Monday, September 15, 2014

Hearts that Suffer, Hearts that Burn



We have all suffered from the sins of others and suffered from our own sins.

This mystery runs deep and becomes even richer when we meditate upon Our Lady of Sorrows.

A more literal translation of Stabat Mater (today's hymn) includes this ...

Make my heart burn
with the love of Christ, the God,
that I may be pleasing to Him.

(Fac ut ardeat cor meum,
In amando Christum Deum
Ut sibi complaceam.)

The fact is, Devout Catholics, that if we don't want our hearts to burn with passion for what we love and for who we love, we cannot enter into the the Passion that burns Our Lady, that pierces her own heart with a sword.  We share His sufferings and her sufferings, we share the fullness of humanity, only if we love with a heart that is (as the hymn suggests) "ardeat" - ardent, burning, aflame with love.

That's why her heart, pierced by seven sorrows, burns, as the Sacred Heart of Jesus burns (note the flames below).


A cold love, a love that is not aflame, a love that will not suffer for another (com-passion) or even be inconvenienced for another, although this love may be self-less and and pure, is not true love, and it is not what we are called to give.

As Fr. Chris Martin said in his homily yesterday (on the Feast of the Exultation of the Cross) ...

God does not will our suffering.  God enters into our suffering.

One of the reasons God does this is so that we may enter into one another's sufferings, as did Our Lady, sorrowing at the cross.

But this is the exact thing that Unreality is designed to guard against.

And yet only the cross can redeem a world turned pointless and futile, as described below by one of Shakespeare's characters.  Only the cross can turn false friendship and Unreal love into the deep love we see in Our Lady.  Only the cross can make sense of our sorrows.

Blow, blow, thou winter wind.
Thou art not so unkind
As man’s ingratitude.
Thy tooth is not so keen,
Because thou art not seen,
Although thy breath be rude.
 
Heigh-ho, sing heigh-ho, unto the green holly.
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly.
Then heigh-ho, the holly.
This life is most jolly.
Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
That dost not bite so nigh
As benefits forgot.
Though thou the waters warp,
Thy sting is not so sharp
As friend remembered not.

Heigh-ho, sing heigh-ho, unto the green holly.
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly.
Then heigh-ho, the holly.
This life is most jolly.

Our Lady of Sorrows, pray for us.



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