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