Et lacrimatus est Jesus [John 11:35]

from Minute Meditations (Angelus Press)

AND JESUS WEPT
 

Lazarus, His friend, had died. Jesus stood by the silent grave. There was anguish written on His sacred face. His great, manly Heart was broken with grief, human grief at the loss of one He loved—“and Jesus wept.” Tears filled His eyes, great scalding tears that overflowed upon His cheeks and fell like dew upon the earth—the human tears of the gentle Christ.

“And Jesus wept.” How much that tells me of my Divine Friend! It tells me in terms of infinite tenderness of a Heart acquainted with human woe, of a Heart that feels as my heart feels, of a Heart that responds to the human need of human affection, of a Heart that can bleed when stabbed by the knife of cruel separation from human loves.

“And Jesus wept.” How close it brings Jesus to me! For it makes Him so like myself. As I see His tears I know that He understands my tears. I know that He understands when my soul is harrowed with pain, when sorrow has made my heart its home. I know that the cry that escapes my lips as I stand by the tomb of one I have loved, or by the grave of my buried hopes—I know that my cry has a meaning for Him fuller and deeper than words can tell.

“And Jesus wept.” Yes, Jesus wept, but without bitterness, wept and His sorrow was holy, His tears were sacred. Is it always so with me? I too weep. But is my sorrow always holy? Are my tears always sacred? Is there not, at times, bitterness in my grief, rebellion in my suffering? Let me pause and reflect.

 

Dear Jesus, Divine Friend, have mercy on us.

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And this is my beautiful Jesus. His Sacred Heart so full of LOVE. 

and (like and does not fully suggest what I want to imply, rather the word simultaneously or together with ... would do better) one doesn't talk just of the Sacred Heart, it is always together with one other heart that knows fully well what the word SACRIFICE means. 

and together with the Heart of my most beautiful Jesus, there is the Heart of His Most Loving Mother. She suffers intensely, and this hidden suffering, so holy, yet so intensely painful... What love and what sacrifice, what strength She has. How much we need to honour Her who suffered so much, so that we could be saved? 

I love you, my Jesus. 

I love you, my Mother. 

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How can I love another so much unless I see Jesus in him?