Recently, when I found myself wanting to feel the sting of remorse over my sins, my wrongdoings, I had prayed for just that – to be given the grace of remorse. And very quickly, that prayer was answered. I believe that the sudden heaviness of heart that beset me one evening, for no apparent reason, was the Tears of Jesus and Mary for my sins.
But it didn’t end there.
Yesterday, at the local farmer’s market, I met up with someone and we had a brief conversation, just a couple of sentences of pleasantries that should have ended on a light and breezy note.
But it didn’t.
Because I chose to speak a few words against my neighbor.
They weren’t lies, nor were they my imaginings. I didn’t provide a detailed breakdown of someone else’s failings, neither did I mention names, so no one got hurt. I just spoke the truth about a work situation that even my conversation partner was aware of; it wasn’t like I had parted the curtain to reveal something she had not known.
But almost immediately, bare minutes after the words had left my lips, I felt an intense piercing. It didn’t tear me up. It didn’t keep me from savouring the beauty of the cloud tufts that embroidered the skies. I didn’t feel weighed down by despondency. I didn’t feel like throwing myself against rocks.
But an unseen thorn pierced. And it pierced deep.
Even now, many hours since I uttered those few shadowed words that stained unnamed individuals, as this pain finds print, the piercing of my spirit continues unabated. I, who have gone through a life mottled by mistake after mistake, slip after slip, fall after fall, yet seldom regretting my wrongs, am now aching beyond belief to be able to return to that moment in that happy bustle of people at the market, to take back my dark words.
Oh, what I wouldn’t give to go back.
My heart today looks out on a joy~blessed day. I rest my spirit against the golden blooms of sunlight that light up grass freshened to wildgreen by recent rainfall.
A languid breeze weaves its visit through the greenhearts of tree boughs. I reach out and place my heart in its arms.
And in return, the breeze leaves a note on my spirit.
It is not my heart that is pierced. For the one I have is hardened beyond piercing.
Within me beats the Heart of Jesus, bequeathed to me because I had asked for the grace of remorse.
Which is the grace to feel my Jesus’ pain as I pierced Him.