scourging at the Pillar. 1 comment


Nope, this is not another post about how the Sorrowful Mysteries relate to the single life.  However, after writing last week’s post about the agony in the garden, I figured that I might as well write a post about each of the Sorrowful Mysteries – and I can join the Marian Monday’s link up!  So, here goes nothing but my prayerful reflection on the scourging at the pillar:

The Flagellation of Christ, by Caravaggio

Christ, what must you have felt at your scourging?  Did you feel each one of my sins with each lash you took?  Did your holy skin ever go numb to the pain, or could you feel each and every tear, each blow, as though it was new?  Surely, you could have chosen to summon the angels, or to make yourself numb to the pain, but you didn’t.  You stood there, knelt there, at that lonely pillar in agony – your agony from the garden continued, though in a more physical way.  With each lash, your holy skin broke, making way for your holy blood to pour out, all out of love.  Von Balthasar said that when we look upon you on the cross it is then that we realize we don’t really understand love, at least not as you did, not as you lived it out.  When we look upon you and meditate upon your scourging, the feeling is the same.  What love must have consumed you to uphold you while you were tortured?  There are no accounts of you lashing out or begging for mercy, except perhaps for you begging your Father to have mercy on us, and on those who beat you and whipped you that day.

I’d like to say that if I was there that day I would have done something, or taken the beating for you.  But even in that there are lies.  If I were there that day I probably would have been the one beating you, if not with the whips, then with my sins and my disbelief.  If, by some miracle of faith, I offered to take the beatings for you, you would have refused my offer, simply telling me, “This is the Father’s will.  Do you not yet understand, O, you of little faith?  Let this be my gift to you.

Thank you for that gift, precious Jesus, wounded for my wounds.  Mary, Mother of God, Mother of mine, prevent me from being the one who lashes out at Jesus.  Prevent me from adding to His stripes and increasing His pain.  May we be healed by Him who was broken so that we might be whole and complete in Him.

Marian mondays


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