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Tuesday, March 11, 2014

Mary's Memories: the Sorrowful Mysteries

By Mallory Hoffman

File:Madonna Pinskaya.jpg
Madonna by Pinskaya
(Wikimedia Commons)

The Agony in the Garden

I felt my heart begin to break when I knew Jesus and His Apostles had left for the Garden.  The Apostles were uneasy.  They sensed that My Son was sorrowful.  He had warned them that He would be killed, but they did not believe.  I fell to my knees with the other women and we began to pray.  Jesus began to suffer in the Garden.  He felt the weight of sin on his shoulders and satan was there to tempt Him again.  Jesus was sorrowful beyond words.  I could feel His sorrow in my heart.  How he could bear the weight I do not know.  I’ve never known such sorrow.  He asked His Father to let this cup pass, but the Father withdrew.  Jesus accepted His cup for love of us.  His soul was at peace, but He knew what was to come.  When they came to arrest Him, My Jesus identified Himself to the soldiers of the temple.  They began to beat Him.  When Peter tried to stop this by cutting off the ear of the soldier, Jesus reminded Peter that this what was meant to be.  Jesus healed the soldier’s ear.  The other soldiers were stunned.   My Son was beaten and taken to both Herod and Pilate.  My Jesus, My Beautiful Son!  My heart weeps.  My heart weeps when I see You.  My precious Child.  I love You!

The Scourging at the Pillar.

How could I look?  Jesus did not look like Himself.  His beautiful face was swollen and bruised.  His eye was swollen shut.  When asked about the charges, Jesus would not answer.  Pilate tried to calm the crowds.  He knew that Jesus did not do anything wrong, but he was afraid.  He ordered Jesus to be scourged.  My Son!  My Son!  You are the Son of God, but they do not know You!  These are the people who were cheering You and calling You the Messiah.  Now they are calling for your death.  My Son!  I am here.  I hear the whips as they strike Your flesh.  I feel the whips as they rip into Your flesh.  I see the blood flow from Your skin.  Your flesh is hanging in shreds, and they continue to beat You.  The sear of the air on Your wounds brings tears to My eyes.  My Son, how do You bear this pain?  They want to kill You.  Pilate did not order that.  My God!  My God!  Protect Your Son!  I am weak.  How much more weak are You, My beautiful Child?  At last, the beatings have stopped and the soldiers are giving You back Your clothing that is soaked with your blood.  You can barely walk.  You lost so much blood!  If they only knew how much You loved them!   I see You looking at me.  I am here, My Son!  I am here.  Be strong!  I. am. here.

 Read the rest of the mysteries at His UnEnding Love.

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