Lenten Meditations on the Seven Dolours of Our Lady...

A meditation on Lent from The Liturgical Year by Abbot Dom Guéranger, O.S.B.

     This Friday of Passion-week is consecrated in a special manner, to the sufferings which the holy Mother of God endured at the foot of the cross. The whole of next week is fully taken up with the celebration of the mysteries of Jesus' Passion; and although the remembrance of Mary's share in those sufferings is often brought before the faithful during Holy Week, yet, the thought of what her Son, our divine Redeemer, goes through for our salvation, so absorbs our attention and love, that it is not then possible to honour, as it deserves, the sublime mystery of the Mother's compassion.

     It was but fitting, therefore, that one day in the year should be set apart for this sacred duty: and what day could be more appropriate than the Friday of this week, which, though sacred to the Passion, admits the celebration of saints' feasts, as we have already noticed? As far back as the fifteenth century (that is, in the year 1423), we find the pious archbishop of Cologne, Theodoric, prescribing this feast to be kept by his people. [Lab. Concil. t. xii, p. 365]  It was gradually introduced, and with the knowledge of the holy See, into several other countries; and at length, in the last century, Pope Benedict XIII, by a decree dated August 22, 1727, ordered it to be kept in the whole Church under the name of the Feast of the Seven Dolours of the Blessed Virgin Mary, for, up to this time, it had gone under various names.  We will explain the title thus given to it, as also the first origin of the devotion of the Seven Dolours, when our Liturgical Year brings us to the third Sunday of September, the second   feast  of  Mary's  Dolours. What the Church proposes to her children's devotion for this Friday of Passion-week, is that one special dolour of Mary—her standing at the foot of the cross.  Among the various titles given to this feast before it was extended by the holy See to the whole Church, we may mention, Our Lady of Pity, the Compassion of Our Lady, and the one that was so popular throughout France, Notre Dame de la Pamoison.    These few historical observations prove that this feast was dear to the devotion of the people, even before it received the solemn sanction of the Church. That we may clearly understand the object of this feast, and spend it, as the Church would have us do, in paying due honour to the Mother of God and of men, we must recall to our minds this great truth: that God, in the designs of His infinite wisdom, has willed that Mary should have a share in the work of the world's redemption.  The mystery of the present feast is one of the applications of this divine law, a law which reveals to us the whole magnificence of God's plan; it is, also, one of the many realizations of the prophecy, that satan's pride was to be crushed by a woman. In the work of our redemption there are three interventions of Mary; that is, she was thrice called upon to take part in what God Himself did. The first of these was in the Incarnation of the Word, who would not take flesh in her virginal womb until she had given her consent to become His Mother; and this she gave by that solemn FIAT which blessed the world with a Saviour.  The second was in the sacrifice which Jesus consummated on Calvary, where she was present that she might take part in the expiatory offering.  The third was on the day of Pentecost, when she received the Holy Ghost, as did the apostles, in order that she might effectively labour in the establishment of the Church.  We have already explained, on  the feast of the Annunciation, the share Mary had in that wonderful mystery of the Incarnation, which God wrought for His own glory and for man's redemption and sanctification.  On the feast of Pentecost we shall speak of the Church commencing and progressing under the active influence of the Mother of God.    To-day we must show what part she took in the mystery of her Son's Passion; we must tell the sufferings, the Dolours, she endured at the foot of the cross, and the claims she thereby won to our filial gratitude.

     On the fortieth day after the birth of our Emmanuel, we followed to the temple the happy Mother carrying her divine Babe in her arms. A venerable old man was there, waiting to receive her Child; and, when he had Him in his arms, he proclaimed Him to be the Light of the Gentiles, and the glory of Israel. But, turning to the Mother, he spoke to her these heart-rending words: ' Behold! this Child is set to be a sign that shall be contradicted, and a sword shall pierce thine own soul.' This prophecy of sorrow for the Mother told us that the holy joys of Christmas were over, and that the season of trial, for both Jesus and Mary, had begun. It had, indeed, begun; for, from the night of the flight into Egypt, up to this present day, when the malice of the Jews is plotting the great crime, what else has the life of our Jesus been, but the bearing of humiliation, insult, persecution, and ingratitude? And if so, what has the Mother gone through? what ceaseless anxiety? what endless anguish of heart? But let us pass by all her other sufferings, and come to the morning of the great Friday.

     Mary knows that, on the previous night, her Son has been betrayed by one of His disciples, that is, by one that Jesus had numbered among His intimate friends; she herself had often given him proofs of her maternal affection. After a cruel Agony, her Son has been manacled as a malefactor, and led by armed men to Caiphas, His worst enemy. Thence, they have dragged Him before the Roman governor, whose sanction the chief priests and scribes must have before they can put Jesus to death. Mary is in Jerusalem; Magdalene, and the other holy women, the friends of Jesus, are with her; but they cannot prevent her from hearing the loud shouts of the people, and if they could, how is such a heart as hers to be slow in its forebodings? The report spreads rapidly through the city that the Roman governor is being urged to sentence Jesus to be crucified. Whilst the entire populace is on the move towards Calvary, shouting oat their blasphemous insults at her Jesus, will His Mother keep away, she that bore Him in her womb, and fed Him at her breast? Shall His enemies be eager to glut their eyes with the cruel sight, and His own Mother be afraid to be near Him?

    The air resounded with the  yells of  the  mob. Joseph of Arimathea, the noble counsellor, was not there, neither was the learned Nicodemus; they kept at home, grieving over what was done.  The crowd that went before and after the divine Victim was made up of wretches without hearts, saving only a few who were seen to weep as they went along; they were women; Jesus saw them, and spoke to them.  And if these women from mere sentiments of veneration, or, at most, of gratitude, thus testified their compassion, would Mary do less?  Could she bear to be elsewhere than close to her Jesus?  Our motive for insisting so much upon this point is that we may show our detestation of that school of modern rationalism, which, regardless of the instincts of a mother's heart and of all tradition, has dared to call in question the meeting of Jesus and Mary on the way to Calvary.  These systematic contradictors are too prudent to deny that Mary was present when Jesus was crucified; the Gospel is too explicit: Mary stood near the cross: [St. John 19:25] but they would persuade us that, whilst the daughters of Jerusalem courageously walked after Jesus, Mary went up to Calvary by some secret path! What a heartless insult to the love of the incomparable Mother.

     No; Mary, who is, by excellence, the valiant woman, [Prov.31:10] was with Jesus as He carried His cross. And who could describe her anguish and her love, as her eye met that of her Son tottering under His heavy load? Who could tell the affection and the resignation of the look He gave her in return? Who could depict the eager and respectful tenderness wherewith Magdalene and the other holy women grouped around this Mother, as she followed her Jesus up to Calvary, there to see Him crucified and die? The distance between the fourth and the tenth Station of the Dolorous Way is long: it is marked with Jesus' Blood, and with His Mother's tears.

     Jesus and Mary have reached the summit of the hill that is to be the altar of the holiest and most cruel Sacrifice: but the divine decree permits not the Mother as yet to approach her Son. When the Victim is ready, then she that is to offer Him shall come forward. Meanwhile, they nail her Jesus to the cross; and each blow of the hammer is a wound to Mary's heart. When, at last, she is permitted to approach, accompanied by the beloved disciple (who has made amends for his cowardly flight), and the disconsolate Magdalene and the other holy women, what unutterable anguish must have filled the soul of this Mother, when raising up her eyes, she sees the mangled Body of her Son, stretched upon the cross, with His face all covered with blood, and His head wreathed with a crown of thorns!

     Here, then, is this King of Israel, of whom the angel had told her such glorious things in his prophecy! Here is that Son of hers, whom she has loved both as her God and as the fruit of her own womb! And who are they that have reduced Him to this pitiable state? Men—for whose sake rather than for her own, she conceived Him, gave Him birth, and nourished Him! Oh! if by one of those miracles, which His heavenly Father could so easily work. He might be again restored to her! If that divine justice, which He has taken upon Himself to appease, would be satisfied with what He has already suffered! But no: He must die; He must breathe forth His blessed Soul after a long and cruel agony.

     Mary then is at the foot of the cross, there to witness the death of her Son.  He is soon to be separated from her.  In three hours' time, all that will be left her of this beloved Jesus will be a lifeless Body, wounded from head to foot.  Our words are too cold for such a scene as this: let us listen to those of St. Bernard, which the Church has inserted in her Matins of this feast.  'O blessed Mother! a sword of sorrow pierced thy soul, and we may well call thee more than  martyr, for the intensity of  thy compassion surpassed all that a bodily passion could produce.  Could any sword have made thee smart so much as that word which pierced thy heart, reaching unto the division of the soul and the spirit: "Woman! behold thy Son!" What an exchange!  John for Jesus! the servant, for the Lord!  the disciple for the Master! the son of Zebedee, for the Son of God! a mere man, for the very God!  How must thy most loving heart have been pierced with the sound of those words, when even ours, that are hard as stone and steel, break down as we think of them!  Ah! my brethren, be not surprised when you are told that Mary was a martyr in her soul.  Let him alone be surprised, who has forgotten that St. Paul counts it as one of the greatest sins of the Gentiles, that they were without affection. Who could say that of Mary? God forbid it be said of us, the servants of Mary!'' [Sermon on the twelve stars]

     Amid the shouts and insults vociferated by the enemies of Jesus, Mary's quick ear has heard these words, which tell her, that the only son she is henceforth to have on earth is one of adoption. Her maternal joys of Bethlehem and Nazareth are all gone; they make her present sorrow the bitterer; she was the Mother of a God, and men have taken Him from her! Her last and fondest look at her Jesus, her own dearest Jesus, tells her that He is suffering a burning thirst, and she cannot give Him to drink! His eyes grow dim; His head droops; all is consummated!

     Mary cannot leave the cross; love brought her thither; love keeps her there, whatever may happen! A soldier advances near that hallowed spot; she sees him lift up his spear, and thrust it through the breast of the sacred Corpse. 'Ah,' cries out St. Bernard,' that thrust is through thy soul, O blessed Mother! It could but open His side, but it pierced thy very soul. His Soul was not there; thine was, and could not but be so.' [Sermon on the twelve stars] The undaunted Mother keeps close to the Body of her Son. She watches them as they take it down from the cross; and when, at last, the friends of Jesus, with all the respect due to both Mother and Son, enable her to embrace it, she raises it upon her lap, and He that once lay upon her knees receiving the homage of the eastern kings, now lies there cold, mangled, bleeding, dead! And as she looks upon the wounds of the divine Victim, she gives them the highest honour in the power of creatures: she kisses them, she bathes them with her tears, she adores them, but oh! with what intensity of grief!

     The hour is far advanced; and before sunset, He, Jesus, the author of life, must be buried. The Mother puts the whole vehemence of her love into a last kiss, and oppressed with a bitterness great as is the sea, [Lam. 1:4; 2:13] she makes over this adorable Body to them that have to embalm and then lay it on the sepulchral slab. The sepulchre is closed; and Mary, accompanied by John, her adopted son, and Magdalene, and the holy women, and the two disciples that have presided over the burial, returns sorrowing to the deioide city.

     Now, in all this, there is another mystery besides that of Mary's sufferings. Her dolours at the foot of the cross include and imply a truth, which we must not pass by, or we shall not understand the full beauty of today's feast. Why would God have her assist in person at such a scene as this of Calvary? Why was not she, as well as Joseph, taken out of this world before this terrible day of Jesus' death? Because God had assigned her a great office for that day, and it was to be under the tree of the cross that she, the second Eve, was to discharge her office. As the heavenly Father had waited for her consent before He sent His Son into the world: so, likewise, He called for her obedience and devotedness, when the hour came for that Son to be offered up in sacrifice for the world's redemption. Was not Jesus hers? her Child? her own and dearest treasure? And yet, God gave Him not to her, until she had consented to become His Mother; in like manner, He would not take Him from her, unless she gave Him back.

     But see what this involved, see what a struggle it entailed upon this most loving heart! It is the injustice, the cruelty, of men that rob her of her Son; how can she, His Mother, ratify, by her consent, the death of Him, whom she loved with a twofold love, as her Son, and as her God? But, on the other hand, if Jesus be not put to death, the human race is left a prey to satan, sin is not atoned for, and all the honours and joys of her being Mother of God are of no use or blessing to us. This Virgin of Nazareth, this noblest heart, this purest creature, whose affections were never blunted with the selfishness which so easily makes its way into souls that have been wounded by original sin, what will she do? Her devotedness to mankind, her conformity with the will of her Son who so vehemently desires the world's salvation, lead her, a second time, to pronounce the solemn FIAT: she consents to the immolation of her Son. It is not God's justice that takes Him from her; it is she herself that gives Him up. But, in return, she is raised to a degree of greatness, which her humility could never have suspected was to be hers: an ineffable union is made to exist between the two offerings, that of the Incarnate Word, and that of Mary; the Blood of the divine Victim, and the tears of the Mother, flow together for the redemption of mankind.

     We can now understand the conduct and the courage of this Mother of sorrows. Unlike that other mother, of whom the Scripture speaks—the unhappy Agar, who after having sought in vain how she might quench the thirst of her Ismael in the desert, withdrew from him that she might not see him die—Mary no sooner hears that Jesus is condemned to death, than she rises, hastens to Him, and follows Him to the place where He is to die.    And what is her attitude at the foot of His cross?    Does her matchless grief overpower her?  Does she swoon? or fall?  No: the Evangelist says: 'There stood by the cross of Jesus, His Mother.' [St. John 19:25]  The sacrificing priest stands, when offering at the altar; Mary stood for such a sacrifice as hers was to be.   St. Ambrose, whose affectionate heart and profound appreciation of the mysteries of religion have revealed to us so many precious traits of Mary's character, thus speaks of her position at the foot of the cross: ' She stood opposite the cross, gazing with maternal love on the wounds of her Son; and thus she stood, not waiting for her Jesus to die, but for the world to be saved.' [In Lucam, cap. 23]

     Thus, this Mother of sorrows, when standing on Calvary, blessed us who deserved but maledictions; she loved us; she sacrificed her Son for our salvation. In spite of all the feelings of her maternal heart, she gave back to the Eternal Father the divine treasure He had entrusted to her keeping. The sword pierced through and through her soul, but we were saved; and she, though a mere creature, cooperated with her Son in the work of our salvation. Can we wonder, after this, that Jesus chose this moment for making her the Mother of men, in the person of John the evangelist, who represented us? Never had Mary's heart loved us as she did then; from that time forward, therefore, let this second Eve be the true Mother of the living! [Genesis 3:20] The sword, by piercing her immaculate heart, has given us admission there. For time and eternity, Mary will extend to us the love she has borne for her Son, for she has just heard Him saying to her that we are her children. He is our Lord, for He has redeemed us; she is our Lady, for she generously cooperated in our redemption.

     Animated by this confidence, O Mother of sorrows! we come before thee, on this feast of thy dolours, to offer thee our filial love. Jesus, the blessed Fruit of thy womb, filled thee with joy as thou gavest Him birth; we, thy adopted children, entered into thy heart by the cruel piercing of the sword of suffering. And yet, O Mary! love us, for thou didst cooperate with our divine Redeemer in saving us. How can we not trust in the love of thy generous heart, when we know that, for our salvation, thou didst unite thyself to the Sacrifice of thy Jesus? What proofs hast thou unceasingly given us of thy maternal tenderness, O Queen of mercy! O refuge of sinners! 0 untiring advocate for us in all our miseries! Deign, sweet Mother, to watch over us, during these days of grace. Give us to feel and relish the Passion of thy Son. It was consummated in thy presence; thine own share in it was magnificent! Oh! make us enter into all its mysteries, that so our souls, redeemed by the Blood of thy Son, and helped by thy tears, may be thoroughly converted to the Lord, and persevere, henceforward, faithful in His service. 

---

Christ's Passion as seen and experienced by Veronica (March 8, 1971)...

     The Passion was seen in vision by Veronica during the praying of the Sorrowful Mysteries of the Rosary. Present during this phenomenon were Camille Debrowski, Ben and Mary Salomone, and Evelyn Murphy.

     Veronica received the stigmata of the hands and feet at this time. A cross appeared on her right foot in the instep area, directly in line with the big toe and second toe, near the center of the instep, but over more to her left side of the instep, centered between the ankle area and toes. The nail bruise appeared on the instep of the left foot, more centered between the second and third toe from the large toe, at the center of the instep. The right foot was crossed over the left. The cross fitted perfectly in line with the nail mark on the left foot. 

The Passion as related by Veronica:

     "Jesus started by requesting that on the three initial beads of the Rosary we say the Acts of Faith, Hope, and Charity. Then we entered into the Sorrowful Mysteries.

THE AGONY IN THE GARDEN

     "During the first decade I saw Jesus on His knees, bent over in anguish, praying. He was wearing a long, burgundy-colored cape over an inner garment of beige-colored material, long and flowing. There was a great sadness in His face, great sorrow. He was talking to His Father in Heaven:

     "'Father, I will drink of this cup, down to the last dreg, if it be Your will. It is not I that should seek that this cup be removed from Me. My strength is everlasting in the light, and My heart a bleeding vessel for this cup.'

THE SCOURGING

     "During the second Mystery, I cried out, 'No! No! Stop that!' For there was our beloved Jesus being pulled to and fro as His tormentors pulled His upper garment from His back. They tied His wrists together and drove a spike into an upright beam. Jesus' hands were bound by strips of a brown, leather-like cord. Then the central part of the cord that bound His hands was looped over the spike in the beam. Poor Jesus was pinned by His hands.

     "There were five people in this cave-like room that appeared to be dug out of a hillside, a sort of hole-room in the hillside.

     "I screamed and winced as two soldiers took turns hitting Jesus' bare back with a long brown, leather-like strap. On this strap were metal hooks, laid horizontally all along the strap. These nail-like, claw-like fixtures on the strap cut and scratched deeply into Jesus' flesh, causing blood to pour out. It was a despicable game with the soldiers. They laughed and joked. Jesus never said a word.

     "I cried, 'Say something! Say something!' He could save Himself, but Jesus remained silent as they spat and insulted Him. His back became a mass of welts and torn flesh. Jesus was barefoot; His sandals had fallen off as they banged a stake higher into the pole and raised poor Jesus up so His toes barely touched the floor. The floor was just dirt and blood. The soldier remarked, 'Maybe they cut out His lying tongue. Ha, ha!' Our poor Jesus remained silent.

     "Off to the side I saw a room. There was a large, kettle-like pot, real old looking--of rough metal, a deep reddish-brown in color, very large. Underneath was a fire burning; there was a heavy liquid bubbling. Off to the side was another, longer metal receptacle filled with water. There were two soldiers dressed in short dresses--short, knee-length skirts, with pointed metal pieces hanging down in a pattern of triangles all around the waist, front and back.

     "They had a metal, vest-like covering on their chests and silver-colored metal headpieces that were shaped like a cap, but swooped up to a flowing design on the top. Three other men were almost naked, dressed in diaper-like clothing. They were holding a long piece of metal. They placed the end in the large kettle; it had a red-hot glow. Then the third man had a large, mallet-like hammer, and he beat on the hot metal. He was pounding it round and round until it looked like a spike. He would then douse it in that metal water trough. Two soldiers were talking over at the side. Later they took the five spikes. (There were five large spikes made.)

THE CROWNING WITH THORNS

     "I then saw Jesus. He had been cut from the post and had fallen over. A soldier roughly pulled Him over to a wicker-like stool and plunked Jesus onto it. Poor Jesus hung forward, and a nasty soldier put a long stick in His hands to balance Him up, and yelled, 'Ha, ha! So this is the King of the Jews! Let's dress Him as fitting!'

     "The soldier went outside, to return with an armful of brier bush. He used the metal tongs to make it easier to handle. He made a sort of cap and stuffed a circlet of briers into it. In that way he could handle it better and shove it on poor Jesus' head. The thorns were too hard to weave, to stay together, so the cap was thought of. It was so big, and he kept batting it down with a stick. The sadist gloated as he swung. Jesus, dearest Savior, said never a word. The pain was excruciating. Tears coursed down the cheeks of our poor Jesus, but they were of sorrow. The greatest pain was in His heart!

     "Jesus' hands were tied again with the brown, leather-like material; and He was dragged to His feet. The soldier draped His top gown over His torn back. Oh, I could see it stick to His oozing blood. Oh, it was horrible!  

THE CARRYING OF THE CROSS

     "Then a soldier pushed Jesus out of the hole-like entrance, and down a road. There were many people, all in a spirit of carnival. Two soldiers pushed Jesus over to the side of the big crossbeam which was carried through the crowd. It looked like a heavy log--real rough, and a brownish wood. Two soldiers stood it up and another put Jesus over to it. Two soldiers started to tie His hands onto it. It was supported across His back and on the shoulders. It looked awfully heavy and awkward. The brown leather rope was taut across His elbow area. He seemed to be balancing and supporting the beam as He struggled on.

     "There were three ladies and a man walking off to one side with Him. The ladies were weeping silently. The man had his arm about a lady. The man was very tall. He had a long, brown gown on, and he had a brown beard and dark brown hair. The ladies wore beige-colored gowns; but one lady had a purple, coat-like garment over hers.

     "Jesus tripped and fell. He was so weak now, the beam had thrown Him off balance as He staggered. Poor Jesus fell. One nasty old man ran out of the crowd to spit and kick Him--the nasty old beast! I tried to tear off my tunic to wipe the blood out of His eyes. It was awful! He looked up at me--the soldiers wouldn't let me through. I pulled at my hair in frustration and anguish. Jesus looked at me, and I saw the love of an eternal, glorious promise. I cried, 'What could I do?' I screamed, 'Help Him! Help Him, please!' I, Veronica, was helpless to lift the cross. I could only hope to wipe His dear face.

     "Soon a soldier grabbed a man out of the crowd. This man had a long gown on with stripes down the front, and he had a turban wrapped around his head with stripes in the front. He sure didn't want to carry the beam, but they knew Jesus couldn't make it to the outskirts of the town. So this man shouldered the beam while the insane crowd taunted. Jesus was pushed and pulled along. Dirt and blood were all over Him; He was a picture of bloody grime.

     "I was retching; I was sick. Oh, such a horror! Such torture! How could they do this to Him? What did He do but love everyone! Beasts! Beasts! Soon the soldier ran up with the five spikes. When they reached the hill, there was a long piece of wood already on the ground. A soldier lifted the beam from the shoulders of this other man and threw it to the ground. Two other soldiers placed it on top of the long piece of wood to form a cross--long all the way down, and sort of sticking out at the top. They slammed one spike into the two beams and the cross was made. 

THE CRUCIFIXION

     "Two lousy soldiers threw Jesus to the ground, and they pulled His arms out to stretch across the cross beam. Oh, how it hurt, the back so torn! I could see the pain in Jesus' eyes, but He never uttered a word. He just looked sad. Then they took brown, leather-like cord and wrapped it around His wrists at the board, bound to the board. Then they lifted and tied the wrists to the board, bound and wound the leather cord around the ankles and the wood to hold Him in place.

     "Then the spikes were thrown onto the ground, and one soldier got down on his knees and he placed the spike in the center of the palm of poor Jesus' hand. With that metal mallet he drove it in through the skin and out into the board. I screamed! I threw up! This was repeated on the right hand. Then Jesus looked up to the sky. They started on the legs--one large spike into both feet, His right foot over the left, at a twisted sort of angle, placed to lie flat against each other. I retched as I heard the metal against flesh and bone and wood. One spike protruded out the other side. They hammered a block of wood under His poor feet, 'to line 'em up,' they said. It was awful!

     "I looked off into the crowd. Oh, there were only nine people there to stay with Jesus. I now knew His Mother, Mary Cleophas (the wife of Clopas), Mary Magdalen, and John. Oh, poor Jesus--never a word did He say as they nailed Him to the wood. Oh, such love!

     "Soon two soldiers lifted the head of the wood and three the bottom, carrying Jesus on the cross, and dropped the end into a hole. It went in with a thump! Jesus winced. And it tore His hands more. Blood was trickling down His face. He couldn't move His head. The pain was awful; each movement cut deep. He sagged a bit, but pulled upward. The sagging tore more.

     "Mary and Mary ran up to Him. They did not speak at first; they could talk with their eyes to each other. They didn't need words. John came over, for Jesus' bottom tunic fell down. Oh, dear, He was almost naked. I turned away, but John ran over and tied sort of knots in it, like a diaper. Oh, the humiliation to poor Jesus! Then Jesus said to John: "Behold, John, your Mother. And this, Mother, is Your son. I must go to the Father soon."

     "The crowd started to move off. Jesus cried: "Abba, abba sabba la bec tori"--that is what it sounded like--a foreign sound. Sabba sabba sabba la bec tori. (I can't spell it well, just by sound.) Then He looked up. "I thirst!" (This I heard in English.)

     ". . . Water, yellowish water. . . . Jesus' head hung down to His right. It became dark, so dark. Everyone went away but the nine. They all came close; and Mary clung to His feet, wordless in sorrow."

     Veronica finished the recitation of what she experienced to find her feet swollen and her arms sore, the feet marked and the hands stinging. Her wordless reaction was a mixture of wonder, joy, and love--joy that now she could join Jesus in His suffering and hold His hand on the road to the Kingdom.

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