Prayer and Meditation: Meditation on the Passion

KAC's Catholic Meditations Blog ^ | 3/25/07 | Knitting a Conundrum

[Knitting A Conundrum]

When you prayed in the garden, Lord,
and the heaviness pressed all around you
from the weight of all we had had done and would do
echoing in the quiet night,
and you knelt there while the full moon's light
peaked through the olive trees,
Silent witness alone that sees
how you were sweating blood in the depths of your grief.

How heavy did today weigh on your shoulders, Lord,
How this war-torn world of anger and tears
mad with lust, demands and fears
Despising you for what you said about right --
Choosing the darkness and calling it light,
Twisting your words, despising your peace,
hot with hatred and selfishness that never does cease -
Sometimes done for God, sometimes done for gain
Intense the cry, but an ancient refrain--
How careless we are of what you taught.

When they tied you to the pillar, Lord,
and scourged you in the Roman way, cutting like a knife,
a beating so severe that it alone could take a life,
as the weights at the ends of the whips gouged your skin
and the heavy slap of the leather tore you within,
did you see babies ripped from their mother's womb as inconvenient,
the innocents blown up to make a political statement,
the slaughtered millions killed by machete, bomb and gas
because they belonged to the wrong class,
just happened to be the wrong culture or faith or bloodline,
put down for gain or as a warning sign.
Which gave you the most pain the cruel leather across your back
or the way we would hate and strike and attack,
the knowlege how we would reject you?

When you walked that long walk to your death, Lord
with the heavy crossbeam tied across your shoulders
as the proud and hard Romans paraded you and the others
the soldiers hating the noise and the crowd and the foreignness of it all,
and took out their spite by tugging your bonds and watching you fall,
And as they lifeted you back to your feet you saw your Mother there,
and the aching pain passed between you, her grief and motherly care
did you see all the other mothers aching in their pain for their children, too -
The evil to their sons and daughters that others would do,
mothers who watch their children die for others' gain,
mothers weeping in the night in inconsolable pain,
mothers who would cry to you for help.


When they nailed you to the cross, Lord,
and hung you up to die the slow hard death reserved for theives and slaves
in pain and shame and suffocation, until exhaustion takes them to their graves
did our evil make the pain that much sharper to feel?
Did our lack of mercy and love, our evil zeal
echo down the centuries like a pressing weight of lead,
sin upon sin laying on your head
making your sacrifice all the more painful?

And yet, still you managed to love us, and gave us all you had left,
Hanging on the cross, beneath a darkened sky, naked and bereft -
your mother, your forgiveness, your heart's blood.

Dear Lord,
Have mercy on us.

[Knitting A Conundrum]

Please join me today in remembering Our Lord and what he did for us.

[Knitting A Conundrum]

Prayer and meditation ping!

[Knitting A Conundrum]

Soul of Christ, sanctify me
Body of Christ, save me
Blood of Christ, inebriate me
Water from Christ's side, wash me
Passion of Christ, strengthen me
O good Jesus, hear me
Within Thy wounds hide me
Suffer me not to be separated from Thee
From the malicious enemy defend me
In the hour of my death call me
And bid me come unto Thee
That I may praise Thee with Thy saints
and with Thy angels
Forever and ever
Amen

[Knitting A Conundrum]

The last moment
when you stood upon the ground,
felt the dust beneath your feet,
and had the dignity of your clothes,
blood stained and dirty though they were,
did the women who offered you
wine and myrrh wonder at the gently look you gave them,
and the firm rejection
of the small mercy they offered?

Did the soldiers who prepared for your death,
hard men, they,
at your side since the procession began
wonder at how you were diferent,
as you calmly gave them the last of your wordly goods,
garment by garment.
Did they notice,
and did it make them angry,
that you,
who should have been cringing, cursing and crying
calmly waited for the next wave of pain.

Did those travelling into the city that day,
who could not help but see the executioners at work
call out in recognition,
in pity, or in scorn
as the soldiers
threw you to the ground and took out their hammer and nails?

[Knitting A Conundrum]

In one garden,
the lie was chosen
over the will of God,
and nature
groaned under the curse
and the grief
and the countless tears
of mankind
that followed.

In one garden,
quietly,
one full moon night
the will of God was chosen
over the lie
and nature knew
the promise of healing
that would free a woeful mankind
of its tears
had begun
in the unfathomable grief of
the one who said yes.

[saradippity]

Thank you so much for that beautiful meditation. It is profound and powerful;I will be including it in my daily prayers.

In fact,I am printing it out right now and will be giving a copy to each of my children so they too can join in remembering our Lord and what He did for us. Thanks again.

[Knitting A Conundrum]

Let me never forget how you gave yourself, O Lord, to the soldier's whip,
three thongs of leather braided together, each thong capped with a biting tip.
How they gathered together,the soldiers there, with blows of anger and mocking,
Twisted together the wreath of thorns in jest for a brutal crowning.
How unfairly condemned you were that day with two thieves at your side --
Yet by all of this, the blood you shed, and the hard death that you died,
you wrought our salvation.


Still today we hold the soldier's whip so tightly in our grasp,
Hearing the leather hit your back and your breath's quick choking gasp,
the flagellum with its biting teeth flailing through the air
The blood from the crown we weave anew dripping down in your hair
each time we choose to hurt, to have the final say,
each time we chose to have by force, intent on just our way,
each time we ignore the need, and choose to gloat instead,
each time that we laugh at good, and wish another dead
instead of longing for your salvation.

Have mercy, Lord, on the hardness of our heart,
The many many sins and darknesses that tear this world apart,
Warm us in spite of our coldness, so that we might heal instead of harm,
to bless instead of curse with your strength in our strong arm,
to love instead of hate, when anger fills our life,
to be your word of peace instead of tools of strife,
to the the tools of your salvation.

Instead of the whip, O Lord of life, give us hands of peace,
Give us true repentance to make that harsh whip cease.
Forgive us all our hardness that beats you more and more,
O with your grace, O Lord of Love, may we may go and sin no more,
rescued by your salvation.

[Knitting A Conundrum]

Teach Us How To Love

O my Jesus,
tortured,
beaten,
bloody,
mocked,
and stripped of all,
who laid down your freedom
willingly,
knowing what we are,
what we have done
and are likely to do again.

Our hands are not clean, Lord,
never could we be worthy
to be given what you offer us,
your own dear self,
your own body and blood,
medicine beyond all others.
Yet you call us home
to wash us,
heal us,
renew us.

Teach us how to love!

[Knitting A Conundrum]

Lord,
let me find refuge
always
at the foot of your cross,
where you bled and died
so that I might live.

Only here,
beneath the cross
where you shed your blood
can I find refuge
from the darkness.

Only here,
beneath the cross,
can I find refuge
from the wages of sin.

Here at the foot of your cross,
I pour out my tears
like the Magdalene,
tears of grief at what my sin has wrought,
tears of sorrow for what you chose to do,
tears of grief at the need.

Here at the foot of your cross,
I stand with your sorrowful mother,
she who I once wanted to comfort
for her pain,
her sorrow,
her loss,
but who sustains me as I collapse in grief.

Here at the foot of your cross,
I confront the reality of my self,
sinful,
weak,
undeserving,
and find not the condemnation or rejection I deserve,
but only love.

[Knitting A Conundrum]

Who would have imagined
the bride price you were willing to pay,
drop by drop,
your own heart's blood,
spilled out,
a libation
spilled in pain,
sorrow,
triumph.

O Sacred Heart,
A lover's heart,
big enough to love the whole world,
with all its griefs,
and evils,
and sorrows,
and not turn away
in despair or disgust!

O Sacred Heart,
Source of all consolations,
you who would heal our every wound
through having been wounded for love of us,
and giving what we have no right to demand,
Bridegroom of a most unworthy bride
whom you clothe in dazzling white linen
woven from your own true love,
glory to you!

[Knitting A Conundrum]

Suspended in that place
where heaven and earth meet,
an offering of
love unfathomable,
marked by the red liquid of life
given up in sacrifice.


You wait there,
feeling the life you give
ebb away drop by drop,
throb by throb,
swallowed up
by others' sin,
you,
both scapegoat
and sacrifice,
a poem of love,
a sign of contradition,
Lord.

[La Enchiladita]

Thank you.

[Knitting A Conundrum]

I know not why you chose
this way
to show us your love,
to embrace a slave's death,
a death of public humilation,
torture and pain.
I know not why you chose
to carry the rough wood
that your hands knew so well
how to shape and form
into so many better things
than a tool of torture,
or why you let them
pierce you,
but this was your choice.

O Lord,
let me never forget
that you really walked those steps,
felt the blows,
the roughness of the wood,
the pain,
tasted the blood.
You were there,
and you did it for love,
abandoning all,
until you felt even abandoned by the Father,
nothing left
but our sins,
the pain,
and the darkness of death.

What greater love story ever
was composed upon this sad earth?

[Knitting A Conundrum]

Each beam of moonlight
peaking through the leaves
in the garden of olives
highlighted your growing struggle.

O sinless one,
how heavy the weight
of uncountable sin
must have dragged upon you,

how the silent night
must have shrieked within you heart
with all the evil
man can do.

Thank you, Lord,
for telling the Father yes
when your human body
longed to run,
and you could feel the separation
that sin builds
between man and God
in a way no mere mortal
could ever bear.

Amen.

[Knitting A Conundrum]

Dear Jesus,
Bring to mind often
that sad, holy, day,
when you carried that horrendous burden
sin of the world
on your sinless, torn and battered back,
the unrighteousness of others
on you, the Son of righteousness,
the hatred and evilness of selfish lack of love
on you who were all love,
all that darkness
on the shoulders of you who are always the Light.

O Lord,
let me think of the crowd,
and know it was my sins
that set them screaming for your blood.
let me think of the whip
that my sin drove to cut your skin,
let me know that my hand
hammered the nails
through all the times I have chosen
to do wrong, not counting the cost.

Lord,
Let me never take for granted
the pain, the grief, the sorrow
of what you did.
Instead let me offer you
the tears of my remorse,
the sighs of my heart,
and know how much I am loved,
now and forever.

Amen.

[Alamo-Girl]

Thank you so much for this beautiful devotion!

[Knitting A Conundrum]

Dear Lord,
Here it is,
spring once again.
Interesting how you died in the spring,
when the weather was changing,
and the moon was full,
and like a seed,
planted in a tomb
to rise up,
our salvation
the first fruits
of God's love.

The soil beneath my hoe
is damp and dark
through much use,
fertilized and composted.
In a similar way,
you feed my soul
with prayer,
and fasting
and Eucharist
and your holy word.

May the garden of my heart,
the depths of my soul
bear the fruit you desire.

This day, and always,
Amen.

[La Enchiladita]

Kyrie Eleison
Christe Eleison
Kyrie Eleison

[Knitting A Conundrum]

Amen.

O my Jesus, forgive us our sins, save us from the fires of hell. Lead all souls to heaven, especially those most in need of your mercy.

[La Enchiladita]

Amen. I will return to these meditations during the week... very beautiful, Knitting.