Sorrowful Mysteries of the Rosary by T. Rea Okerberg


Jesus, my Precious Jesus. You felt every sin and painful experience we’ve ever suffered crash down on You. Every ounce of the weight pressing in, crushing You so much so that You Bled from every Pore. Sometimes I can’t help but wonder if You were scared, but then I remind myself that You love us and chose to do this for us so we wouldn’t have to endure it. No Greater Love has been shown before or since. Thank You for loving me so much! Jesus, my precious Jesus, what was it like to feel that pressing down on You, knowing what was coming with Judas’ betrayal, Your arrest, torture, then Crucifixion? “Heartbreaking” comes to my mind, but You loved us all anyway, even (if not especially) them. What went through Your Mind in the scuffle? You healed the man whose ear had been cut off, saying, “ENOUGH OF THIS!” While I know You were talking about Your immediate situation, I can’t help but wonder if You meant for all of it, all the ugly in the world. The ear being cut off - hearing blocked from the Truth? Your saying, “Enough of this,” being sorrowful that You try to get people to hear and accept Your amazing Love, and no one is listening? Healing the ear - restoration not just of a loved child, but restoration to be able to hear Your sweet Voice when You call out to us? I can’t help but wonder if it’s all connected that intimately?

Oh, my sweet Lord! Each of those lashes You took, they’re my fault. You could have put an end right then and there to the whole thing, like You could’ve in the Garden. But You didn’t. You stayed. You didn’t argue, You didn’t fight back. You were a willing Victim for me and for all of humanity. You accepted every impact of the flogger, every sneer, every ugly thing that was said. All without a word. You took what I deserved onto Yourself so I wouldn’t have to endure it.

My Precious Lord! The insult to injuries never cease to amaze. They refused to sincerely acknowledge You as King, but it was easier to mock You. If the spitting and sneering weren’t enough, they added an awful crown scratching and boring into Your Skin, making Your Pain even worse. Every impure and impossibly disgusting thought we could ever conceive of, carving itself into Your Precious Head. Yet, You took it. Lord, my Beloved Jesus, the restraint You exercised, the patience, those are things we can learn and should learn when we are facing ugly rumours about ourselves that we know are not true. Being patient with people isn’t being passive, it’s setting an example. It’s not repaying ugly with ugly. Thank You, Jesus, for this. Each of my own sins are pinned to a thorn. Each of those sins the knowledge hurts You. I am so sorry, my Jesus!

Oh, my Beloved Lord! How did You not just get up and walk away? How were You able to love us despite all of our ugliness and flaws? The pain and the weight of the wood biting into Your Skin, already torn to ribbons? The splinters digging into Your Wounds, mercilessly tearing yet more Skin open? How is it that You love us that much to go through this for us? My Beloved Lord, I cannot look at a Crucifix and not think of Your Pain on my behalf. When I feel the least lovable, may I but look to Your Passion. It blows my mind that You love me despite the fact it’s my fault You went through such unspeakable Pain for me. Thank You, my Beloved Jesus! On Your way up the Via Dolorosa, You saw Mama. She stood and You looked at each other in the eye. You comforted each other with your gazes. You knew Mama was heartbroken that her Little Boy was on His way to His Death, and she no doubt wanted to hold You close, just as You wanted to do the same for her. “I make all things new! ” You told her. She knew she had to let it happen. This was what she had accepted all those years ago when St Gabriel had announced to her what God had set her apart to do. Loving Mama, she accepted this with all her precious soul, even though it broke her into tiny pieces. Knowing You were going to fix what was broken. I love You, my Jesus.

Mama stood at your Crucifixion. She watched as You slipped away from her. Your friends were there, shattered at the events. You told St John, “Behold, your mother!” You told Mama, “Behold, your Son! ” You gave a mother to the motherless and a child to the childless. Your Love, we embrace, as You spread Your precious Arms wide and let the sleep of death take You. You descended to the dead and took the keys of life back, and insodoing, conquered death and hell. Separation from You and Abba and the Holy Spirit we would no longer face. The pain would only be but a temporary thing. The joy in the morning that You now have waiting for us, would be an eternity. Forever. No more sorrow. What an exciting thing to anticipate! And all out of love for our fallen and fallible race!

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