Child of Peter

Just days after the Easter Vigil experience, a new prayer slipped into my heart:  May THY grief be mine. Not my words. Not my prayer, for it is the prayer of a Victim Soul. A soul consecrated to suffering for Christ.

Never in a million years would I have the courage to pray such a prayer.

I have had my crosses. I have carried them, however imperfectly. Like everyone else, I still have crosses that must be picked up each day and carried. I like to think that I am not one who runs away from the cross. I might whine and scream and rage at heaven; banging on heaven’s doors is an art form I have perfected. But I have always carried my crosses.

But to be stretched and torn and mangled for others….to be a Victim Soul, or something akin to it…..The mere mention of it makes me flee in terror.

Because Pain is not my friend. I can never see Pain as my companion. Pain has marked a great part of my life but because I am a happy person, Pain repulses me.

And yet, after the “blessing” of the great white Light on the cusp of Easter joy, May THY grief be mine is the prayer God has willed for me.

Heaven’s call is clear: Suffer with Me.

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In as much obedience as my cowardly heart can muster, I whisper the prayer. May THY grief be mine…..May THY grief be mine….May THY grief be mine.  Yet, I cannot claim heroism in praying the prayer. I cannot not help praying it. It slips through my lips for there is a strange power in it. May THY grief be mine is a prayer whose power towers high above my fear and reluctance. I cannot help but yield to it.

Yet, even as I pray it, my heart flees from it, trying to put as much distance between the prayer and what would come of it. I am afraid of what lies ahead. All that my cowardly heart sees is the mountains that must be scaled, the dark and forbidding terrain that must be travelled.

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I see Golgotha for me.

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So many times have I heard about the betrayal of St Peter, the fleeing from his Master at His time of need.

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I have felt brief indignation that Peter would have the heart to do such a thing; smug pride that I would never do a Peter.

But now, I know, I am truly a child of Peter.

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4 comments

  1. Your writing is beautiful as always. When I was younger I felt called to walk the path of the grief of Christ too. Today I walk the path of the joy and light of the resurrection. It is beautiful here.

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    1. How I wish Joy and Light were all I had to contend with! Oh, I’d give anything for that! But God has always had other plans for me. I walk a happy, sun-dappled path for the most part. But from time to time, just like with others, He takes me off-road, into hollows and shadows. I don’t know what lies ahead except that I must obey; can’t help not, anyway. So, my friend, if you will, remember me on a Rosary bead whenever you can. Always in my prayers, too.

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  2. Such truth is in your words. Yet, I believe that our Father only gives us what He knows will nourish our souls after we learn from the pains we endure.

    This part is off track but I want/need to share.

    One night, as I lay in bed trying to fall asleep, during that state of in-between conscious and unconsciousness, I “saw” Jesus, risen, holding his hands toward me, scars visible. A thought came to my mind as I had been thinking about my mother. While staring at the “vision” the thought said, “I forgave all that you had done to me,” and I knew that the only way to live fully, was to forgive and move onward.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I don’t think your beautiful sharing was off-track at all. Jesus Risen coming to you with all His wounds/scars visible is His way of showing us, His is a journey all must travel. I believe that carrying our Crosses and forgiving as we are called to is the only way to Move Forwards. Without either, I think we’d be rooted to the same old spot in the shadows.

      Liked by 1 person

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