these pains you have suffered, O good Jesus, I pray you to obtain the grace for us never to commit sins of thought again.

Furthermore, I intend to offer you everything you have suffered in your most holy head to give you all the glory that creatures would have given you if they had made good use of their intelligence.

Laudate Dominum omnes gentes, laudate Eum omnes populi. Quoniam confirmata est super nos misericordia Ejus, et veritas Domini manet in aeternum. Gloria Patri….

O my Jesus, I adore your most holy eyes. I thank you for all the tears and drops of blood they have shed, for the cruel pricks of the thorns, for all the times you were despised, and for the insults and ridicule sustained throughout your passion. I ask forgiveness for all those who make use of their sight to offend you and to outrage you. By the pains you have suffered in your most sacred eyes, I pray you to grant us the grace that no one offend you again with evil gazes. I also intend to offer you everything that you yourself suffered in your most holy eyes, to give you all the glory creatures would have given you if their eyes had been fixed only on heaven, on the divinity and on you, O my Jesus. I adore your most holy ears. I thank you for all that you suffered while on Calvary, when the executioners deafened them with shouts and sneers. I ask your forgiveness in everyone's name, for all the evil conversations that creatures listen to. I pray you to open the ears of all men to the eternal truths and to the voices of grace, and that no one will offend you again with his sense of hearing. I also intend to offer you everything you have suffered in your most holy sense of hearing, to give you all the glory that creatures would have given you if they had made holy use of this sense. O my Jesus, I adore and kiss your most holy face. I thank you for everything you have suffered from the spit, the slaps and the insults, and for all the times you let yourself be trampled by your enemies.

I ask forgiveness in everyone's name, for all the times creatures dared to offend you. For these slaps and for this spit, I pray that your divinity may be recognized, praised and glorified by everyone. Indeed, O my Jesus, I intend to go around the whole world myself, from east to west and from north to south, to unite the voices of all creatures and change them into as many more acts of praise, love and adoration. O my Jesus, I even intend to bring the heart of all creatures to you, so that you may infuse into everyone light, truth, love and compassion for your divine person. And while you will forgive everyone, I pray you not to permit anyone to offend you again, even at the cost of my blood, if this were possible.

Finally, I intend to offer you everything you have suffered in your most holy face, to give you all the glory that creatures would have given you if no one had dared to offend you. I adore your most holy mouth, and I thank you for your first little whimperings, for all the milk you nursed, for all the words you said, for the burning kisses you gave your most holy mother, for the food you ate, for the bitterness of the gall, for the burning thirst you suffered on the cross and for the prayers you raised to the Father. I ask you to forgive all the murmurings, the evil and worldly conversations and all the blasphemies uttered by creatures. I want to offer You your holy teachings in reparation for their bad conversations. I want to offer You the mortification of your sense of taste in reparation for their acts of gluttony, your absorption into prayer in reparation for our scattered and inattentive ones.

Furthermore, I want to join our mouth to yours, in reparation for all the ways that they offend You with the misuse of their tongues. I intend to offer you everything you have suffered in your most holy mouth, to give you all the glory that creatures would have given you if no one had dared to offend you with his sense of taste and with the abuse of his tongue.

O Jesus, I adore your neck and thank you for the admirable patience with which you allowed yourself to be tied up, for the perfect detachment from all created things that you teach us. I ask forgiveness for the offenses you receive from those creatures who are attached to the pleasures of this world, and I beg you to implore for everyone detachment from earthly things and a perfect uniformity with your Will.

I offer your most pure Conception in reparation for those who conceive in guilt; I offer your imprisonment in your Mother’s womb for those who do care for the strictness of your Will; I offer your life for those who allow their children to be dead to Grace instead of giving them new life through holy Baptism; and for all infanticides. I offer your childhood and everything you suffered in childhood, for those who do not permit innocent children to know You, praise You and love You, that all of them may indeed know You and love You. I offer your hidden life in reparation for family discord, for the hypocrisy of so many who though appearing to love You, interiorly offend You.

And I offer your life in the desert in reparation for the acts of disobedience to the Church, for the contempt shown to fasting, to the precepts and the Sacraments. I offer your public life in reparation should there be Priests who do not fulfill their ministry with honest intentions, for the preaching and the Sacraments given in a self-interested spirit, full of self-love and self-esteem, and also in reparation for all the offenses that you receive from government authorities. I offer your faithfulness to repair for our lack of it, your perfect submission to your Father for our failure to correspond to Grace, your thanks in reparation for all the times that we failed to thank You for your innumerable benefits.

O Jesus, I thank you for everything; and in everyone's name, I raise up to you the hymn of an eternal and infinite thanksgiving. O my Jesus, I intend to offer you everything you have suffered in your most holy person, to give you all the glory that all creatures would have given you if they had conformed their life to yours. I thank you, O Jesus, for everything you have suffered in your most holy back, for all the lashes received, for all the wounds you permitted on your most sacred body, and for all the drops of blood you shed. In everyone's name, I ask forgiveness for all the times they have offended you with illicit and evil pleasures, and by the love of comfort.

I offer you your painful scourging to make reparation for all the sins committed with all the senses, for the love of one's own tastes, sensible pleasures, self-ego, and all the natural satisfactions. I also intend to offer you everything you have suffered on your back, to give you all the glory that creatures would have given you if in everything they had sought to please you alone and to take refuge in the shadow of your divine protection. O Jesus, I kiss your left foot. I thank you for all the steps you took during your mortal life, and for all the times you tired your poor members to go in search of souls to bring to your heart. O my Jesus, for this, I offer you all my actions, steps and movements, with the intention of making reparation to you for everything and for everyone. O my Jesus, I offer You all my steps, actions, and movements in reparation for everything and for everyone.

I ask you to forgive those who do not act with the right intention. I join my actions to yours, to divinize them. United to all the works you did with your most holy humanity, I offer them to you to give you all the glory creatures would have given you if they had worked in a holy way and with the right intention.

O my Jesus, I kiss your right foot, and I thank you for everything you have suffered and do continue to suffer for me, especially in this hour in which you are hanging on the cross. I thank you for the agonizing work that the nails are doing in your wounds, which are torn ever more under the weight of your most sacred body. I ask you to forgive all the rebellions and disobediences committed by creatures. I offer you the pains of your most holy feet in reparation for these offenses, and to give you all the glory that creatures would have given you if they had been subject to you in everything.

O my Jesus, I kiss your most holy left hand. I thank you for all that you have suffered for me, and for all the times you have calmed the divine justice by satisfying for everyone. I ask your forgiveness for whenever I failed to offer myself to give You satisfaction and all the glory that the creatures would have given You. I offer to You everything that You did in your mortal life with the movements of this left hand.

I kiss your right hand, and I thank you for all the good you have done and continue to do for everyone. In a special way, I thank you for the works of creation, redemption and sanctification. In everyone's name, I ask you to forgive us all the times we were ungrateful for everything you have given us, and for so many works we did without the right intention. In reparation for all these offenses, and to give you all the glory that creatures would have given you if they had corresponded to all these benefits, I intend to offer you all the perfection and holiness of your works.

O my Jesus, I kiss your Most Sacred Heart, and I thank you for everything you have suffered, desired and zealously done for the love of everyone and for each in particular. I ask you to forgive so many evil desires and bad affections and tendencies. O Jesus, forgive so many who prefer the love of creatures to your love. To give you all the glory that they have denied you, I offer you everything that your most adorable heart has done and continues to do.

 

Reflections and Practices.

Jesus is lifted on the Cross and remains suspended above the earth. And do we try to live detached from the world, from creatures, and from everything that is worldly? Everything should converge to form the Cross on which we extend ourselves and remain suspended, like Jesus, distancing ourselves from everything that belongs to earth so that others will not become attached to us. And so we shall take Jesus’ place; and if the creatures want to give us nails and torments, we shall enclose them in our hearts and will have them accept part of our cross. Should circumstances, convenience, or the permission of the Divine Will place us almost in contact with the false taste of earthly things, we must reject them all. As long as we do not enjoy them, we shall not come down from the Cross, but will remain on guard so that our heart may partake only and always of the Cross of Jesus. My suffering Jesus has no bed except the Cross and no comfort except his Wounds and the insults He receives. Is our love for Jesus so strong that we find our rest in sufferings? Praying, suffering, and everything we do should be enclosed in Jesus’ Wounds to feel their touch, and immersed in his Blood, seeking no other comfort except his pain. And if creatures comfort us, we must take it as a comfort given to us by the Lord, not by a creature, so that our heart may always be a stranger to everything, though still grateful to those who comfort us in a holy way. Then Jesus’ Wounds will be ours and his Blood will be continually at work in us to adorn us. Accordingly, we will draw whatever graces we desire for ourselves as well as for the salvation of souls.

Having the deposit of Jesus’ Blood in our hearts, if we are guilty of some shortcoming, we will beg Jesus that He not permit us to be stained in his presence, but cleanse us with his Blood and keep us with Him. Were we to feel weak, we would then implore Jesus to let our souls have a sip of his Blood to regain our strength. This adorable Blood shall be like a continuous current between Jesus and ourselves, leading us to always agree with Him.

My sweet Jesus prays for his executioners; indeed, He even excuses them. Do we make Jesus’ prayer our own to continually excuse sinners before the Father and implore mercy on their behalf, even for those who have offended us? While we pray, work, and walk, we should also not forget the poor souls who are about to take their last breath. Let us bring them Jesus’ prayers and kisses for help and comfort. With our hands, let us support their souls and place them in the arms of Jesus.

Let us be with them in our heart, talking about the love with which Jesus awaits them in the Heavenly Fatherland. In brief, we shall be like a smile in the midst of their bitterness, and will endeavor to make them fly to Jesus. We shall tell Jesus: “My lovable Jesus, I send you the fruit of your Blood and of your love. Do not reject these souls, but for love of Yourself do receive them all in the Heavenly Fatherland. ”

My Jesus, from your Wounds I wish to draw strength to repeat your own Life in me. In this manner, I will be able to pray and obtain for everyone the good that You Yourself have done.

My Jesus, I too abandon myself in you. Give me the grace to die completely, in your love and in your Will. I pray you never to permit me, neither in life nor in death, to go out of your Most Holy Will. Meanwhile, I intend to make reparation for all those who do not abandon themselves perfectly to your Most Holy Will, thus losing or diminishing the precious fruit of your redemption. What sorrow your heart feels, O my Jesus, to see so many creatures escape from your arms and become disheartened! O my Jesus, in these last moments, call all souls around You, press them to your Heart, while I come out of It and go over your wounds with my last kisses, asking your forgiveness once more, and promising to always love You here on earth, and never to offend You again.

My Jesus, I kiss your Head crowned with thorns. I ask your pardon for my so many thoughts of pride, ambition and self-esteem. I promise You that every time a thought comes to me that is not all for You, my Jesus—and I find myself on the verge of offending You— I will cry immediately: “Jesus and Mary, I commend my soul to You!”

O Jesus, I kiss your beautiful eyes still bathed in tears and covered with clotted blood. I ask you to forgive me all the times I have offended you with evil and immodest gazes. I promise that whenever my eyes are brought to look at things of the earth, I will cry immediately, “Jesus and Mary, I commend my soul to you!”

O my Jesus, I kiss your most sacred ears, deafened right to the last moments by insults and horrible blasphemies. I ask forgiveness for all the times I have listened to, or have made others listen to, conversations that draw us away from you, and for so many evil conversations spoken by creatures. I promise that every time I find myself in the occasion of hearing unnecessary conversations, I will cry immediately, “Jesus and Mary, I commend my soul to you!”

O my Jesus, I kiss your most holy face, pale, bruised and covered with blood. I ask you to forgive the countless scoffings, affront and insults you receive from us, such vile creatures, with our sins. I promise that every time I am tempted not to give all glory, love and adoration to you, I will cry immediately, “Jesus and Mary, I commend my soul to you!”

O my Jesus, I kiss your most sacred mouth, parched and embittered. You have already breathed your last breath, and as I approach You, I see your mouth all parched and embittered. I ask forgiveness for all the times I have offended you with evil conversations, adding to your bitterness and increasing your thirst. I promise that whenever the thought comes to me to say things that could offend you, I will cry immediately, “Jesus and Mary, I commend my soul to you!”

O my Jesus, I kiss your most holy neck. I still see the marks of the chains and the ropes that oppressed you. I ask your forgiveness for so many bonds and so many attachments of creatures, which added ropes and chains to your most sacred neck. I promise that whenever I feel troubled by attachments, desires or affections that are not for you, I will cry immediately, “Jesus and Mary, I commend my soul to you!”

My Jesus, I kiss your most holy back. As you lay nailed to the Cross, I can easily see the how they mangled your most holy Body! How deep are your wounds and how they hurt, made worse as they are by the cold! I ask you pardon for so many illicit satisfactions and for so many sins committed with all five senses of our body. I promise that every time the thought comes to me to take some pleasure or satisfaction which is not for your glory, I will cry immediately, “Jesus and Mary, I commend my soul to you!”

My Jesus, I kiss your most holy chest. I ask you pardon for so many illicit satisfactions and for so many sins committed with all five senses of our body. I promise that every time the thought comes to me to take some pleasure or satisfaction which is not for your glory, I will cry immediately, “Jesus and Mary, I commend my soul to you!”

My Jesus, I kiss your most holy chest. I ask you to forgive so much cold-heartedness, indifference, lukewarmness and horrible ingratitude which you receive from creatures. I promise that whenever I feel myself growing cold in your love I will cry immediately, “Jesus and Mary, I commend my soul to you!”

My Jesus, I kiss your most sacred hands. They contain all of our works, and you with your holy Works expiate ours with your most bitter and suffering sorrows. I ask you forgiveness for all the evil and indifferent works, and for so many acts ruined by self­love or self-esteem. I promise that whenever the thought come to me not to work only for your love, I will cry immediately, “Jesus and Mary, I commend my soul to you!”

O my Jesus, I kiss your most holy feet. I ask you pardon for so many steps and for so many ways trodden without the right intention, and for so many who go away from you, in search of the pleasures of the earth. I promise that whenever the thought comes to me to go away from you, I will cry immediately, “Jesus and Mary, I commend my soul to you!”

O Jesus, I kiss your most Sacred Heart and as I do so, I enclose myself in It. These are the final instants of your mortal life, and you would like to gather all souls in your hand and take them with You. But, Jesus mine, as I enclose myself within your Heart, I take first place in It, and together with your Love, your suffering and your Will, I intend to enclose in It all the souls that You have redeemed, so that everyone may be saved, excluding none.

O Jesus, nothing is denied in one’s last moments. As you are about to draw your last breath, I ask you the grace to allow me to die with You, or at least to grant me your Heart as my chamber, your Blood as my drink, all of You as my food—otherwise how could I live without You? O Jesus, enclose me in your Heart and close the doors for me so that I may see nothing but You. I promise You that every time I am tempted to leave your Sacred Heart, I will immediately cry out, “Jesus and Mary, I give You my heart and my soul!”

 

Reflections and Practices.

Jesus is consumed with thirst. His tongue is parched, as if so great a thirst had changed it into a tongue of fire. And can I say that I am consumed with love for Jesus? Do I have a burning thirst for Jesus? Do my thoughts and affections always seek to refresh Him in his ardent thirst? Or do I thirst for material things?

Many times the will asks souls, but at that point their desires turn elsewhere, even toward good things—but things that appeal to their own self-interest. As these are not in harmony with the will, the will remains alone. And, not being able to harmonize with the desires and affections, it cannot weave a web of influences around Jesus in such a way as to oblige Him to pledge and concede what the will desires. And when this web is not complete, it is impossible for souls to face the Divine Justice. To be able to complete this web of influences perfectly, above all I will place myself in Jesus Christ, and then I will multiply myself in each drop of his Blood, in each one of his pains and prayers, so that Justice may find its complete support. Then I will pour myself into all creatures, touching their drops of blood with drops of the Blood of Jesus, the sores in their souls with the sores of Jesus, to heal them. I will touch their sorrows with those of Jesus, that they may draw comfort. I will multiply myself in each and every offense, offering an act of reparation for each one of them.

With Jesus’ voices I will cry into every heart, that I may bring all of them to Him, and weaving myself into Jesus, and into all creatures, my cordon will be complete. I will place it around Jesus, that his Divine Justice may find complete fulfillment and satisfaction. And, daringly, I will disarm his Justice, and I will ask his Justice for souls, and He will not be able to deny them to me, because all Justice is satisfied in Jesus. The Lord wants all souls to be saved, but also wants the claims of Justice to be secure. When Justice finds satisfaction in souls, it gives up its claims and saves souls. Thus, the fire grows only when there is complete agreement in our interior; our steadfastness in being good nourishes the fire and makes us bold with that Divine Heart, imploring what He himself wants.

O, thirst of souls! Can I say that you are my predominant passion? And if you are not, it means that I am not entirely united to you. My agonizing Jesus, pour your thirst into me, that I may become a tongue of fire like You. Jesus thirsts, and, unable to endure the thirst that consumes Him, He says, All is consummated. Then Jesus is completely consumed for us. Do I make every effort in all that I do to be continuously consumed for love of Jesus? Or do I let something seep into me that could frustrate the consummation between myself and Jesus? Every thought, word, and deed of Jesus brought Him to his consummation. Does my every thought, word, and deed work together to prod me to consume myself for love of Jesus? In Jesus, everything was boundless: the glances, the words, the suffering. And as in Jesus, so in us also everything should be boundless in our love for Him.

Each additional act that my Jesus did was a consummation that He offered to his Father, and then gave to us. Can we say that each one of our acts is an act of consummation on behalf of Jesus? We want to send our sufferings flying over the Cross of Jesus, to keep company with his sufferings, and that He may share his fire with us. And while our sufferings keep Jesus company and are crucified with Him, we shall say to Him: “Jesus, I want to repeat your acts, I want my sufferings to increase in value through your very own sufferings, and I want them to fulfill the same duty that you discharged on the Cross toward your Father and toward all souls.”

Jesus will be so happy that He will transform his pain into ours, will give us the same effects, and in a sort of sweet enchantment will pull our heart close to His, and find relief for his pains in ours, so that, as I suffer, I hasten to send my sufferings on the Cross to Jesus. And may He, in turn, enraptured by my suffering, find succor in them. Often, when we must attend to material chores that are supposedly necessary, such as work, rest, or taking food, it seems as if the consummation that Jesus still requires of us is interrupted. To remedy this, I shall say to Him: “See, O Jesus, while I am attending to these human chores, I protest because I want to go about them joined to yours, be consumed just as You are consumed, thus forming between You and me so many binding links. May the breath of your consummation blow into my being, and consume both of us. And while I am busy I place my being upon your burning flames that rise, and if they see that I am interrupting the consummation between You and me, may these flames burn and consume me together with You.”

When pain takes hold of us, when we are mortified or sad, or, especially, when it seems that life would flee from us—it is especially in these junctures that we must join our consummation to that of Jesus Christ. But do we do it? Or do we divert God’s desires away from us? When we suffer, we must think that Jesus is giving us suffering to form his consummation inside of us. Because he wants to give us his form, and because He is good, He kindly places sorrows in our heart. And as our soul receives them, we must think that good Jesus is consuming all of his being to make Himself live again in us. Thus Jesus destroys our material being, to form his image in us. In the suffering that burdens us, we take the same divine consummation and make it ours; we offer it to Him until nothing of ours is left: none of our thoughts, turmoil, anxiety, or disorders—for when the soul keeps these anxious vigils, it prevents a true consummation, forming as it were, a split flame.

Every pain is a flame that destroys, and in consuming our being it makes divine life be reborn in us.

O Jesus, my sweet life, may your expended breath always breathe in my poor heart so that I may receive the imprint of your consummation.

My crucified, dying Jesus, embracing the cross, I feel the fire that is burning all your most holy person. Your heart pounds so violently that it heaves your ribs, tormenting you in such an agonizing and horrible way that all your most holy humanity undergoes a transformation which makes you unrecognizable. The love with which your heart is ablaze parches and burns you. Unable to contain it, you feel the intense torment not only of the physical thirst for the shedding of all your blood, but much more, that of the burning thirst for the health of our souls. You would like to drink us as water to bring us all to safety in yourself. So, gathering your faded strength, you cry:

“I am thirsty!”

Yes, you repeat these words to every heart:

“I am thirsty for your will, for your affections, for your desires, for your love. You could not give me any water cooler and more refreshing than your soul. Please, don't make me burn. I am burning with thirst, for which I not only feel my tongue and my throat burning—such that I can no longer utter a word—but I also feel my heart and my organs drying up. Have pity on my thirst! Have pity!” Delirious, as it were, for the immense thirst, you abandon yourself to the Will of the Father.

No, my heart cannot go on living like this: I see the wickedness of your enemies, who, instead of water, give you gall and vinegar—which you do not refuse. Yes, I understand: It is the gall of so many sins; it is the vinegar of our untamed passions that they want to give you, which, instead of relieving you, make you burn even more.

O my Jesus, here are my heart, my thoughts, my affections. Here is my whole being, for you to quench your thirst and to refresh your dry and embittered mouth. All that I am and all that I have is for you, O my Jesus. If my pains are necessary in order to save even a single soul, here I am. I am ready to suffer everything. I offer myself entirely to you, to do with me as you please. I intend to make reparation for the pain you suffer for all the souls that are lost, and for the pain those souls give you, that, while you permit them sadness and abandonment, instead of offering them to you in relief of the burning thirst that devours you, they lose heart and so make you suffer more.

 

My dying Jesus, the unending ocean of your pains, the fire that consumes you, and more than all this, the Supreme Will of the Father that wants you to die, no longer permit us to hope that you can continue to live. How will I be able to live without you? Your strength is already gone, your eyes are glazed, your face is transformed and veiled with deathly paleness. Your mouth is half-open, and your breath is labored and interrupted, such that there is no longer any hope that you can revive.

To the fire that burns you, there follows a chill and a cold sweat that wets your forehead. The muscles and the nerves contract ever more for the harshness of the pains and for the transfixion of the nails, while the wounds tear still more. I tremble, and feel myself dying. O my good Jesus, I look at you and see the last tears trickling from your eyes as the forerunners of your approaching death, while with great effort you say still another word:

“It is consummated!”

O my Jesus, you have now exhausted everything. You have nothing left. Love has reached its end.

And what about me: Am I entirely consumed for your love? How grateful I must be to you! O my Jesus, I intend to make reparation for everyone. I intend to make reparation for the lack of correspondence to your love, and to console you for the affronts you receive from creatures while you are consuming yourself for love of us on the cross.

 

My crucified, dying Jesus, you are about to breathe the last breath of your mortal life. Your most holy humanity is already rigid, and it seems your heart is no longer beating; if I hear a heartbeat, it is so faint that I am not sure You are dead, and I cry and rant. Could my Life really have died? With Mary Magdalene, I embrace your feet; and if it were possible, I would like to give my life to animate yours. Meanwhile, O Jesus, I see you open your dying eyes again, and look around the cross as if you wanted to say your last good­by to everyone. You look at your dying mother who is motionless and speechless for the pains she feels, and say:

“Good-by, mother. I am leaving, but I will keep you in my heart. Take care of my children and yours.”

You look at weeping Mary Magdalene and faithful John, and say to them with your gaze: “Good-bye”. You look at your very enemies with love, saying to them with your gaze: “I forgive you; I give you the kiss of peace.” Nothing escapes your gaze. You forgive everyone and say good-by to all. Then, gathering all your strength, with a powerful and resonant voice you cry:

“Father, into your hands I commend my spirit!”

And bowing your head, you die...

My Jesus, at this cry all nature is upset and weeps over your death—the death of its Creator. The earth quakes violently and with its tremor seems to be weeping, wanting to shake souls to make them recognize you as true God. The veil of the Temple is torn; the dead rise; and the sun, which, until now has wept over your pains, is horrified and withdraws its light. At this cry, your enemies fall on their knees, beat their breast, and declare: “Truly he is the Son of God!” Your petrified and dying mother suffers pains harder than death. My dead Jesus, with this cry you put all of us as well into the hands of the Father so that he won't reject us. So, you not only cry out with your voice, but with all your pains and with the voices of your blood as well.

Reflection:

On the Cross, Jesus accomplishes the Will of the Father in everything and, with a perfect act of abandonment into his most holy Will, He takes his last breath. Do I accomplish the Will of God in everything? Am I perfectly abandoned to his Will, accomplishing it in his very arms, as if I wanted to make Jesus’ Will and the Father’s Will my own? Do I let myself go irrespective of whether something good or bad happens to me? Do I remain content with the mere assurance that I am abandoned into his most holy arms? Do I continuously die to myself for love of Jesus? Can I say that while living that I no longer live, that I am dead to everything for the sake of living solely for the interest of Jesus and not for my own? In other words, do the things I think, desire, love, and do remind me of living for Jesus, so that in Him I may put to death my words, my steps, my desires, and my thoughts?

O my Jesus, may my death be a continuous death for your love, and may every death I undergo be a life that I long to give to every soul.

My dead Jesus, all of nature lets out a cry of anguish and—recognizing You as its Creator—weeps over your sorrowful death. Thousands upon thousands of angels hover around the Cross to mourn your death. They adore You as true God and accompany You to Limbo, where You go to beatify the countless souls who have been lying in that dark dungeon since the dawn of the ages.

My dead Jesus, I do not know how to separate myself from the Cross. Nor do I tire of continuously kissing your most sacred wounds which speak so eloquently of your love for me. As I look at your frightful gashes and see one by one the bones exposed by your deep wounds—I feel myself dying. I would like to weep over these wounds until I wash them with my tears. I would like to love You so much that my love would be like a precious ointment to heal You completely and restore the natural beauty of your disfigured Humanity. I would like to empty my veins to fill your empty veins with my blood and restore You to life.

My Life, my Jesus, is there anything that Love cannot do? Love is life—and, with my love, I want to give You life. And if my love does not suffice, give me your Love—and with your Love I will be able to do everything. Yes, I will be able to give life to your Most Holy Humanity. I cry and fly into a frenzy, mourning the death of my crucified Jesus.

But while I cry for my Jesus, my heart leaps in my chest and goes into fits of joy as I see that—even after death—You, my gentle Jesus, want to express and confirm your love for me, providing me with a shelter and a refuge into your very Heart. For this reason, then—moved by a supreme force to prove your death—a soldier pierces your Heart with a lance, opening a deep wound. And You, my Love, pour out the last drops of Blood and water that your enflamed Heart contains. Ah, how many things this wound—opened by your love, not by pain!—tells me. If your lips are silent, your Heart speaks to me, and I hear It say:

“My child, after I had given everything, I wanted this lance to open in my Heart a refuge for all souls. Once opened, my Heart will cry out continuously to everyone, “Come to Me if you wish to be saved. In this Heart you will find sanctity. It will make you holy and you will find comfort in hardships, strength in weakness, peace in doubts, and companionship in abandonment.”

Then your voice becomes stronger, saying: O souls who love Me, if you really wish to love Me, come to dwell always in this Heart. Here you will find true Love with which to love Me. Here you will find ardent flames to burn and consume you completely in my Love. The tiniest exits from this Heart shall deprive you of many graces and make you unlike me. Everything is centered in this Heart. Here you will find the Sacraments, my Church, and the life of the Church and of all souls. In my Heart, I even feel the desecrations that are done to my Church. I sense the plots of her enemies, the arrows they launch at her, the sufferings of my oppressed children and the blood that they will shed—because there is no offense that this Heart of mine does not feel. So, my child, live your life in this Heart, shelter yourself behind its doors and defend Me, make reparation to Me, and bring everyone to Me.

My Love, if a lance has wounded your Heart for me, with your hands I also beg You to wound my heart, my affections, my desires, and my whole being. May nothing remain in me that is not wounded by your Love. I unite everything to the excruciating agony of our dear Mother, who—because of the agony she feels on seeing your Heart torn open—collapses from love and sorrow. Like a dove, She flies into your Heart to take the first place—to be the first Reparatrix—and You establish her as the Queen of your very Heart, and the Mediatrix between You and creatures. I fly with my Mother into your Heart to hear how She makes reparation and how She repeats her reparations for the offenses that You receive. By the power of this wound and of your sorrowful Mother, I beg You to enclose everyone in your most beloved Heart—to protect, defend and enlighten the rulers of your Church.

O my Jesus, after your agonizing and most sorrowful death, it seems just that I should no longer have a life of my own. Rather, I will find my life once more in your wounded Heart—so that, whatever I do, I will always depend on your divine Heart. No longer will I give life to my thoughts—but if they should want Life, I will take it from Yours. My will shall no longer have life—but if it wants Life, I will take it from your Most Holy Will. And my love will no longer have life—but if it wants Life, I will take It from your Love.

O my Jesus, your whole Life is mine! This is your Will—and this is my will also. My dead Jesus, I see that they hasten to remove You from the Cross. Your disciples John and Nicodemus who were in hiding, now come forward courageously and fearlessly to give You an honorable burial. They use hammers and pliers to complete the sad, sacred removal of your Body from the Cross—a scene too sorrowful for your Mother’s pierced Heart! At each blow of the hammer and at each sound of the pliers pulling the nails, She trembles and her pierced Heart shudders. And, moaning, She says, “My Son, My Son!…,” and She holds out her motherly arms to receive You in her lap. My Jesus, as they remove the nails, I also want to help hold your Most Holy Body. I want to take the nails that they remove from You, and fix them in my heart as a constant reminder of your most bitter Passion. I want to be nailed completely to You with the same nails that crucified You. And while I am helping to place You in the lap of your Holy Mother, I want to hug Her and support Her.

And, with your Holy Mother, I want to adore You, to kiss You, and then to enclose myself in your Heart, never to leave.

 

Reflections and Practices.

With the lancing of His side, Jesus is removed from the cross. It seems that humiliations ceased and victories began for Jesus after He died. But is my life such that, even after I am dead, it could be a call for souls and a spur that could lead them toward the good? In order to commit myself more to loving Jesus, in all my words and actions, in all the sorrows I might endure, I will believe that my word will continue to live in others to glorify the Lord, that He may be understood and loved even more. If my works will be a call spurring the works of other creatures and directing them to Jesus, if my steps will push their steps toward Jesus, if my pains will be the patience of all the creatures, ensuring that they all follow the will of Jesus, then, once I am in Heaven, everything I did on earth shall continue to live amongst the creatures. Therefore, the love I had on earth for Jesus, and my love for Him when I am in Heaven, shall join together. O would that all this love, powerful as a magnet, could transport everyone to Heaven!

After his death, Jesus wanted to be pierced with a lance for Love of us. And do I permit Jesus’ Love to wound me in all that I do, or do I allow myself to be wounded by the love of creatures, pleasures, and my own self-love? Even coldness, darkness, and internal and external mortifications are wounds that the Lord gives to souls. But if we do not accept them as coming from God’s hands, we accept them from the hands of creatures and they wound us or we wound ourselves. And our wounds and those of creatures are our passions, our weaknesses, our self-exaltation—in a word, matter. However, if we accept them as wounds inflicted by loving Jesus, He will place in these wounds his Love, his virtues, and his likeness, which will then earn for us his kisses, his tender caresses, and all the counsels of Divine Love. These wounds will act as continuous voices to call Him and to require Him to dwell with us constantly. We shall say to Him: “You wounded me, now heal me.”

O, my Jesus, may your lance be the guard that defends me from all the wounds of creatures.

Jesus lets Himself be removed from the Cross, and placed in the arms of his Mother. If my Jesus deprives me of his presence, of his sensible grace, do I find shelter in the lap of our sweet Mother, begging Her to reveal Jesus to me? Do I place in my Mother’s hands all my fears, doubts and longings? Jesus rested on the lap of his divine Mother. Do I allow Jesus to rest in my lap or do I disturb his rest with my fears and unrest?

My Mother, with your sweet motherly hands remove everything from my heart that could keep Jesus from resting in me.

My Jesus, You are taken down from the Cross, and your sorrowful Mother is the first to receive You in her lap. Your pierced Head rests gently in her arms. O sweet Mother, do not refuse my company. United with You, let me do my last duty to my loving Jesus. My sweetest Mother, it is true that you surpass me in love and gentleness in touching my Jesus, but I will try to imitate You as best I can—to delight adorable Jesus in all that I do. That is why I want to join my hands with your most holy hands to remove all the thorns that crown his Sacred Head—and to unite your profound adoration to my own. Heavenly Mother, your hands make ready to clean the clotted blood from Jesus’ eyes—those darkened and lifeless eyes that used to give light to the whole world.

O Mother, I unite myself with You. Let us kiss them together! see the ears of my Jesus, covered in Blood, bruised by blows and pierced with thorns. O Mother, let us adore those ears that no longer hear. Let us adore those ears that have suffered so much, inviting countless deaf and stubborn souls with the call of grace. O sweet Mother, I see your tearful and sorrowful eyes as You gaze at the mournful Face of Jesus.

I unite my sorrow to yours. Let us remove the mud and spittle which have nearly disfigured Him. Let us adore that Face which enamored Heaven and earth with its Divine Majesty—and which now gives no sign of life. O sweet Mother, let us kiss his mouth. Let us kiss that divine mouth which used the gentleness of his words to draw so many souls to his Heart.

O Mother, I want to take your very own mouth, to kiss his bruised and bloodied lips—and to adore them profoundly. O my sweet Mother, Jesus’ Body has become one great wound. I want to kiss it with You again and again. want to join my hands with Yours to put back the pieces of flesh that hang from his Body, as we adore them profoundly.

O Mother, let us kiss those creative hands that have worked so many prodigies for us—those pierced and twisted hands now cold and rigid in death. O sweet Mother, let us enclose the destinies of all souls in these most holy wounds. When He rises from the dead, Jesus will find all the souls You have placed here—and none will be lost. O Mother, let us adore these wounds with all souls—and in the name of all souls. O heavenly Mother, You draw near to Jesus’ poor feet to kiss them. How many torn wounds there are! The piercing nails have torn away part of the flesh and the skin—and the weight of his most Sacred Body has ripped them cruelly. Let us kiss these wounds and adore them profoundly.

Let us enclose all the steps of sinners in the wounds of his feet. As they walk, may they feel Jesus’ steps close behind them—and may they no longer dare to offend Him! O Mother, I see you fix your gaze on sweet Jesus’ open Heart. I beg You to bury and enclose me in his Heart. What shall we do inside this Heart? You will teach me, O mournful Mother, you will bury me inside It, you will cover It with the stone and seal me inside and here, where I place my heart and my life, I shall hide for all eternity.

O Mother, give me your Love that I may love Jesus! Give me your sorrow to plead for everyone—and to atone for every sin against his Heart! O Mother, as You bury Jesus with your own hands, remember that I, too, want to be buried with Him—so that, after having been buried with Jesus, I may rise with Him and all that is His. May it be like this!

And now a word for You, O most loving Mother. I deeply pity You. If it were possible, with all the strength of my poor heart I would gather your heartbeats, your desires, and the lives of all creatures—and I would lay them before You as an act of compassion and love. I suffer with You in your extreme sorrow at seeing Jesus die, crowned with thorns, and torn by the whips and by the nails. I suffer with You upon seeing those eyes that no longer look at You; those ears that no longer hear your voice; and that mouth that no longer speaks to You.

I pity You in your sorrow upon seeing those hands that no longer embrace You; and those feet that no longer follow You. If it were possible, I would like to offer You the very Heart of Jesus overflowing with Love—to console You as You deserve and to ease your most bitter pains.

Jesus is buried. A rock secures Him and prevents his Mother from gazing upon her Son any longer. Am I like one who is dead inside the Heart of Jesus? Can I say that my heart is like a tomb that keeps me hidden from the eyes of creatures, and that I am indifferent, seeing that everyone has forgotten me? Once buried, no one glances at Jesus any more: a stone hides Him, and He can no longer gaze at his Mother; nor can She gaze at her Son; and though They are both holy, They can no longer gaze at each other. Now in holy things, do I remain indifferent, with that holy detachment that does not allow me to be disobedient in anything?

And though I may feel different affections, until it seems that Jesus has completely abandoned me, do I conquer everything with a holy detachment that continually draws me to Him? Can I say that yesterday is like today, and that though I may be rejected, still, with my constancy, I form a sweet chain that draws Him to me so that, should I want to form a thought, I will take the life of my thinking from the thoughts of Jesus? Are my glances immersed in Jesus’ glances in such a way that I only receive the glances that Jesus wants to give me, and I only look at what Jesus looks at? Is my voice immersed in Jesus’ voice in such a way that should I desire to speak, I would not do so unless I did it with Jesus’ tongue?

Are my steps immersed in His in such a way that as I walk I do not leave the impressions of my own footprints, but those of Jesus? Is my heart immersed in His so that I am able to love and desire as his Heart Loves and desires? my Jesus, just as your life flows in the midst of ours and constantly spurs us to love You and imitate You, so may my life do for others.

If Jesus is hidden, can I say that my sorrow is similar to the sorrow of the most Holy Mother, and that while I suffer I am bound more tightly to his Heart?

My Mother, when Jesus hides Himself from me for the good of my soul, grant me the grace that You had when You were deprived of Him, so that I may give Him all the glory that You gave Him when He was buried in the Sepulcher.

As I take your thought in order to think, do give me the thoughts from your Mind, thus allowing my thoughts to share in your power and to do the good that your Mind did. Jesus, as I look with your glances, do give me the power and the tenderness of your divine glances, thus allowing me to penetrate the hearts of all creatures. In this way I will honor You: it will be as if your glances, looking inside me and inside all souls, attracted all souls to You in the same way that You deigned to attract my soul.

O Jesus, I pray, but with your voice. And just as your voice pierced the Heavens and resounded in the voices of all, so may the voices of all creatures resound in my voice, to give honor to your voice, piercing the Heavens to give glory and love to your word.

My Jesus, my heart is beating; yet I am not happy unless You let my heart beat with Yours—for with your heartbeat I will love as You Love. I will give You the love of all creatures, and a singular cry will ring out: “Love, Love!” It will satisfy the love of the Father and of all creatures, beseeching all creatures to convert. Therefore, O my Jesus, give honor to Yourself! On everything I do, imprint the seal of your power, your Love, and your glory.

 

My sorrowful Mother, I see You prepare Yourself for your last sacrifice—having to bury your dead Son, Jesus. Resigned to the Will of Heaven, You accompany Him. With your own hands, You place Him in the sepulcher. While You arrange his limbs, You try to bid Him farewell and give Him a last kiss; but You feel your Heart wrenched from your breast for pain. Love nails you to those members. And by force of love and sorrow, your life is on the verge of being snuffed out, together with that of your lifeless Son.

Poor mother, what will you do without Jesus? He is your life, your all. Still, it is the Will of the Eternal One that wants it like this. You will have to struggle with two insurmountable powers: love, and the Divine Will. Love nails you in such a way that you cannot make the separation; the Divine Will imposes itself and wants the sacrifice...

Poor mother, how will you do it? How I sympathize with you! Please, angels of heaven, come and raise her from the rigid members of Jesus, otherwise she will die. Oh, what a miracle: while she seems to have died together with Jesus, I hear her voice, trembling and interrupted by sobs, which says:

“Son, beloved Son, this was the only comfort left to me, and it halved my pains: To unburden myself over these wounds of your most holy humanity, to adore them and kiss them. Now, even this is taken from me because this is what the Divine Will wants—and I resign myself to it. But know, O Son, that I want to do it but cannot. At the mere thought of doing it, my strength fades and life flees me. . . . O Son, please: In order to receive the strength and the life I need to make the bitter separation, permit me to leave my whole being buried in you and to take for myself your life, your pains, your reparations and all that you are. Yes, only an exchange of life between you and me can give me the strength to carry out the sacrifice of separating myself from you.”

My suffering mother, I see that with determination you again pass over those members. Resting your head on that of Jesus, you kiss it and enclose your thoughts in Jesus' head. You take for yourself his thorns, his afflicted and offended thoughts, and all that he has suffered in his most holy head.

Oh, how you would like to give life to Jesus' intelligence with yours, in order to give life for life! You already feel yourself coming to life again, for having taken the thoughts and the thorns of Jesus into your mind. Sorrowful mother, I see that you kiss Jesus' lifeless eyes. You are heart-broken to see that Jesus no longer looks at you.

How many times those divine eyes, looking at you, enraptured you and make you rise from death to life! Now, seeing that they no longer look at you, you feel yourself die. So, I see that you put your eyes in those of Jesus; and for yourself you take his eyes, his tears and the bitterness of his gaze which suffered so much, seeing the offenses of creatures and all the insults and their rejections of him. My transfixed mother, I see you kiss his most holy ears. You call him time and again, and say:

“My Son, is it possible that you no longer hear me—you who answered my every sigh, even the least? Now I weep and I call you— but you don't hear me? Yes: dear love is the most cruel tyrant! You were for me more than my very life. And now I will have to survive such pain! So, my Son, I leave my ears in yours, and I take for myself what your most holy ears have suffered: the echo of all the offense that resounded in yours. This alone can give me life: your pains, your sorrows.”

As you are saying this, the sorrow and the pangs of your heart are so intense that you become speechless and remain motionless. My poor mother, my poor mother, how I sympathize with you! How many cruel deaths you suffer! Sorrowful mother, the Divine Will imposes itself and gets you going. So you look at his most holy face, kiss it, and exclaim:

“Adorable Son, how disfigured you are! Yes, if love didn't show me that you are my Son, my life, my all, I wouldn't recognize you, for your unrecognizable state. Your natural beauty has been transformed into deformity. Your rosy cheeks have been changed into bruises. O beloved Son, your beautiful face that radiated light and grace—for to see you and remain ecstatic was one and the same thing—has been transformed into the pallor of death.

“Son, how you are reduced! What ugly work sin has done on your most holy members! Oh, how your inseparable mother would like to return your original beauty to you! I want to fuse my face in yours and take yours for me, as well as the blows, the spit, the ridicule and all that you suffered in your most holy face. Yes, Son, if you want me alive, give me your pains; otherwise I will die.”

Your sorrow is so intense that it suffocates you and cuts off your words; and you remain as if lifeless over Jesus' face.

Poor mother, how I sympathize with you! My angels, come to sustain my mother. Her sorrow is immense. It is flooding her and suffocating her. She has no life or strength left. But the Divine Will, tearing through these waves that are drowning her, returns life to her. Now you have come to his mouth. As you kiss it, you feel your lips embittered by the bitterness of the gall that so embittered Jesus' mouth. Sobbing, you continue:

“My Son, say one last word to your mother. Is it possible that I won't hear your voice any more? All your words you said to me in life, like so many arrows, strike my heart with sorrow and love. And now, seeing you silent, these arrows begin to move in my lacerated heart, giving me innumerable deaths; and it seems as though they want to steal one last word from you by force. But not receiving it, they torture me, and say to me: 'Well, you will not listen to him any more. You will no longer hear his sweet voice, the melody of his creative word which created as many paradises in you for as many words as he said.' Ah, my Paradise is finished, and I will have nothing but bitternesses! Yes, Son, I want to give you my tongue to give life to yours. Yes, give me everything you suffered in your most holy mouth: the bitterness of the gall, your burning thirst, your reparations and prayers. Then, by hearing your voice in the things you suffered, my sorrow will be more bearable, and your mother will be able to live by means of your pains.”

Tortured mother, I see that you hurry now, because those around you want to close the sepulcher. So you quickly pass over Jesus' hands, taking them in yours and kissing them. You press them to your heart; and putting your hands in his, you take the pains and the wounds of those most holy hands for yourself. Then, passing over Jesus' feet and looking at the cruel tears that the nails made in them, while you put yours in his and take those wounds for yourself, you offer yourself in Jesus' place to run after sinners and snatch them from hell. Grieved mother, now I see that you are saying your last good-by to Jesus' pierced heart. Here you stop. This is the last assault your maternal heart receives. You now feel it being torn from your breast by the intensity of love and of sorrow. And by itself it escapes and puts itself in the Most Sacred Heart of Jesus.

Seeing yourself without a heart, you hurry to take Jesus' Most Sacred Heart to yourself, as well as his love rejected by so many creatures, all his ardent desires frustrated by their ingratitude, and the sorrows and transfixions of that Most Sacred Heart which will have you crucified during your whole life. Looking at the gaping wound, you kiss it and lick the blood. And feeling Jesus' life in you, you feel the strength to make the bitter separation. So, you embrace him and permit the stone of the sepulcher to enclose him. My sorrowful mother, as I weep I pray you not to let Jesus be taken from our gaze for now. First, let me enclose myself in Jesus to take his life into me. If you, the immaculate one, the holy one, the full of grace, cannot live without Jesus, much less can I, who am weakness, misery, sinfulness itself. How could I live without Jesus?

Please, sorrowful mother, don't leave me alone. Take me with you. But first, put my whole being into Jesus. Empty me of everything to be able to put all Jesus into me, as you put him into yourself. Begin your maternal duty with me which Jesus gave you from the cross. Let your maternal heart be moved by my extreme poverty; and with your own maternal hands, enclose me totally, completely in Jesus. Enclose Jesus' thoughts in my mind so that no other thought will enter into me. Enclose Jesus' eyes in mine so that he may never escape from my view. Put his ears in mine so that I may always listen to him and fulfill his Most Holy Will in everything. Put his face in mine so that by looking at that face so disfigured for love of me, I may love him, give him compassion and make reparation to him. Put his tongue in mine so that I may speak, pray and teach with Jesus' tongue. Put his hands in mine so that every movement I make and every work I do may have life from Jesus' works and movements. Put his feet in mine so that every step I take may be life, salvation, strength and zeal for other creatures.

And now, my saddened mother, let me kiss his heart and lick his most precious blood. As you enclose his heart in mine, grant me the grace to live by his love, by his desires, by his pains. And now, take the rigid right hand of Jesus so that he may give me his last blessing with it. Now you permit the rock to enclose him. How agonizing it is for you! Weeping, you say your last good-by to him; and kissing the sepulcher, you leave it. Your sorrow is so immense that now you are petrified, now frozen. My transfixed mother, together with you I say good-by to Jesus. And weeping, I want to sympathize with you and keep you company in your bitter desolation. I want to remain by your side to give you a word of comfort and a compassionate gaze for every sigh, pang and sorrow of yours. I will gather up your tears; and if I see you fainting I will hold you in my arms.

Now I see you are obliged to return to Jerusalem by that same path on which you came. After just a few steps the cross already appears, on which Jesus suffered so much and then died. You run to it and kiss it. Seeing it stained with blood, the pains he suffered are on it are renewed in your heart one by one. Unable to contain your sorrow, sobbing, you exclaim:

“O cross! How is it that you were so cruel to my Son? No, you didn't spare him in anything! What wrong did he do to you? You didn't permit me, his sorrowful mother, to give him even a sip of water when he asked for it; and to his parched mouth you gave him gall and vinegar. I felt my transfixed heart liquefied, and would have liked to offer my melted heart to those lips to quench his thirst, but I received the sorrow of being rejected. Yes, O cross, you are cruel, but holy, because you were divinized and sanctified by your contact with my Son. Change that cruelty you used with him into compassion for miserable mortals. And for the pains he suffered on you, plead grace and strength for suffering souls, so that no one may be lost because of trials and crosses. Souls cost me too much. They cost me the life of a Son-God. And as Co-redemptrix and mother, I bind them to you, O cross.”

You kiss the cross over and over, and then continue on. Poor mother, how I sympathize with you! At every step and encounter, new sorrows arise, which become more immense and more bitter. They are overwhelming and submerging you like waves, and so you feel death at every instant. A few steps more, and you come to that point where this morning you met Jesus, exhausted and streaming blood, under the enormous weight of the cross. He had a bunch of thorns on his head, which, striking the cross, went deeper and deeper, giving him mortal pains at every movement. Meeting your eyes, Jesus' eyes sought pity; but to deprive you and Jesus of this relief, the soldiers pushed him and made him fall, causing him to shed new blood.

And now, seeing the ground soaked with it, you prostrate yourself on the ground and kiss that blood, saying:

“My angels, come and keep guard over this blood so that not a single drop will be trampled on and profaned.”

Sorrowful mother, let me give you my hand to raise you up and comfort you, because I see that you are agonizing in Jesus' blood. As you walk on, you find new pains. You see traces of blood everywhere and recall his sufferings, so you quicken your pace and enclose yourself in the cenacle. I too enclose myself in the cenacle—the cenacle of the Most Sacred Heart of Jesus. From within this heart I want to come upon your maternal knees to keep you company in this hour of bitter desolation. I don't have the heart to leave you alone in so much sorrow.

Desolate mother, look at this little child of yours. I am too little to live by myself. Neither can I nor do I want to. So, take me on you knees, clasp me in your arms and mother me, for I need guidance, help and support. Look at my misery and shed a tear on my wounds. When you see me distracted, press me to your maternal heart and call Jesus' life back into me.

But while I am praying to you, I am compelled to stop and turn my attention to your bitter sorrows. I feel myself pierced, seeing that as you move your head you feel the thorns which you have taken from Jesus sinking deeper. Together with the thorns of all our sins of thought, they even prick your eyes, causing you to weep tears mingled with blood. As you weep, having Jesus' vision in your eyes, there pass before your sight all the offenses of creatures. Oh, how embittered you are by them! How well you understand what Jesus suffered, having his own pains in yourself! But one pain doesn't wait for the next. As you listen intently, your ears are deafened by the echo of the voices of creatures. Each kind of offensive voice of the creature, passing from your ears and penetrating into your heart, pierces it; and you repeat your refrain:

“Son, how you have suffered!”

Desolate mother, how I sympathize with you! Let me wipe your face bathed in tears and blood. But I fall back, seeing it all covered with bruises, unrecognizable and pale with a deathly pallor. I understand: These are the ill-treatments Jesus received, which you have taken for your own, that make you suffer so much. Yes, as you move your lips to pray or to emit sighs from your inflamed breast, you feel your breath embittered and your lips burned by Jesus' thirst.

My poor mother, how I sympathize with you! Your sorrows increase ever more, and they seem to give a hand to each other. Taking your hands in mine, I see them pierced by the nails. It is in these same hands that you feel the pain of seeing the homicides, the betrayals, the sacrileges and all the evil works which repeat the blows, enlarging the wounds and making them ever more painful.

How I sympathize with you! You are the true crucified mother, such that not even your feet remain without nails. What is more, you not only feel them nailed, but torn as well by so many evil steps, and by the souls that are going toward hell. And you run after them so that they may not fall into the infernal flames. But this is still not everything, O nailed mother. All your pains, joining together, echo in your heart and pierce it not with seven swords, but with thousands and thousands of swords—especially since you have the divine heart of Jesus in you, which encloses all hearts and encompasses the heartbeats of everyone in itself. And that divine heartbeat, as it beats, says, Souls! Love! With the heartbeat, Souls, you feel all sins flowing in your heartbeat, and you feel you are being given death. In the heartbeat, Love, you feel life being given to you. And so you are in the continual alternation of death and life.

Crucified mother, as I look at you I sympathize with you in your sorrows. How inexpressible they are! I would like to change my being into tongue and voice, to sympathize with you. But before so many pains my sympathies are nothing. So, I call the angels and the Most Holy Trinity, praying them to put their harmonies, contentments and beauty around you, to soothe you and to sympathize with your intense sorrows. I pray them to sustain you in their arms and to give you love in exchange for all your pains. And now, desolate mother, I thank you in everyone's name for all that you have suffered. By this bitter desolation, I pray you to come and assist me at the hour of my death. When my poor soul will find itself alone and abandoned by everyone, among a thousand anxieties and fears, come then to give me the company that I gave you so many times in life. Come to assist me, be by my side and send the enemy away. Wash my soul with your tears. Cover me with Jesus' blood and dress me with his merits. Beautify me with your sorrows and all of Jesus' pains and works. In virtue of his pains and your sorrows, make all sins disappear from me, giving me forgiveness for them all. As I breathe my last breath, receive me in your arms, put me under your mantle and hide me from the eyes of the enemy. Take me away, in flight, to heaven and put me into Jesus' arms.

My dear mother, you agree to do this, don't you? And now, I pray you to return the company I have given you today, to all those who are dying in this moment. Mother them all. These are extreme moments and great helps are needed, so don't deny your maternal offices to anyone.

One last word as I leave you: I pray you to enclose me in Jesus' Most Sacred Heart. And you, O my sorrowful mother, be my sentinel so that Jesus may not cast me out of his heart, and so that even if I should want to, I may not leave it. Now I kiss your maternal hand and ask you to bless me.