My wounds for yours

Beloved, I ask you to see,
not only with your eyes,
but also with your heart…
these wounds that I bore.

Come closer,
and put your hands at my back.
Feel the scars on which I carried the wooden cross.
Here, on my knees,
are the marks of the times I fell,
on my way to my Crucifixion.
Here, around my head
a crown of thorns had been forcefully pushed, and been beaten…

Look at my hands and my feet –
You see the holes in which nails were hammered through?
At my side, a lance was pierced,
where blood and water gushed.

Most painful of all, dearly beloved,
Are the wounds in my heart,
And in my mind –
The memories –
of being betrayed by a friend with a kiss,
for thirty pieces of silver;
of seeing others run away
when I was being unjustly arrested and falsely accused…
of being denied by one of my most trusted ones,
before the cock crowed to signal the dawn of a new day;
of women wailing and crying,
of the people I love shouting,
…And seeing a most beloved mother
bear my Passion
in the most profound silence and humility.

Take a look at my wounds, my beloved,
I invite you to hide yours in mine.


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