I see the tree cradling Your Body as You are delivered from its wood.
Oh, Blessed Tree to be blessed to hold Our Savior's body! Shreds of
flesh and blood absorbed in its fibers; deep, thunderous stains of
heaven in the wood. Iron nails, hardened and tempered in the fire, by
the metal smith who pounded them, not knowing the nails would be
blessed to hold You prisoner on the Cross. Blood stained, the nails are
cast off to the side. The crown, the crown You wore on the cross, the
crown saturated with the storm of blood, hair, and flesh ripped from
Your skull lays next to the nails. King of the Jews! King of All!
Your Mother holds Your body and weeps in silence. Her tears clean your
face. The storm is silent and past. Your Mother gently wipes Your
Sacred Contenance with her veil. She carries Your Blood in her heart
and on her hands. Angels surround You both. They worship and adore
their Lord. They give strength to Your Mother, the first Tabernacle of
Your Body. Her faith is tested as she holds You, her divine Son, in
her arms. Cold flesh. Blue flesh. No breath in Your Body. Eyes that no
longer see. Hands that no longer heal. Feet that no longer walk. Lips
that no long sing the blessings of the Father. A heart that is still
and a heart that is shattered. The sorrow cannot be contained. The
world weeps with Your Mother.
Read More at::
His Unending Love
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