I find myself in a very quiet spot and I feel that I am totally alone. There is only darkness for me, and an overwhelming sense of abandonment.
O! It is truly dreadful, for there is no sound, neither of nature nor of
human beings. I try to pray, begging for understanding but it is as if I
have been plunged into a deep abyss where I am concealed even from God. It
is desolation beyond words. Tears flow and I cannot stop them.
It is then that our Heavenly Mother speaks. Her voice so soft and gentle.
She tells me I am in the Garden of Gethsemane, and that I have felt a
minute amount of the dreadful torture of Jesus as He prayed and prayed
before going to meet his enemies - His betrayer.
I understand much more why Jesus asked Peter, James and John to pray and
keep watch with Him. As his hour drew nigh His Father, exacting His
infinite justice, withdrew His presence from His Only Begotten Son,
allowing in His Divine Will that all of mankindís evils, weaknesses, and
frailties should gather as one and belong to Jesus, the Man, who felt in
His humanity the full burden of every soul that has been, is now and will
be until the end of time. In our finite minds we cannot grasp this, yet we
must believe it, for each of us has caused Jesus to sweat bloodósacred
blood. Each of us is a drop of that sacred blood, the flail of the
scourge, the terrible penetrating pain of the thorns, the humiliation of
our Dear Lord, each of us is part of the weight of the Cross, the spittle
and beating, each one of us is a pounding of the nail, the terrible
dropping of the cross into place, and the slow agonizing death.
Now I see my Jesus as He kneels in prayer, His head resting upon a rock
over which an olive tree bends low its branches, as if it wished to give
comfort to the Divine Lamb of God, but in obedience remains mute,
motionless. And I find that I move forward, closer, until, if I dared to
reach out, I could touch my Savior.
But I dare not and I fall to my knees. I pray. Not with words for there
are none, but with all my heart, calling upon my Father to have mercy, to
forgive me, and, yes, to thank Him for all He has done. Even in this place
of dreadful anguish and sorrow, I, the sinner, recognize Godís mercy, and
my soul shouts for joy for salvation is close at hand.
Jesus raises His head and now that there has risen the moon and is sheds
light into this spot, I see clearly that every pore upon His most sacred
body oozes blood. His tunic, so Immaculate at the Last Supper, is damp,
stained by His blood. His hair is damp, as is His face, and His eyes have,
for the moment, become dulled by the agony of sweating blood.
"Father," Jesus implores, His voice audible to me but reaching no further.
"If it be possible, allow this chalice to pass from Me. But, Father, not
My will, but Yours be done."
And He remains as a statue, so wrapped is He in prayer, and I see Him
shudder as if feverish. But then I am directed to look where Jesus is
looking and I behold a nightmare beyond words. Jesus sees the sins of the
world. Every soul, in infinite detail which by the free will of man,
rejects the Divine Will. From the slightest offense to the most atrocious
sins, all parade before Jesus and with each one satan howls in triumph and
sneers at Jesus in His Sacred Agony. Then, by Godís Will alone, does satan
have the power to show to Jesus, Godís own Son, every soul from all time
who will disown Him and freely choose by his own free will to spend
eternity in Hell! Jesus must watch as these souls, which I see as dying
embers, pass before Him and are lost in a dark abyss. And each soul, which
has chosen this path, shouts such blasphemy at our Lord that I, too,
shudder and wish the dreadful vision to end. And I understand that for
each one of these soulsóthese dying embers falling into Hell, Jesus sweats
yet more blood and prays for them with a love we cannot fathom, but which
is always there for us.