DAILY CATHOLIC   MONDAY    March 29, 1999    vol. 10, no. 61


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      These Meditative Lessons on the Sorrowful Mysteries of the Rosary which encompass the Passion and Death of Our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ were imparted via both interior visions and interior locutions to Cyndi Cain, the Hidden Flower of the Immaculate Heart from the Blessed Mother of God during Lent in 1993. Cyndi relates that, "while I saw many details in these interior visions, only certain details were to be written down. Therefore, these lessons are not meant to be a detailed geographical or historical account, nor are they meant to pinpoint all the intricate details one might wish to have knowledge of regarding the Passion of Our Lord...for the importance of each lesson lies not in the descriptive passage or dialogue, but in Our Lady's own meditations which follow each interior vision. These meditations are meant to strengthen us in our faith during this our exile - particularly in these end times when the Holy Catholic Church will be ripped apart by apostasy and schism...for Our Blessed Mother wants our faith to be as strong as an anchor. For our faith to be such, we must have the faith of a simple, little child." During Lent we bring these to you and ask the Holy Spirit to give all the enlightenment and discernment to learn and grow from these meditative lessons that all may persevere in the time of the Great Darkness which looms ever closer. For those who would like the complete works of "It is Consummated!, as well as the books on the Joyful Mysteries - "Come, Let us Adore Him", and the Glorious Mysteries - "My Lord and my God!", and the 100 Meditative Lessons compiled in "THE HIDDEN WAY" click on BOOKS.

Meditative Lesson 10:


part two

          I look steadily toward a pillar which is set in the courtyard. It is not exactly in the center, because there is more ground between the gate from the street to the pillar, and less from the pillar to the cloister where the soldiers move about, avoiding the hot sun of Palestine.

          And I see them - demons - around the pillar, and around the Roman soldiers. Hundreds upon hundreds of grotesque beings who can best, I feel, be described as "hate with form." These demons move among the soldiers and constantly whisper to them. The soldiers grow agitated even though, as of yet, nothing is happening.

          Suddenly many of these demons rush past me and mingle with the common people and the same agitation stirs in them. I hear them hiss as they pass by me, a sound of fire sizzling with unvented energy.

          The soldiers move. There is a shout. A command. And Jesus, our Lord and God, is brought out from a small doorway into the courtyard.

          I see Him and my heart weeps for already He is barely recognizable, so much has He endured. His garments are stained, His once beautiful honey-colored hair darkened by blood, sweat and the filth people have battered Him with.

          He moves slowly, already fatigued and in pain, and His footsteps are unsteady. There are two burly Roman soldiers, one on each side who, by keeping a hand on each elbow, move Jesus to the pillar. There they remove the ropes around His wrists and waist as well as the heavy chain which is wrapped around His neck and which crisscrosses His chest.

          The soldier in charge, a youngish man a year, maybe two younger than our Lord, orders the prisoner to strip. Jesus meekly obeys, but he has difficulty pulling the long tunic over His head for the binding of His wrists has stopped proper circulation in His arms.

          Impatiently the garment is yanked over His head, and because the hundreds upon hundreds of demons still harass the soldiers, they all but rip the shorter tunic off. Jesus, the Sinless One, the Pure Lamb of God, is naked except for His undergarment which surrounds His loins.

          The captain gives another command and the two soldiers attach a chain again to Jesusí wrists and they pull Him to the pillar. There is an iron ring near the top of the pillar, and through this ring the soldiers run the length of the chain until Jesus is stretched completely. Our Lord is on tip-toe and His torso and limbs are elongated as far as possible.

          He says nothing but I can hear Him praying; to His Father the prayer of His Divine Heart and Soul rises. It is a continual prayer of forgiveness and it is united with Infinite Love, and also Infinite Sadness.

          Another order, and the men come from under the porch where they have waited in the shade. I understand they are professional torturers in the hire of the Roman government. They are brawny men, bare-chested with muscles that bulge as each flexes the scourge or whip he holds. The three men take up their position.

          The first steps forward, eyes fixed upon his victim and the whip is tested several times for accuracy and strength as it lands only inches from our Lord'í feet, sand the hard ground is cut to pieces as dirt flies. The Roman captain nods and now the whip flies forward. Now, it is not hard ground, but soft, tender flesh that it rips.

          Over and over and over again in a rhythmic motion, the whip finds our Lordís back and curves around to his torso, chest, ribs. The head, neck, shoulders, buttocks, legs, knees, and feet are not left unscathed, and the whip bites deeply. Large, horrid long welts are raised and appear scarlet against Jesusí white flesh.       The demons dance obscenely and scream and gesture with hysterical laughter as the torture continues. Jesusí face is twisted in agony and he bites His lips so as to utter no sound. All the while the demons move, whispering to the soldiers, the torturers, even the crowd. Itís a scene of diabolical nature. Blood appears and the cruelty intensifies.

          Without losing a stroke, as if in a precision drill, the second torturer moves forward. His scourge appears to be of leather with heavy knots along its length. H is swing is powerful and the blows land on top of the raised welts from the whip.

          Now skin and tissue separate. Blood vessels spew forth blood which stains the ground, the pillar, and even splatters the torturers who, unmindful, can only use their powerful muscles to cause our Dear Lord unimaginable pain. Because this scourge is longer our Lordís entire chest, abdomen, arms and legs front and back receive full blows.

          The third torturer moves into position and like his fellow torturers his eyes are glassy, feverish in anticipation. The scourge is also long, of leather. But the end is divided into four or five strips. At the end of each strip there is tied a sharp piece of bone or stone, I do not know which because I feel as if I must faint or die from watching such cruelty given to such Love.

          The demons are raging even amongst themselves now, tearing at one another as the third scourge sends pieces of flesh, tissue, muscle and, in some places a bone chip from our Lord flying around the pillar. The demons will not get near the divine flesh. They spit and utter curses and madly tear at each other in their frenzy of hate.

          There is not one spot upon our Lord left unmarked by the terrible scourging. It cannot be possible that these men want to continue. They have already reduced our Lord to a piece of meat, mauled hideously by their own hands.

          It is the captain of the guard who has stepped aside to hear the words of a senior officer. Then he shouts an order and the horrid whistling, slicing, thudding scourging ends. Yet it echoes in my ears, my mind, my heart and soul. O! I do not desire to see any more!

          But our Lady comes and says to me: "You must watch and write as I direct, for from this my Little Ones shall love my Son as He loves them, and they shall grow strong in their faith."

          The two Roman soldiers who led Jesus to the pillar now unloose the heavy chain and Jesus slumps lifeless to the ground. He appears not a human being, but one bleeding, oozing sore of mutilated flesh. Our Blessed mother tells me that many today will say it could not have been like this, so inhuman a scourging, for no man would have survived. But Jesus Christ is the Man and as His Father willed, so did He will to survive, that all of His Blood might be shed so that mankind might enter the way of perfection.

          A soldier, barely out of his teens, comes running and throws a bucket of cold, dirty water over our Lord. The shock, which our Lady says was like an electric current of extreme heat and pain, brings Jesus back to consciousness. He puts both hands on the blood-spattered ground and tries to rise, but there is no strength.

         Propelled still by Luciferís demons the two guards yank Jesus upright, and it is grotesque to see our Blessed Lord try to stand upright. It is His Will alone that permits Him to find His footing.

          The short tunic is pulled roughly over His head, then the longer tunic. I understand that the soldier regards this as another aspect of the process of torture.

          Jesus staggers, nearly falls and the guards drag him off to the side. They push him down upon a rough-hewn bench, not out of kindness but to prepare Him for yet more pain and humiliation. From the corner a soldier rushes forward with a thick bundle of branches covered with thick, long thorns. He gestures at Jesus. The soldiers laugh uproariously and nod agreement.

          One of them, who is older with graying hair, takes the tangle of thorny branches and hacks at it expertly with his sharp sword. He carves it into a crown-like cap and hands it back.

          The two guards, not wanting to be stung by the thorns, use the tips of their own swords to place this ca-like crown on top of Jesusí head. Once it is there, they use the flat end of their swords and push with all their strength till the crown has sunk into place.

          Laughter, scorn, rebuffs of every kind fill the air while Jesusí Head is pierced over and over by these thorns that are thick and tough. His forehead is pierced and blood seeps down into His eyes, and trickles along His nose and drips to the ground.

          Our Lady, truly sobbing, reminds me that where, in H is Holy Infancy, His head was possessed of silky curls, there is now a long, sharp thorn where each silken curl lay!

          Another soldier finds an old discarded military cloak, which is hastily thrown over His trembling shoulders, while yet another finds a reed and places it in His right hand.

          Throughout, Jesus has uttered no cry, no word. But His prayer has been ceaseless and filled with the Divine Will.

          How the demons laugh, their evil eyes glowing with hate. They move the soldiers to bend their knees and strike their breasts as one by one they come before this human wreck and proclaim: "Hail, King of the Jews!" while Jesus, His beautiful eyes no longer beautiful, accepts, endures, suffers and offers all to His Father in Perfect Love!


March 29, 1999       volume 10, no. 61


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