[20th February 1944].
Now, it is already night-time, Jesus says:
« You have seen how much it costs to be Saviours. You have seen it in Me and in Mary. You have become acquainted with all our tortures and you have seen with what generosity, with what heroism, with what patience, with what meekness, with what perseverance, with what strength we have suffered them through our love to save you.
All those who want, who ask the Lord God to make them “saviours”, must thoroughly consider that Mary and I are the model and that those are the tortures they must share in order to save. Their torture will not be the cross, the thorns, the nails, the material scourges. They will be different, of a different form and nature. But equally painful and equally consuming. And only by consuming the sacrifice amid those sorrows can you become saviours.
It is an austere mission. The most austere of them all. The one compared to which the life of the monk or of the nun of the strictest rule is a flower compared to a mass of thorns. Because it is not a rule of a human Order. But the Rule of a priesthood, of a divine monastic life, of which I am the Founder, I, Who in My Rule, in My Order, consecrate and receive those elected to it, and impose My habit on them: total Sorrow, even to sacrifice.
You have seen My sufferings. They have been applied to make amends for your sins. No part of My body was excluded from them, because nothing in man is free from sin, and all the parts of your physical and moral egos – that ego that God gave you with the perfection of divine work and that you have depreciated with the sin of your first parent and with your tendencies to evil, with your bad will – are instruments of which you make use to commit sin. But I have come to cancel the effects of sin with My Blood and My sorrow, washing your individual physical and moral parts in them, to cleanse and strengthen them against culpable tendencies.
My hands were wounded and imprisoned, after they had become tired carrying the Cross, to make amends for all the crimes committed by the hands of man. From the true and proper ones committed holding and operating a gun against a brother, turning yourselves into Cains, to those perpetrated stealing, writing false accusations, making gestures against the respect of your bodies and other people's, and idling in laziness, which is propitious ground for your vices. For the illicit freedom of your hands, I had Mine crucified, nailing them to the cross, depriving them of every movement more than lawful and necessary.
The Feet of your Saviour, after becoming tired and bruised on the stones of the Way of My Passion were pierced and immobilised, to make amends for the evil you do with your feet, making them means to go to your crimes, thefts, fornications. I marked the streets, the squares, the houses, the steps in Jerusalem, to purify all the streets, the squares, the houses, the steps of the earth from all the evil that had grown on and in it, sown in past and future centuries by your bad will, obedient to Satan's instigations.
My Flesh was bruised, contused, torn to punish in Me the exaggerated cult, the idolatry that you give to your flesh and to the flesh of those whom you love out of a sensual whim or also out of fondness, which is not blameworthy in itself, but you make it such by loving a parent, a husband, a son, a brother more than you love God.
No. Above all love and every tie on the earth, there is, there must be the love for your Lord God. No other love is to be superior to it. Love your relatives in God, not above God. Love God with your whole selves. That will not absorb your love to the extent of making you indifferent towards your relatives, on the contrary it will nourish your love for them with the perfection attained from God, because he who loves God has God in himself and, having God, has Perfection.
I turned My Flesh into one sore to remove from your flesh the poison of sensuality, of lack of modesty, of lack of respect, of ambition and admiration for the flesh destined to become dust again. It is not with the cult for the body that one makes it beautiful. It is with detachment from it that one gives it the eternal Beauty in the Heaven of God.
My Head was tortured with countless tortures: with blows, with exposure to the sun, with shouts, with thorns, to make amends for the sins of your minds. Pride, impatience, unbearableness, intolerance spring up like a mushroom-bed in your brains. I turned it into a tortured organ, enclosed in a casket decorated with blood, to make amends for everything that sprouts from your thought.
You have seen the only crown I wanted. The crown that only a madman or a convict can wear. No one, who is sound of mind (speaking from a human point of view) and is free to do what he likes, will put it on. But I was considered mad and mad I was from a supernatural divine point of view, as I wanted to die for you who do not love Me or love Me so little, as I wanted to die to defeat Evil in you, knowing that you love it more than you love God, and I was a prey to man, his prisoner, condemned by him. I, God, condemned by man.
How often you lose your patience over trifles, you become incompatible through trivialities, you are unbearable because of light indispositions! But look at your Saviour. Consider how irritating it must have been to be continuously stung in different parts, to have the locks of My hair entangled in the thorns, to feel the crown move continuously without being able to move My head, and not being able to lean it anywhere without being tortured! But think of what the shouts of the crowds, the blows on My head, the scorching sun were for My tortured, aching, feverish Head! Consider what pain I felt in My poor brain, since I went to the agony of Friday aching all over because of the efforts made Thursday evening, in My poor brain, which was affected by the fever of My tortured Body and of the intoxications brought about by tortures!
And in My Head, My eyes, My mouth, My nose, My tongue, each had their torture. To make amends for your glances, so anxious to see what is evil and so forgetful of seeking God, to redress the too many, too false, filthy and lustful words that you utter, instead of using your lips to pray, to teach, to console; My nose and My tongue suffered their tortures to make amends for your gluttony and your sensuality of olfaction, through which you incur imperfections, which are the ground for graver sins, and you commit sins through the eagerness for superfluous food, without taking pity on those who are hungry, food which you can afford very often by having recourse to unlawful means of profit.
My organs were not exempted from suffering. Not one of them. Suffocation and cough for My lungs, contused by the cruel scourging, and suffering from oedema because of the position on the cross. Breathlessness and heart trouble as My heart was out of its place and had been injured by the merciless flagellation, by the moral grief that had preceded it, by the ascent under the heavy weight of the cross, by anaemia, the consequence of all the blood shed. Liver congested, spleen congested, kidneys bruised and congested.
You have seen the crown of bruises round My kidneys. Your scientists, to give proof to your incredulity with regard to that evidence of My suffering, which is the Shroud, explain how the blood, the cadaveric perspiration and the urea of an overfatigued body, when mixed with the spices, can have produced that natural drawing of My dead tortured Body.
It would be better to believe without the need of so many proofs to believe. It would be better to say: “That is the work of God” and bless God, Who has granted you an indisputable proof of My Crucifixion and of the tortures preceding it!
But as now you are no longer able to believe with the simplicity of children, but you need scientific proofs – how poor is your faith, that without the support and the spur of science cannot stand up straight and walk – you must know that the cruel bruises of My kidneys have been the most powerful chemical agent in the miracle of the Shroud. My kidneys, almost crushed by the scourges, were no longer able to work. Like those of people burnt by fire, they were unable to filter, and urea accumulated and spread in My blood, in My body, bringing about the sufferings of uraemic intoxication and the reagent that oozed out of My corpse and fixed the impression on the cloth. But any doctor among you, or anyone suffering from uraemia, will realise what sufferings the uraemic toxins caused to Me, as they were so plentiful as to produce an indelible impression.
Thirst. What a torture thirst! And yet you have seen it. Among so many, there was not one who gave Me a drop of water. From the Supper onwards, I had no refreshment. And fever, sunshine, heat, dust, loss of blood, made your Saviour so thirsty.
You have seen that I refused the wine mixed with myrrh. I did not want any lenitive for My suffering. When we offer ourselves as victims, we must be victims without pitiful arrangements, compromises, mitigations. It is necessary to drink the chalice as it is offered. We must relish the vinegar and gall to the very end. Not the spiced wine that deadens pain.
Oh! the destiny of a victim is really severe. But blessed are those who chose it as their fate.
That was the suffering of your Jesus in His innocent Body. And I will not mention the tortures of My love for My Mother and for Her sorrow. That sorrow was required. But for Me it was the most cruel torture. Only the Father knows what His Word suffered in His spirit, His morale, His physique! Also the presence of His Mother, even if it was what My heart most wished, as it needed that comfort in the infinite solitude that surrounded it, infinite solitude coming from God and from men, was a torture.
She was to be there, an angel of flesh, to prevent despair from assailing Me, as the spiritual angel had prevented it in Gethsemane, She was to be there to join Her Sorrow to Mine for your Redemption, She was to be there to receive the investiture of Mother of mankind. But to see Her die at each shudder of Mine was My greatest sorrow. Not even the betrayal, not even the knowledge that My Sacrifice would be useless for so many people, these two sorrows, which shortly before had seemed so great as to make Me sweat blood, were comparable with this one.
But you have seen how great Mary was in that hour. Her torture did not prevent Her from being by far stronger than Judith. The latter killed. The former allowed Herself to be killed through Her Child. And She did not curse, She did not hate. She prayed, She loved, She obeyed. Always a Mother, to the extent of thinking, among Her tortures, that Her Jesus needed Her virginal veil on His innocent body, to defend His decency, She was able to be at the same time the Daughter of the Father of Heaven and obey His dreadful will in that hour. She did not curse, She did not rebel. Either against God, or against men. She forgave the latter. She said “Fiat” to the Former.
Also later you heard Her say: “Father, I love You and You have loved us!” She remembers and She proclaims that God has loved Her and She renews Her act of love for Him. In that hour! After the Father had pierced Her and deprived Her of Her reason for existing. She loves Him. She does not say: “I do not love You any more because You have struck Me.” She loves Him. And She does not grieve over Her sorrow. But over what Her Son suffered. She does not shout because Her heart is broken, but because Mine is pierced. She asks the Father the reason for that, not for Her sorrow. She asks the reason of the Father in the name of their Son.
She is the Spouse of God. It is She who conceived through union with God. She knows that no human contact has generated Her Child, but only the Fire descended from Heaven to penetrate Her immaculate womb and lay there the divine Embryo, the Body of the Man-God, of the God-Man, of the Redeemer of the world. She knows, and both as Spouse and as Mother She asks the reason for that wound. The others were to be given. But why this one, when everything had been accomplished?
Poor Mother! There was a reason, which Your sorrow did not allow You to read on My wound. And it was that men should see the Heart of God. You have seen it, Mary. And you will never forget it.
But, see? Although Mary at that moment did not see the supernatural reasons for that wound, She immediately thinks that it did not hurt Me, and She blesses God for that. She does not mind that that wound hurts Her, poor Mother, so much. It did not hurt Me, and that is enough and serves Her to bless God Who sacrifices Her.
She only asks for a little comfort in order not to die. She is necessary for the dawning Church, of which a few hours previously She was created the Mother. The Church, like a new-born baby, needs the care and milk of a mother. Mary will give it to the Church supporting the Apostles, speaking to them of the Saviour, praying for it. But how would She be able to do so if She breathed Her last tonight? The Church, that only in a few days' time will be left without her Head, would be completely an orphan if also Mary died. And the destiny of new-born orphans is always precarious.
God never disappoints a just prayer and He comforts His children who hope in Him. Mary proves that through the comfort of Veronica. She, the poor Mother, had the image of My dead Face impressed in Her eyes. She cannot resist that sight. That is not Her Jesus, aged, swollen, with eyes closed not looking at Her, with lips twisted that do not speak to Her or smile. But here is a face that is the face of Jesus alive. Sorrowful, wounded, but still alive. Here His eyes are looking at Her, his lips seem to be saying: “Mother!” Here His smile still greets Her.
Oh! Mary! Look for your Jesus in your sorrow. He will always come and will look at you, He will call you and will smile at you. We will share sorrow, but we shall be united!
John, little John, you have shared sorrow with Mary and with Jesus. Be like John, always. Also in that. I have already said to you: “You shall not be great because of contemplations and dictations. They are Mine. But because of your love. And the deepest love is in the sharing of sorrow.” That gives you the possibility to know by insight the least desires of God and to turn them into reality despite all obstacles.
Look at the lively delicate sensitiveness of John's behaviour from the Thursday night to the Friday night. And further. But let us consider it during those hours.
A moment of dismay. An hour of dullness. But after he overcomes sleepiness through the excitement of the arrest, and the excitement through love, he comes, dragging Peter with him, so that the Master may have some comfort seeing the Head of the apostles and the Favourite apostle.
He then thinks of the Mother, to Whom some cruel person may shout that Her Son has already been captured. And he goes to Her. He does not know that Mary is already living the tortures of Her Son and that while the apostles were sleeping, She was awake and was praying, agonising with Her Son. He does not know. And He goes to Her and prepares Her for the news.
Then he goes to and fro from Caiaphas' house to the Praetorium, from Caiaphas' house to Herod's palace, and then again from Caiaphas' house to the Praetorium. And to do so that morning, elbowing his way through a crowd intoxicated with hatred, wearing garments that point him out as a Galilean, is not pleasant. But love supports him, and he does not think of himself, but of Jesus' and His Mother's sorrows. He could be stoned as a follower of the Nazarene. It does not matter. He defies everything. The others have run away, they are hiding, they are led by prudence and fear. He is led by love, and he remains and shows himself. He is pure. Love thrives in purity.
And if his pity and common sense of a man of the people persuade him to keep Mary away from the crowds and from the Praetorium – he does not know that Mary shares all the tortures of Her Son, suffering them spiritually – when he decides that the time has come when Jesus needs His Mother, and that it is not right to keep the Mother any longer away from Her Son, he takes Her to Him, he supports Her, he defends Her.
What is that handful of loyal people: a man all alone, unarmed, young, with no authority, leading a few women, with respect to a furious crowd? Nothing. A little pile of leaves that the wind can scatter. A small boat on a stormy ocean that can sink it. It does not matter. Love is his strength and his sail. He is armed with it, and with it he protects the Woman and the women until the end.
John possessed the love of compassion as no other person, except My Mother, possessed it. He is the Head of those who love with such love. He is your master with regard to that. Follow him in the example he gives you of purity and love, and you will be great.
Go in peace, now. I bless you. »